✄- - - - - henlo! it’s ivy! welcome to the second part of my original story, brightside! i hope you like it! chapter two: hiding a high-pitched, hearty voice called out, “It’s open! Come on in, Mr. Miller. We’re just getting started over here.” I obviously wasn’t Mr. Miller, whoever that was, but I took a deep breath and pushed into the house. It smelled like mustiness, old books, orchids, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, a weird but intoxicating combination. The foyer was dimly lit by two lanterns sitting on a table. There were tons of boxes scattered around the floor. I tiptoed over them, opened the next door and stepped into a simple living room. Three men were sitting on the floor around a coffee table, dealing out a deck of cards and sipping from three steaming mugs of what looked like coffee. “What’s taking ya so long, old fellow? Come join us!” The voice said again. I ducked behind a potted plant and analyzed the three men. One was pale and plump, with red cheeks and a thick beard. One had tan skin and floppy black hair and was wearing an argyle sweater. And one.. Well, one was my dad. He looked exactly like the picture on our mantel at home, the one where I was wearing a long green dress and a pink bow and he was dressed up as Santa Claus. My mom was dressed like an elf. “I should cut him out of it,” I’d heard her mumble when she caught me ogling at it. However, the picture was never cut. He had curly black hair and light brown eyes, just like me, only my skin was lighter, because I’m mixed - my mom’s Latina and my dad is black. His eyes crinkled at the corners, even though he wasn’t smiling. He looked much younger than the other two men. The one with the sweater cocked his head. “Funny, I swear I heard Mr. Miller. Didn’t you, Tom?” The one with the beard - Tom, I guess - looked up. “That I did, I’m sure of it. Or perhaps it was just the wind. The chap told me yesterday he might not make it, it’s too hot for him t’walk over. But I swear I heard him come in... Oh well! I’m getting old, I suppose!” He laughed in his high-pitched voice. “Yet you don’t look a day over fifty, dad.” A younger man came out of the kitchen and put an arm around the man’s shoulders. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. “Thank you, m’boy, but there’s no need to lie to your old pop-pop. Dear me, just yesterday I- well, I looked in the mirror and said to m’self, ‘that’s a fine chap, there!’ An’ then Irma came in, dear Irma May, and she says to me, ‘Thomas Hankin, don’t flatter yourself, you look ninety-one, an’ you’re only seventy-four!’” He chortled good-naturedly. Just then, the door swung open. “All right, I’m here, I’m here. You’ve made me coffee, haven’t you?” Mr. Miller looked older than the rest of them, with a graying mustache and huge dark circles under his eyes. He came in brusquely, narrowing his eyes at the other four men before sitting down. “Dear me, Mr. Miller! Of course we made your coffee, old pal! But I thought you came in five minutes ago. Did you have to run back and get something?” “No. I didn’t. Who’s your guest?” He said, glancing at my dad. “Who d’you mean, sir? You know Danny, and Andrew, and my son Derek-“ “No, I mean the little girl by the door.” He said, raising an eyebrow and gesturing towards my hiding spot behind the plant. My heart froze. “What little girl?” Tom scratched his beard. Heaving a sigh, Mr. Miller stood up and clomped over to the plant. “I suppose we have a stowaway today, then. You need to learn to lock the door, Tom.” With a grunt, he lifted up the potted plant. The whole room seemed to gasp. “All right there, missy. Get out before I call the police. OUT!” He yelled. “No!” I yelled back, mostly out of fear. He seemed surprised for a second. “I will call the authorities if you don’t-“ “Wait! Sir, I-“ I stood up and pointed a trembling finger at the only black man at the coffee table. “That’s my dad.”
