By Ava, age 12
The forty minutes it took to drive to Meath was a very long, uncomfortable forty minutes. Day drove steadily, his grey cap pulled down over his eyes, casting a grim shadow over the top half of his face.
At first, Maeve, in as subtle of a manner as she could manage, stared at Day as he gripped the steering wheel. His eyes never strayed from the damp road stretching ahead of them. What Maeve was trying to do was analyze him, which was a hard thing, considering the fact that he had spoken about five words total in their time together, so far.
Actually, she felt slightly let down at the sheer unreadable normalcy of the guy. She was looking at someone who drove an ancient pink car with teapot decals. Maeve felt it was fair to harbor some hopes that he would be even just a little eccentric. Apparently not. So far Day just seemed like an antisocial person lacking any character whatsoever. And, as she had soon learned, there was nothing to be gained from looking at him.
After a while Maeve settled into the same tired position Tariq had taken behind her—head leaning against the window glass, eyes vacant. Outside, the scenery of Ireland slipped quietly by through a screen of soft rain.
During the rest of that drive, Maeve had had only a few thoughts, which were Ow the suitcase is hurting my legs, Are we there yet, and Bluuuh I feel so weird, all of which passed through her mind as she leaned, mostly asleep, on the plastic of the car door.
When Day finally slowed and made a turn into a little dirt road, she lifted her head, grimacing as her cheek ripped off the black plastic where it had been stuck for the past half-hour. (Ew, Maeve thought, was I asleep and drooling?)
Tariq had sat up too, and was leaning forward to try to catch a glimpse of the house they’d be staying in before they left for Co. Cork.
It was Maeve, though, who saw it first.
In a tangle of overgrown plants, hiding behind some squat apple trees that had dropped green apples all over the driveway, was a very large house covered in flaking white paint, with a huge lion’s –head door knocker hanging from the battered door.
There were two thumps as some apples on a low branch hit the car roof, and they pulled to a halt.
“Well,” Day said. “This is Caddigan house.”
Ava lives in Hadley and enjoys writing, drawing, and eating popcorn very very much.
Woven Word Young Writers Workshops © 2021 All rights reserved