Seven

2002

Past  ~ Age: 12

The old bike Annabelle had borrowed from Jesse was crumbling beneath her, the chain grinding with every turn of the pedals. The wind whipped against her face, tugging at her hair, as she gripped the handlebars tightly, determined to ride that day. Jesse had promised her a gift if she could beat him in a biking race down toward the lake where they always hung out.

But Missy had other plans.

The second the two friends tried to take off, a small figure came barreling after them, her tiny legs pumping as she wailed, “You didn’t wait for me!” She was short for an eleven-year-old.

Jesse groaned into the air, already exhausted before they could even start. “Missy, you can’t come. We’re going to be riding fast.”

“I can ride fast!” she insisted, stomping one foot against the pavement.

Jesse glanced at her tiny pink bike, the training wheels rattling against the ground, and deadpanned, “No, you can’t.”

Missy scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “So?”

Annabelle sighed, gripping her handlebars. “Jesse, let’s just go. She’ll get bored and go inside.”

Annabelle hesitated for a moment, a pit forming in her stomach as she thought about Missy's determination. Guilt and dread intertwined, tightening her grip on the handlebars. That was her first mistake. Deep down, she knew she would regret it.

Missy doesn't get bored. Missy never gets bored.

Instead, she threw herself onto the grass, wailing like she was being murdered. Loud, hiccupping sobs that sent Jesse’s mom poking her head out of the house in seconds.

“Jesse Monroe, what did you do to your sister?”

Jesse threw up his hands. “Nothing!”

“She’s crying,” his mother said.

“She’s always crying.”

Missy sniffled dramatically, peeking up at them with wide, watery eyes. “They won’t let me come with them.” Their mother gave Jesse a look, one he knew better than to argue with.

He turned to Annabelle, defeated. “We’re taking her.”

Annabelle groaned. “Are you serious?”

“She’s going to keep crying if we don’t.”

Annabelle was moving at a snail's pace, the old bike rattling beneath her. Missy was a whirlwind of chatter, flitting from one topic to the next. ‘I had pancakes for breakfast!’ she exclaimed. Annabelle gripped the handlebars tighter, trying to block out Missy's constant voice. 'I think I'll paint my nails purple,' Missy continued, completely unfazed by her companions' silence. Jesse pedaled beside Annabelle, glancing over with an eye-roll that said, 'I told you so.' Annabelle could feel the chaos building around her; each word from Missy a grating reminder of how far this day was from her expectations.

Missy was a nightmare, and Annabelle felt completely overwhelmed. The excitement of the day faded, replaced by a slow, uneasy feeling.

At times like this, Annabelle was glad to be an only child. No little brothers. No little sisters. No one tagging along, complaining when things didn’t go their way.

Sometimes, Annabelle wondered if someone had answered her prayers, since she never had to deal with a little tagalong at home.