Adaption: A physical or behavioral change that improves a species’ ability to succeed in its environment.
“Darlene!”
I spun my head around to the source of the voice. A tall woman wearing a yellow rainjacket was racing over in my direction holding a small cardboard box. I stood motionless in the soggy driveway waiting for her to come up. She was a slow runner.
“Hello, Miss Puerter,” I mumbled shyly when she was finally in front of me.
“Oh, please, call me Grace!”
“Grace…”
“Yeah, well, I just wanted to come and say, WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD!!”
She was giggling uncontrollably, doing this thing where she would rock back and forth like she was going to faint at any moment. I don’t know why she was welcoming me, seeing as I had lived in that neighborhood my whole life. I was just changing houses. I know, I know, that’s just a little weird, but it was my grandma’s decision. Something to do with lower house payments…
“Well, I, um, hang on.” She bent down with her hands on her knees and began to hyperventilate. I waited for her to pull her head back up to continue with her babbling.
“Okay! I’m back! Heh, heh. Well, um, I just wanted to give you this,” she said, holding out the box to me, “hope it’s not too soggy.”
“Mis.. Grace, it’s not even raining anymore.”
“Oh yeah,” she gasped pulling off her hood, revealing shaggy-obviously-been-dyed-red hair.
I rolled my eyes at her and began to open the box. Why was it so wet, anyway? How long had she been out here waiting for me to get home? Heh. Home. This sure didn’t feel like home. Inside the box there was an old plastic doll, probably one of those weird Polly Pocket dolls. I couldn’t really tell past all the wear and tear.
“So….. uh, thanks, I guess.”
“Oh, you’re so welcome! I knew you would love it!” she sputtered, apparently unaware of my disappointment. “Her name is Polly,” (I knew it), “but I’ve always called her Lucy. I love the name Lucy, ’cause it was on a show and it rings in your ears like crystal,” (what?), “but you can call her whatever you want, Darlene.”
I can’t say I was too excited about Polly, or Lucy, or whatever her name was. Unlike most girls, I stopped playing with dolls when I was about 4 years old. I’m 13. You can see where the major difference comes in.
Could Miss Puerter be more of a child?!
“Thanks Miss…. Grace. I’ll see you around.”
“Bye-a!”
I watched as she skipped out of the driveway and down the street to her house. I can’t believe grandma made me leave my beloved home five houses down just to cut down on costs a little. Since when are the houses on the same street charged different electric bills? I guess that this isn’t much of a big deal…. I’m still with all of my friends, I’m actually closer to the pool, the house looks pretty much the same, and a penny saved is a penny you can spend later on something more important. Still, it’s just a little weird.
I threw open the heavy wooden door to my new home and stepped inside. Remember how I told you that the house looked pretty much the same as my old one? Well, what I ment was just the outside. The place had a strange empty feeling to it, with it’s big white walls and furniture-less living room. Hmmm… The place. I like it. from now on this isn’t my house or home. It’s a place.
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and onto the cherry wood layered floor and whistled. At that moment a small yapping sound flew down the staircase followed by a small black-brown Yorkshire, with the bells on his little red collar ringing. The dumb dog almost slipped and back-surfed down the entire flight of stairs but managed to catch himself just in time. Good. I don’t know what I’d do if he got hurt. I mean other than take him to the doggy hospital.
Embarrassed about the little tripping incident, he tried to show off by going faster than ever. But this didn’t really work on the wood and he ended up slipping again. Finally he stuck with padding his way as slowly as possible over to me.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like this house either,” I sympathized.
He jumped up and rested his paws on my legs. I bent over and cradled him into my arms like a baby.
“Hello, Little Bear,” I cooed. “Hows mama’s little boy doing?”
He licked at my face in reply.
“You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you? I bet you didn’t chew anything up this time, isn’t that right my little lovey bear!!!”
Most people find this hole thing disgusting, and usually end up saying I love my dog more than I love people. And why not? What’s so wrong about loving your pet more than your social life? And anyways, people are weird (With Miss Puerter being my first example). Dogs never lie to you or pretend to be something they’re not. Dogs only attack when they are annoyed or scared or are getting a little too carried away when they are playing. Dogs just want to be loved.
I set Little Bear on the ground and ran upstairs to see the damage.
Posted in Unfinished
Tags: Entertainment
