Neighbor
"What do you think you're doing?!"
Frank has just about untangled himself from the mess of conjoined tin cans when he's startled by someone yelling at him. He looks up and takes an instinctive half-step, immediately tripping on the string still threaded around his ankles and falling forward.
Frank's quick enough to catch himself with his arms, saving his face from the knocking against the ground. Unfortunately, his right forearm takes the brunt of it, banging hard against a surfaced tree root.
Hissing sharply, Frank slowly pushes up onto his knees, rubbing his smarting forearm. That's definitely going to bruise.
"Hey!"
Once again, Frank looks in the direction of the voice. It belongs to another kid, probably around his age, stocky in build with narrowed eyes and a distinct brow. Frank also notes a thick strap lying diagonally against his torso, attached to what looks like a rifle.
"I-Is that a real gun?" Frank climbs to his feet and raises his hands in surrender. Although the gun is still holstered, he doesn't want to give the other kid any reason to change that.
The boy blinks, his aggressive demeanor temporarily giving way to confusion. After a moment, he says, "No. But a steel BB could still put ya in the hospital at this range. Now, answer my question – why are you trespassin’?"
"Trespassing? Oh…" Frank glances around quickly, "it's outside of the gate, so I thought it was fair game?" His eyes fall on the oddly shaped structure to his left, and he’s momentarily distracted by something inside: Savage Starlight #9
The latest issue! It’s stacked neatly on top of the previous eight issues.
Frank is grinning now, because maybe this interaction isn't a complete loss after all. He hasn’t been able to get a copy of the ninth issue – it came out right when his family was moving, and he hasn’t been able to find a comic-book shop in town yet.
“So what? It’s common courtesy to not go pokin’ around behind other people’s houses!”
Oh, he lives there – in the big white house next door – that makes sense.
Until now, Frank hadn’t been sure if it was a house or something else entirely. It’s so big – not like any house he’d seen back in the city.
“I’m real sorry,” Frank tries again, dropping his grin in favor of something more apologetic, “I'm new here, still finding my way around town and–"
"Town's that way." The boy points emphatically to his right. He seems even more agitated now, which isn’t a great sign as far as potential friendships go.
"Yeah, I know! It's just…"
And Frank just can’t help himself; he looks back at the stack of comic-books for just a second, long enough for excitement to reignite his confidence.
“You have the latest issue of Savage Starlight and, well, it’s one of my favorite comics too! I want to read it so bad, but we just moved here – the blue house next door actually – and…can I borrow it some time!? Please?”
Frank hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly. But he just keeps expecting the other kid to interrupt him and, when he doesn’t, it just sort of comes out.
The kid looks stunned. Then, he narrows his eyes suspiciously.
"You were gonna steal my comics!"
“What!? No!” Frank grimaces even as he says it, because this is not how he wants things to go at all.
Moving here in the middle of summer has made it near impossible to make friends, and Melody hasn’t been so interested in exploring with him, on account of having to leave behind the love of her life, Carl Johansen.
Barely eleven, Frank can’t really imagine what a crush feels like, much less knowing someone is the love of your life. But Melody is two years older than him, and Frank figures she knows what she’s talking about.
“I swear, I just saw it right now. I thought…” Frank trails off, looking down at his sneakers in contemplation. When the boy doesn't immediately yell at him, he looks up again.
"All right, look." He sighs and lowers his arms just a little bit, "First, my name's Franklin – but you can call me Frank, since we're neighbors and all, and–"
"Oh, yeah? Here's the thing, Frank," The boy spits his name back at him like it’s some sort of insult, cheeks flushed in anger, "I don't care if you're new here, or that we're neighbors. If I let you borrow my stuff, then every kid you talk to about it is gonna show up here lookin’ to borrow my shit, and this is not a Salvation Army!”
Frank furrows his brow, opening his mouth without thinking (again,) “Well, you don’t even borrow stuff from The Salvation Army. It’s a store.”
And, oh no, he’s shut the kid up again on a technicality.
Frank wonders if he’s sealed his fate with his own big, fat mouth. Probably.
“Listen, I promise I won’t talk to anyone else about it, okay? I’ve been here like a month; I don’t even have any friends to tell.”
When the other boy still says nothing, Frank drops his hands and hangs his head in resignation, glaring miserably at the stupid tangles of string around his ankles.
The truth is, he’s been dying of boredom since they’d arrived in Lincoln. His family doesn’t have time for him right now – not heartbroken Melody, or Erika the bookworm, or his father with his new job, or his mother who’s trying to get the new house put together – not in the way he wishes they did.
It really is just Frank’s luck that he’d accidentally piss off the first person he’s talked to in a stinkin’ month – one who likes the same comics as him and lives right next door too. What a loss.
He lifts his head, finding that the neighbor boy hasn’t moved at all. He’s just staring at Frank, eyes wide with bewilderment, both hands clutching the BB gun strap across his chest.
Now that the hostility has fizzled out, Frank notices for the first time that his eyes are a deep marine blue. (He wonders if that’s a weird thing to like about someone you don’t even know.)
Despite himself, Frank smiles a touch.
Neighbor Boy blinks a few times, seems to realize he’s staring, and looks away sharply, lips somewhat pursed. But then, he looks back at Frank again, tentative.
Frank’s smile only grows.