"SO, WHY DID YOU MOVE?" Mom asked.

"We were always thinking of moving, it's just that we've been hesitating a lot," Mrs. Grant replied. "Vancouver just wasn't right for us. We love it but it's a very expensive city, if you asked me. There was always too much pressure and the kids were getting tired of it. So since Andre's attending Seattle University, we figured we should move here as well. It was all the kids talked about!"

I wasn't really surprised that Mom invited Mrs. Grant to our house just a few days after they moved in. It was her speciality to be the "social mom" and always welcoming new people in the neighbourhood. I, on the other hand, preferred the seclusion of my room. And Mom never had a problem with that.

However, with this one, it's clear that she's just trying to make me eavesdrop in their conversation. The kitchen and the living room wasn't really far from each other, so I grabbed the remote and increased the volume of the TV.

"Seattle is a great city," Mom remarked, quite loudly than before. "The locals are nice here. There's a lot of diversity. There's green spaces everywhere, and it's also America's Best Coffee City! Did you know this was where the first Starbucks was made?"

"Oh my, I didn't know that!"

I rolled my eyes.

"So how's your family doing?" Mom finally brought up.

Oh my God. The dreaded question.

I start to stand up slowly and quietly, like those ninjas I see in the movies.

"They're pretty good!" Mrs. Grant answered cheerfully. "Actually, I can call them here right now. They're still waiting for the guys to clean the place up, and it's going to take a while."

"That'd be delightful!"

Shit. That's five more steps to the staircase. At least, when I make it, Mom wouldn't be cruel enough to force me to go down again. She'll just make an excuse to Mrs. Grant that I have a stomach ache or something.

Four steps, three steps, two —

"Emily, where are you going?" 

Mom and Mrs. Grant had stepped out of the kitchen and were looking at me weirdly. Guess I wasn't being too stealthy enough.

"I have homework," I said lamely.

"You haven't started school yet."

We both knew I had lost. "Mom."

"Emily."

"Don't Emily me," I groaned.

"Don't Mom me," she mimicked.

But I still had no time to retaliate. Because the next second, the front door burst open, and everything went into chaos.

"WHAT IS UP?" One boy hollered.

"Zip it, nimrod," a girl snapped. The one I heard earlier.

"Can I just stay outside?" A younger boy whined.

Mrs. Grant held up her hands. "Be quiet, children!" Then she clapped her hands and gestured to us. "I'd like to introduce you to the Woods."

"Isn't the woods suppose to be a place full of forests and animals?"

"Seriously? In the morning?" 

"Don't ruin the mood, Raphael."

I really couldn't figure out who was talking over who.

"IF YOU CALL ME THAT ONE MORE — "

"BOYS!" Mrs. Grant thundered. Now her face was filled with fury and you just knew that you did not want to mess with a woman like that. Both boys squirmed behind their brothers and sister.

She smiled sweetly. "That's better. Anyway, this is Maria Woods, the owner of this house. And this is her daughter, Emma Woods."

"It's Emily."

The five extra pairs of eyes suddenly turned to me, and I felt like I wanted to hide inside a hole. I didn't know what to say or do, so I just did a little awkward wave. What else could you do when five strangers stared at you?

This is what I learned about the Grants:

Andrew and Elizabeth Grant — proud parents of six kids. You heard that right. Six. The dad was pretty busy and uptight, but the mom was the real boss in the house. 

Andre Grant — eldest child. He's twenty-one years old and, as you know, was currently attending Seattle University. He didn't live with them, which was why I didn't see him with them right now.

Jessamine and Jacob Grant — twenty-year-old twins. They may look identical, but their personalities weren't. Jessamine was determined to go to college. Jake wanted to get a job. No luck on both, but the latter wasn't as passionate as much as the former.

Raphael Grant — also twenty. He's a little bit different than the twins; then again, he's a little bit different than everybody. He's African American. Yeah, that's right. The A-word. I guess Mr. and Mrs. Grant thought three kids weren't enough for them.

Thomas Grant — youngest. He's only fourteen, and he was the person Mom thought was a girl. I admit, that's an easy mistake. His hair was long and put into a pre-Justin Bieber kind of style. I didn't know why he refused to cut it, but it wasn't like I was going to ask. He doesn't look very welcoming in conversations.

Then there was Oliver Grant. Seventeen; the same age as me. The one that pretty much peeked into my room. Well, not before I peeked into his first. But that's besides the point.

I tried not to look at him or make eye contact as we sat across from one another. Every few minutes, I could feel his eyes abruptly directing to me, like he was waiting for me to say something. I stayed quiet the whole time, and even after they left, I could still somehow feel his eyes on me. 

Did I mention that he was the only one who inherited his father's green eyes? 

"So, what do you think?" Mom perked after the Grants left.

"I think," I said deadpanned, walking backwards, "I'm heading to my room."

________

Taking out trash bags should be a crime.

I was 99% sure my body smelled of a mixture between cat poop, dried cheese and raw fish. I was already close to gagging when a sudden noise filled through the peaceful, morning air.

"GOOD MORNING, MAYFAIR!"

Oh, snap.

There they all were, packed up in a car, heading towards me — or, well, towards their house. The boy who shouted was none other than Jake. He had his head out the window, the wind ruffling his brown hair. Kind of reminded me of a dog.

Hurry, hurry, hurry! I quickly walked back to the house, hoping they would miss the chance to talk to me. I was already running up the stairs of the porch, but just as I was about to reach the doorknob, one of them screamed, "Woods! Wait!"

So close.

I turned around, putting on another one of my fake smiles. "Hmm?"

"You have a second?" Oliver asked, jogging to me after getting out of the car. From the corner of my eye, I could see the other Grants walking to the house, casting us subtle looks. Oh, great.

"Sure. . ."

He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the railing. "How are you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Jeez, you're feisty," he smirked, and I rolled my eyes. "Rude, too."

I crossed my arms. "I'm guessing your mother has something to do with this?"

"What makes you say that?"

As if on cue, both of us look to the side and meet Mrs. Grant's bright, teeth-showing smile. We look back at each other and I raised my eyebrows.

He cringed. "Okay, fine. It's a set up. But just relax, Woods. No need to be feeling tensed and all."

"I'm not tense," I defended with a frown.

He gave me a tsk tsk sound. "Lying to yourself is not a good habit. Why are you tensed, Woods? Is it because of me?" He smiled smugly and came closer.

I held my hands in front of me. "Whoa, whoa. Personal space."

He immediately stopped coming closer. "Anyway, back to the point. My dearest mother wants to invite you guys to dinner."

"Dinner?!"

"Yes, Woods, dinner. You know, when you gather and eat food together and — "

"No."

Oliver let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand down his face. "Does our family look like cannibals to you or what?"

I gaped. "Of course not!"

"Then come! It's not a hard thing to do!"

Easy for you to say.

Trust me, it was nothing personal. First, I was honest when I said I wasn't good with neighbours.

Second, I have the Thing. I didn't always used it as an excuse, but it was getting worse now. Five months was enough time for the Thing to start doing whatever the Thing does. So far, it was nothing drastic, but I didn't want to risk it. And the symptoms — like the spasms and twitches — were getting more frequent by the day.

"I have my reasons, Oliver." I realized that was the first time I've said his name.

He scowled. "It's only one stupid dinner."

"No."

Oliver gave up. "Suit yourself."

"I will," I said, deadpanned, before opening the door and closing it shut.

I released a tense breath, realising how utterly stupid this whole situation was. Wasn't I clear enough during my first impression that I didn't want to have anything to do with them? Maybe they got the wrong idea. They had to.

Either way, I shook my head. Why would I even go?

Love the Emily/Oliver banter. First of many.

And here's a first real glimpse of Oliver Grant. I swear he's not the cliche bad boy. At least I hope he isn't.