Battle

Erinn seems very much alone. I can’t imagine how that feels at eleven-years-old. Even for a girl socially withdrawn, not having any friends must tear her up inside. I’ve spent enough time with her to know there’s a part of her that craves acceptance among her peers, as even typical girls do.

“They’re mean girls,” she says, wiping her cheeks.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

“Becky called me retarded, again. She wouldn’t stop laughin’ at me, and then her friends started laughin’.”

As Erinn purses her lips again, I can’t help but think how I’d like to have five minutes with this Becky person. “And what did you do?”

Her dimples dig deep as her cheeks color. “I threw my puddin’ at her.”

I try not to laugh, but it slips out. “You know you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes.”

A lecture on behavior isn’t what she needs right now, especially from me. For some reason, Erinn feels comfortable with me, trusts me—sees me as a friend, and I won’t trample her feelings. Battle’s reasons for wanting her to change schools are becoming clearer to me. His mother may be unwilling to move her, but she won’t be alone. I’ll be her friend.

Adolescence is hard enough without being forced into an environment where you don’t feel like you have a place with people who don’t want to accept you. When I think about it, Erinn isn’t different—she’s Erinn; an eleven year old girl trying to figure out where she fits. Isn’t that typical?

“You wanna go home and eat fruit snacks?” I ask.

She giggles and nods.

When we arrive at Battle’s, she bolts from the car for the front door. I laugh, following her into the kitchen where she heads straight for the pantry. After we share a bag of snacks, Erinn wants to go riding and stomps away when I tell her I don’t think it’s a good idea without Henry here. I choose not to go after her for fear of potentially escalating things into an argument that I may or may not be able to handle.

Moments later, I hear classical piano coming from a room I’ve never been in. I assume Erinn is listening to music, but as I open the door, I realize, Erinn is playing the piano. Her eyes are closed as her fingers move swiftly over the keys. I stand there, listening in amazement. She catches me and jumps, putting an end to the song.

“That was beautiful,” I tell her. “Who taught you to play?”

“I did,” she hums, lifting her shoulders.

“Impressive,” I say, a little in shock. “How?”

“It’s easy.” She giggles, and hums again. My hope she’ll play something else diminishes when she stands. “Can I watch a movie?”

When I give my permission, she skips out of the room. I smile, staring at the piano and shaking my head. At ten, and two years of lessons, I struggled to get through Mary Had a Little Lamb. Yeah, real easy.

Battle comes through the door a few minutes past five. He smiles before kissing me on the cheek. “Where’s Erinn?”

“She’s watchin’ Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for the second time. I think she has a love-hate relationship with that movie.”

“Ah.” He grins “She ran around the house tryin’ to escape the child catcher, right?”

“A few times,” I laugh. “And I might have joined her.”

His hands cup my waist. “Because you’re amazing like that.”

“I am kinda amazing,” I tease, leaning back to look at his smiling eyes. “Oh, and she played piano, which by the way, was incredible. She said she taught herself.” I say inquisitively, to check if Erinn was messing with me.

“She plays by ear.” He smiles, the pride he feels for his sister, gleaming in his eyes. “It’s a gift.”

“She’s a gift, and I’m kinda fallin’ in love with her.”

“She’s pretty easy to love.” He lets go of me. “I have to take her home, but I missed you, and I’d like you to stay here with me tonight.”

We’ve spent plenty of nights together, but I didn’t bring a change of clothes. “Can I sleep in one of your t-shirts?”

His nose squishes up. “If you insist.”