Laila

         Somehow by the grace of God I managed to sneak back up to the vacation house and through the kitchen, up the stairs, even though Kim and Laurence's guests were all filing out to the driveway, getting ready to leave.

  All I wanted to do was go and cry somewhere where there wouldn't be a chance that anybody would see me. Especially Maggie. I doubted I could stand to see that girl right now.

  So instead I kept on walking down the second floor hallway and stopped outside a door towards the third floor staircase. Gnawing on my lip, trying to keep from bursting into tears all over again, I raised a hesitant hand and rapped on the door as quietly as I could.

 "Come in."

I let out a sigh of relief as I heard my mother's calm, quiet, and reassuring voice float through the door. A voice that had always never failed to make me see reason or to feel better in some way or another. A voice that had always never failed to make me see reason or to feel better in some way or another. I hesitantly opened the door and peeked inside, hoping that my mother was alone. Thankfully, she was.

  Mom was sitting in the comfy looking easy chair beside the small fireplace in the room, her legs tucked up underneath her, reading a book with an engrossed look on her face. 

  I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not wanting to interrupt Mom or her reading, but I only had to wait a minute or two before she looked up.

  "Mom?" I said slowly, unable to keep from crying now. "Before you say I told you so, can you please... just not say anything?"

  I half expected Mom to just go off on some rant about how I should have been more responsible or how I shouldn't have fallen so easily, but she didn't. Instead, she simply closed the book in her grasp before tossing it aside and opening her arms for me. 

  Mom was opening her arms for me just like she had when I was little and I'd gotten a scraped knee from falling off my bike. And I, like the almost-sixteen year old that I was, rushed straight into her arms with a sob, curling myself up in her lap, burying my head in her shoulder.

  "Laila, honey, what happened?" Mom asked as she rubbed my back in small, soothing circles.

I couldn't find it in myself to answer, so I just shook my head. 

  I didn't think she needed me to say it aloud to know that something had obviously happened with Justin. And I was glad that she didn't pester me with any more questions, because I doubted I could take them right now. 

   All I wanted to do was just cry my heart out and forget everything that had just happened.

Maybe there was some part in the deep recesses of my mind that knew Justin had been telling the truth and that it really hadn't been what it looked like. But I was so caught up in crying that I really couldn't form another coherent thought about that, anyways. 

  When I finally stopped crying - God only knows how long later - I felt like I was about to drop off to sleep, I was that exhausted.

  Mom hadn't said anything the entire time I'd been crying my eyes out, and I was grateful for that. The last thing I wanted was to be hounded. 

  "We'll get a flight out in the morning, yeah?" Mom said comfortingly, catching me off guard with how quiet the room was.

  I stared up at her, my eyes wide and blurry. "B-But, Mom - ?"

Mom gave me a look, her eyebrows raised. "Are you telling me you want to stay?"

  "No, but - "

"Then we'll get a flight out in the morning."

 I was beyond baffled that she would even offer to give up the rest of her vacation, because the Lord only knew those didn't happen very often. The look in her dark brown eyes were a force to be reckoned with, though.

  And as much as it pained me to admit - I really did want to go home. I'd been gone from home for more than a month, and admittedly, I missed my own bed. My best friend Lissa, too. There were a lot of things worth going home for, that was true. But then there were a lot of things worth staying with the Richards for, too. 

  "Get up, Laila," Mom said a while later, giving me an encouraging nudge forward. "Go get some sleep."

  My heart plummeted. I honestly didn't think I could stand seeing Maggie right then, and she wanted me to go back and share a room with her?

   To my intense relief, though, she gave me another nudge towards the bed in the room  as I stumbled my way to my feet. 

   "Thanks, Mom," I mumbled as I fell back against the pillows, practically asleep already.

I barely heard her quiet reply before I was drifting off to a thankfully dreamless sleep. 

   Another drizzly, rainy day was dawning on Ouray as I dragged my duffle bag down the stairs around six the next morning. I was dead exhausted and probably still half unconscious, but the shock of Mom waking me around four, saying that we were going to leave in two hours, had been enough to keep me awake. Somewhat. 

  I was more than thankful that someone had gone back into the room I'd shared with Maggie and Emma and had packed all of my things. That definitely saved me another humiliating trip that I somehow had managed to avoid. 

  I just about dropped my duffle bag on the ground in the kitchen when I caught sight of several people crowded around the counters, standing by the front door, looking expectantly towards the kitchen doorway. Kim, Laurence, Emma, Nick, Patricia, and Dimitri were all there, looking exhausted but awake at the same time. 

  The ony ones that were not there were Maggie and Justin.

Saying goodbye isn't always that hard, I silently coached myself, gnawing on my lip. You can do this, no problem.

  "What are you all doing up?" I asked the room, sort of confused.

"You're crazy if you think we'd let you leave without saying goodbye," Emma scoffed, rolling her dark eyes, looking suspiciously moody.

  I grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Emma."

She tried to glare fiercely at me, but failed half a second later. 

  "Are you sure you want to leave, Laila?" Kim asked tentatively, taking a step forward.

  "Yeah," I answered, lying through my teeth. "I'm homesick. Sorry."

   I don't think anyone in the kitchen was convinced, and I really couldn't blame them.

"But your birthday is tomorrow!" Emma suddenly burst out. "We were going to throw a party and everything!"

  I felt a twinge of guilt at that. "Sorry, Em. Maybe next year."

She hardly looked placated.

  Everyone was saved from saying anything else by the approaching footsteps of my mother carrying her own luggage down the staircase, into the kitchen.

  Mom looked just as surprised as I did at the sight of everyone crowded in the kitchen.

 "Are we saying goodbye already?" she said, eyebrows raised.

 "Unfortunately," Nick sighed dramatically, looking half asleep. 

   Saying goodbye to Nick was definitely going to suck, I realized.

"It was nice seeing you, Laila," Kim started the goodbyes, giving me a hug. "Don't wait too long before visiting again."

  "Wouldn't dream of it, Kim," I said, smiling halfheartedly.

Laurence stepped up next before giving me a tight hug and a fatherly kiss to the forehead.

  "Don't be a stranger," was his kind goodbye.

I could live with that.

  Dimitri and Patricia's goodbyes were just as meaningful and kind as Laurence and Kim's had been, if not a bit more formal. I thanked them as best I could for everything they'd done this summer for me.

  Then Emma was rushing forward with a forlorn look on her face before she threw her arms around my midriff.

  "I'll miss you, Laila," she mumbled into my shirt, sounding tearful.

I hugged her back just as tightly, trying not to start regreting my decision to leave. "I know, girl. I'll miss you, too. We'll have to call each other, like, every day." 

  "Especially since I'm starting third grade," she added, doing her best to put on a cheery expression.

 I grinned. "Definitely."

And then the last person to say goodbye - while my own mother was still deep in discussion with the other adults in the kitchen - was Nick. There was an indefinable look on his face as he slouched against the kitchen counter, hands tucked loosely into his jeans, his hair as tousled as ever. 

  "I already put my number in your cell," he said, catching me off guard. "So don't forget to text me, like, all the time."

  I rolled my eyes, unable to keep back a smile. I'd been scrolling through my phone only minutes before entering the kitchen and saw that Nick had entered in his contact information under "Super Sexy Awesome BFFL Nick". Admittedly, that had gotten a laugh out of me. 

  "It's been a fun run, Laila," Nick added, reaching out to tug me into a hug. "I'll miss seeing you around."

  So far, saying goodbye to Emma and Nick had definitely been the worst.

After letting go of Nick, I made to grab my duffle bag off the floor, but he caught my forearm and turned me back around to face him. Before I could ask what was going on, he said something in a quiet voice that made me freeze. 

  "Justin may be an asshole, but when he's telling the truth, he's being completely honest."

I stood there, staring at Nick with a bewildered expression on my face, and I was pretty sure my mouth was agape. 

  Now how in the hell was I supposed to answer to that?

"Ready to go, Laila?" Mom asked me, breaking the moment. 

  "Yeah," I said slowly, nodding.

I couldn't keep my mind off of what Nick had said while I grabbed my duffle bag and made for the front door with my mother.

  I mean, I could trust Nick, right?

There was a smaller dark looking SUV that was idling in the gravel driveway outside the vacation house, the headlights set on the dimmest setting - the car that was most likely taking us to the airport. 

  I hefted open the back and lugged both Mom and mine's luggage into the trunk before firmly slamming the door shut. Mom sat herself down in the passenger side seat, and as I was making to get into the back row, there was a loud shout of "LAILA!" from somewhere behind me. 

  My breath caught in my throat as I whipped around, hoping against hope that it was Justin that was calling after me, but instead it was Emma. 

  "Here," she gasped out, thrusting a white envelope at me. "Pictures from the other day."

I took the envelope from her, noticing my name written in sloppy handwriting on the front.  

  "I uploaded them to the computer yesterday and printed some out for you," she continued, looking pleased. "Consider it a birthday gift from me. I thought you might like them."

  I smiled in response, reaching out to hug her again before stepping back. 

"Emma?" I said hesitantly, surprising even myself. "Am I making a mistake here?" 

  Emma blinked up at me in shock for half a second before she smirked. 

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "You're not. Justin is the one making the mistake here."

 And with that, she gave me a cheery wave before skipping back up to the vacation house to where her mother was waiting on the front porch for her. 

  I sat myself down in one of the back seats, resting my head against the cool glass of the window, and was instantly asleep in a moment, my fingers curled around the white envelope clutched in my grasp. 

   There was really only one good thing that could be said about my return flight to Portland, and it was that I caught up on a lot of the sleep I'd been missing lately. But instead of feeling refreshed and relaxed, I just felt more antsy and uncomfortable than I had before. Which was definitely saying something. 

  It was a little before noon when we landed at the Portland Iternational Airport, and my stomach was grumbling out of hunger. I tried not to stand in the middle of the aisle with my arms crossed, my foot tapping impatiently, while Mom took her time grabbing her suitcase out of the overhang compartment, tossing her purse over her shoulder. After everything she'd done for me, it was the least I could do to not complain.

  "Ready?" she asked cheerily.

 I fought back a derisive snort, shrugging a shoulder. "As I'll ever be, Mom."

  We wandered our way off the plane, through the gate, and were wondering where we should stop to get some lunch from when we caught sight of a familiar kind, weathered face and gray hair.

  It was Nathaniel, the Richards' family driver.

He was holding up a piece of cardboard with "Ms. Jeanine and Laila Hayes" scrawled across it in elegant writing. I wondered if Miranda had been the one to do that.

  "Nathaniel," Mom said in surprise as he approached us. "What're you doing here?"

Nathaniel gave us a smile as he tossed the cardboard sign into a nearby trashcan. "Mrs. Richards called ahead an hour or two ago to let me know that your flight would be coming in soon, and if I would be so kind as to pick you up and safely deliver you home."

  "Oh, really, you didn't have to," Mom said, looking embarrassed. "We were just going to call a cab."

"Nonsense," Nathaniel said airily, waving a hand. "It's my job. Shall we go, then?"

  I gripped my duffle bag tighter in my grasp as we followed Nathaniel through the maze of gates and parking structures that they called the Portland International Airport. The Richards' familiar economical SUV was parked in the third level parking garage, right next to a sign that said "E". 

  I crawled my way into the backseat again after chucking my luggage in the trunk after Mom's, ready for another nap on the way back to the house. For some odd reason, I was definitely exhausted. 

  I didn't know how long I sat there in the back seat, though, the white enevelope Emma had given me sitting in my lap, debating on whether or not I should open it.

  I jolted awake from my short nap when the SUV came to a gentle halt outside the Richards' gigantic mansion of the house. Pressing my face against the window, I could see that nothing had changed about the house, even though we'd only been gone a few days at the most. It was almost as if I hadn't left at all, really.

  Nathaniel jumped out of the driver's seat to jog around the car and open the trunk, pulling out our luggage, while I climbed out of the car at my own pace. My heart was pounding erratically against my chest as I stared up at the house, and I didn't know why my feet were rooted to the ground and I couldn't move.

  Maybe because Justin wasn't here. 

Yeah, that was probably it.

  I silently berated myself on how stupid I was while I dragged myself up the gravel driveway to the front doors that were already open, Mom close behind me.

  "Don't take too long gathering your things," Mom said. "We'll only stay for a bit of a rest up and then we've got to get on the road."

  I nodded along absentmindedly. I really wasn't paying attention.

I gripped the banister tightly as I walked up the first flight of stairs, towards the Gryffindor room. Walking down the hallway, I could see that the door to the room I'd been staying in for the past month or so, the drapes pushed open, letting in watery sunlight. 

   Miranda had definitely already been here, I noted, as I stood in the doorway of the Gryffindor and looked around. The maroon and gold covers of the huge King sized bed were neatly made, the corners tucked in. All of my books that I'd brought along with me were stacked alphabetically and neatly on the night stand, instead of the jumble of a mess they'd ended up on the floor. 

  Somehow, this room didn't feel like the safe haven I'd claimed it to be when I first arrived in June. It was plainly clear to everyone else that my mom and I were looked upon as extended members of the family. But this room looked like a place where only a guest  of the Richards would stay. 

   I wandered through the room, peeking under the bed and inside the closet and then the bathroom, just to make sure that I had everything I needed. And of course, thanks to Miranda's religious devotion to cleaning, everything was immaculate. 

  After dumping my books into my duffle bag in a jumbled manner, I left the Gryffindor room, dropping the bag outside in the hallway as I shut the door behind me. The Lord only knew when I'd be visiting here again.

   A rather perculiar thought came to mind as I stood at the top of the staircase, getting ready to go grab a snack or two from the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder at the second staircase that lead up to the third floor with a curious look on my face.

  I mean... it couldn't hurt, right?

It wasn't like any of the Richards were here to see me going up to the third floor. And who knows? I'd probably never get the chance to see Justin's room again, either.

  It was definitely time to take the risk.

Before I could change my mind, I sprinted up the stairs with baited breath, stupidly looking away to make sure that no one could see me. Of course, nobody could. 

  I walked down the hallway with tentative steps, feeling like I might break something, and peeked into the first room on my right. Kim had been right in saying there was nothing up here, because the room was entirely empty. The walls were painted in a washed out white color and the carpet was just the same as everywhere else in the house. The room right next door was exaclty the same.

  Then I took a turn back around and was peering into an impeccably clean marble-tiled bathroom. There was a large hot tub off to the side beneath one window and a walk in shower right next to it. A  large sink and sparkling toilet finished off the bathroom that definitely had to have been kept up by Miranda. There was no way in hell that Justin Richards would ever be this clean.

  And then the only room left on the third floor undoubtedly had to be Justin's. The door was closed, but thankfully unlocked, as I gripped the handle before opening the door. The sight that greeted me was definitely one that I had not been expecting. 

  Of course, the room was a bit messy. The large, King-sized bed was covered in untidy black sheets that was pushed up against the wall beside the only window in the room. There was this curved sort of arch that the room made off to the side, making it look sort of like a bay window. Stray articles of clothing littered the floor in no particular manner, that was easy to tell. The walls, however, were completely bare of anything. No posters or family pictures taped up, suggesting that somebody really ever inhabited this room at all. 

  But then I caught sight of tons of pieces of paper littering the floor and realized half a second later that they were all sheets of music. Sheets of music were everywhere. Even as I tiptoed my way across the room to peek into the closet, there were booklets and packets of music sheets coating the floor there, too. Apart from clothes and a battered looking dresser in the huge closet, there were two guitars propped up in stands. One was a sleek brown color, definitely acoustic, that looked a bit aged but still in good condition. The other one was a midnight black Fender with a white streak curling straight through the guitar. 

  I turned back from the closet and made to leave the room, not wanting to start bursting into tears, but something caught my eye on the messy desk pushed up against the wall. Moving aside the old homework assignments and scraps of paper, I looked at the battered cover of the book with wide-eyes.

  It was Jane Eyre.

I left the room and shut the door behind me with a quiet snap.

 My stomach was grumbling with hunger as I dragged my bag down the stairs, back into the entrance hall. Considering I hadn't eaten anything but a small mushy muffin one of the stewardesses on the plane had given me, this wasn't really all that surprising. 

 Mom wasn't anywhere in sight, so I decided to go down to the kitchen to find something to munch on. But the sooner we got out of here, the better. 

  At this point, I was surprised I hadn't already burst into tears.

I heard the sounds of someone humming and the smells of cooking vegetables and marinara sauce as I walked down the stairs to the kitchen and went immediately rigid.

  Mom couldn't cook that  well. Miranda was only hired to keep up the house, right? So who could this have been?

  Creeping down the stairs, I peered around the corner and saw a tall man with a shock of dark hair standing at one of counters, slicing vegetables with skilled accuracy, humming under his breath as he worked. He was wearing a simple white outfit that could only be described as something a chef would wear. The most surprising thing about him was probably the streak of gray shooting up part of the front of his hair. He was handsome in an older type of gentlemanly way, and I was surprised he wasn't wearing a wedding ring on his left hand.

   I let out an unintentional squeak of surprise.

This must have been Pierre, the family's chef. 

  The man turned in surprise as I stumbled my way down the last few steps into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows. 

  "Um......" was all I managed to squeak out. 

  "You must be Laila," the man said a moment later in a lilting French accent, recognition flashing in his eyes. 

I nodded weakly, not sure of what to say. 

  "I'm Pierre," the man introduced himself politely. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you," I replied as firmly as I could. "Your cooking is delicious."

  Pierre smiled as I made my way over to one of the bar stools and sat down nervously.

"Thank you," he said. 

   I watched him continuing to cut vegetables, unsure of what I was supposed to say. It's not like there was much, was there?

  "Forgive me for asking," Pierre said a few minutes later, catching me off guard. "But why have the Richards not returned with you from the vacation house?"

  I swallowed hard, adverting my eyes, cursing the fact that color rushed to my cheeks.

"It's a long story," I finally forced myself to answer, taking a deep breath. 

  Pierre gave me a half concerned, half questioning look as he glanced up, stopping cutting his vegetables. I kept my head down, trying hard not to feel embarrassed.

  Three minutes later, Pierre was putting a steaming cup of tea down on the counter in front of me. 

Before I could open my mouth to ask what the tea was for, he said, "I find that when one is troubled, it often helps to discuss things over a cup of tea."

  I eyed Pierre cautiously as I took the cup, sipping at the tea.

  "Do you always play therapist?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

Pierre laughed, cleaning his chopping knife off on a dish towel. "To Justin and miss Emma, mostly. Cooking and talking often make the best combinations for relaxation."

Finally, after a moment of deliberation, I set the cup of tea back down and started talking. I wasn't sure what made me do it. Maybe because I was practically full to bursting with evreything that had just been going on and I'd barely said a word about it to anyone.

  I told Pierre everything that had happened from the moment I first stepped foot in the Richards' house in June - even before that, when Justin and I were little and had positively hated each other. I was a little vague in my explanation of Nick's party and the crazy fights that we'd had when I first got here. Not to mention the 4th of July party, as well, since I was positive a whole plethora of people had heard about what had happened there. Then I talked about how Ashleigh and Mitch's wedding had gone and the talk Justin and I had about our parents, and then the day we'd spent in Ouray together. 

  Even though it pretty much hurt beyond belief to mention what had happened in the kitchen between Maggie and Justin, I forced myself to spit out the words. I hadn't even brought myself to tell Lissa or Avery. But what had transpired between Justin and I on the bridge I kept silent about. That memory was one that I probably was never going to talk about.

  When I was finally finished speaking, I was going on my third cup of tea. Pierre had long since finished cutting the pile of vegetables before him and was now packing together sandwichs for Mom and I to take on the road with us. 

  "Well, you've certainly had your fair share of fun this summer, have you not?" Pierre said, just the slightest bit humouressly. 

   I snorted, rolling my eyes. "You could say that."

He smiled as he wrapped the sandwiches in ceran wrap, placing them in a brown paper bag. 

  "Do you think I did the wrong thing?" I blurted out, feeling embarrassed.

A thoughtful look crossed Pierre's face as he frowned. "Justin is many things, Laila, but I do not think he is one to lie to you of all people."

   "What do you mean, me  of all people?" I asked nervously. 

"I've spent quite a bit of time with Justin, teaching him how to cook," Pierre began in a serious voice.  "During the entire time you've been here, I don't think he has stopped talking about you. He's said on numerous occasions that he would feel very.... ungentlemanly like if he were to do anything to upset you."

  "Ungentlemanly like?" I repeated with a small giggle. 

Pierre smiled sheepishly. "I figured it would have been rude to repeat what he said in front of a young woman like yourself."

  "Fair enough."

"But to answer your question, Laila, I think..." he trailed off, deep in thought. "That what you felt that you needed to was the right thing for you. You are at a time in your life where it's normal to make mistakes, because mistakes are what make you into the person you are meant to be. Even if it does not feel like it."

  I blinked, taken aback. Well, I certainly hadn't been expecting that.

I just sat there, deep in thought, trying to come up with a response. But before I could say anything else, there was a loud call of "Laila? Are you down here?" from the stairs. Mom appeared around the corner a minute later, looking a bit worried, but stopped short when she caught sight of Pierre standing at the kitchen counter.

  I had to hide a smile behind a hand while Mom actually flushed bright red, looking surprised.

"Mom, this is Pierre," I introduced them, grinning. "Pierre, this is my mother."

   Pierre glanced over at Mom and his own grin started tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hayes."

  "Oh, no," Mom laughed nervously, a hand at her heart. "Just Ms."

Pierre's grin may or may not have widened as he turned back to fixing the lunches he'd been kind enough to make for us. 

  "Anyways, what did you need, Mom?" I spoke up, changing the subject.

I doubted anyone would take it too lightly if I just started bursting out laughing. That would probably earn me a slap upside the head, to be honest.

  "Are you ready to leave?" she asked, albeit a bit breathlessly. "Got everything packed?"

I nodded the affirmative, sort of dreadingly. 

   It was going to be hard, leaving this place, but I knew it had to be done sooner or later. I just didn't think it would happen quite under all of these circumstances.

  I slid off the bar stool and took the lunches Pierre handed over with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Pierre."

  Pierre smiled in response, his dark eyes twinkling. "Not a problem, Laila."

I had a feeling he knew that I was thanking him for more than just the lunches. At least I didn't have to say that out loud.

  Pierre had been right.

I was barely just sixteen years old. No doubt I was going to make mistakes and screw up somewhere along the line sooner or later.

  But as much as I was trying to convince myself otherwise, there was still that small amount of hope that wished everything would magically be fixed between Justin and I and I wouldn't be stupid enough to leave him again.

  Geez.

I really had it bad, didn't I?

______________________________________________________________________________

  Sorry it took so long for me to update!! I started school two weeks ago and it's been really hectic and annoying. Plus I had a bit of writer's block for this chapter, but it all worked out in the end. 

  Sooo, thoughts, reads, votes, comments, anyone? Anything?

It's greatly appreciated, please and thanks! (: