Chapter Two:

(Note: the word BREAK might appear every now and then in the text to signal when a POV is changing or the story picks up after a certain amount of time. I usually just have a few line spaces in between but it isn't showing up when I download the story. If anyone knows how to rectify that problem, please let me know, if not, just bear with the generic replacement--and I would put a smiley face here but that won't show up either)

What was wrong with where they had lived before? This question had bugged Claire ever since December, when her mom and dad had announced their plans to move the coming summer. At first, she had not understood what the idea of moving entailed. It was not until she heard the conversations about a new home, new schools and new jobs that she began to worry.

Would this new house have enough room for all her things? Or would she have to leave behind her prized collection of stuffed animals and Bug-bug, her precious blankie? And did this new school have kids like her best friend, Genevieve? Would she be able to make new friends at all?

Claire's little six-year-old heart fretted over the issue for months and she peppered everyone about her with questions.

"Daddy, will we have room for Teddy Rucksbin?"

"Of course, sweetie. The place will have room for all your things, I promise. Nothing will be left behind. Especially not you." Mr. Redfield winked and pinched his daughter's cheek. Something she hated but pretended not to mind too much.

On an excursion to the grocery store, she asked her mom, "Mommy, I don't want to leave here. I'll miss my friends too much." Her eyes filled with tears as she continued. "What if I don't make friends—do we really have to go?"

Mrs. Redfield sighed sadly as she set a carton of eggs into the cart. "I know you're scared, honey, but you don't have to be. You are my sweet, special girl—you are not going to have any problems making new friends—or keeping your old ones. You and Genevieve, Sophia, and Jannelle can write letters to each other, right?"

"Maybe." She said doubtfully. "But not Sophia—she's a little mean. I never really liked her."

Her mother laughed, "Everyone has that very same problem no matter where they go. At least now you'll have a fresh start."

As the move drew closer, Claire started to turn to her brother for any type of consolation.

"Chris?"

"What?" he asked, his head jerking in her direction but his eyes on the television screen, where Mario was running after a mushroom.

"Daddy says we'll be driving to the new house. What happens if we get lost?"

"That's what maps are for."

"I know that, but what if?" insisted Claire.

Chris heaved an exasperated sigh. "Well, then, I guess mom and dad will just have to sell you for directions, won't they?"

Claire glared at him for a few moments, her lower lip puffing out, her eyes full of rage.

"I'm telling." She proclaimed.

"Go ahead, you big baby."

"MOM! DAD!" she cried, bolting out of the room.

Chris leapt up from the floor, "No! Hey! I was just kidding!" he chased his little sister through the house. "I was only kidding! Come back here, you dumb baby!"

"Shut-up, Chris, you fatso!"

Chris paused at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath, his baby fat filled cheeks huffing and puffing, vaguely resembling two cherry tomatoes. "Oh yeah? Well, I may be fat—but you're ugly—and I can diet!"

"No you can't." Claire taunted gleefully from the top of the stairs. "You can't even share a pizza."

That seemed to ignite the Redfield rage and Chris charged up the stairs like a furious bull. All the noise they created caught their parents' attention—and their wrath. The two were confined to the two most dreaded rooms in the house which offered nothing to a child's imagination—Chris, in the dreary study and Claire in the chair by the corner in the kitchen, facing the wall. She frowned and stared dejectedly at the wall in the same manner as she did now, gazing miserably out the car window.

They had been driving down the enormous highway for the past three days. Once the scenery had changed from their neighborhood and the familiar towns surrounding it to the bare, open fields of crops and cows, Claire had given up all hope for any chance of them turning back. They were on their way to their new life but she could not muster up the same enthusiasm the rest of her family possessed.

"One hundred bottles of beer on the wall—one hundred bott—" Chris began in a note that betrayed his tone deaf ear.

"Christopher." His father said in his 'warning' voice. That road song had been prohibited at the dawn of that day's ride. Reason being that it had sparked a debate between the Redfield siblings that had not been one bit diplomatic and had gone something like this:

"Why does it have to be beer, Chris?" Claire had inquired. "You don't drink beer."

"I know that, Claire." He explained. "but that's just the way the song goes."

"Don't you have any imagination? Can't you change it? Why can't it be chocolate milk? Or cream soda? I love those." She mused.

Chris scoffed. "It can't be those because I hate those." He retorted. "Cream soda is gross and don't even get me started on chocolate milk."

"You're only saying that because you're allergic to milk." Claire declared.

"Yeah, and I'm glad. Who wants to drink all the pus and blood inside milk anyway?" fired back Chris.

"WHAT?" Claire screeched, her world coming to a stand still.

A nonchalant expression played on Chris's face. "Oh, you didn't know? There's a certain percentage of pus and blood in milk that is FDA approved."

Claire didn't know what the FDA was but she did know that the seatbelt around her shoulder had slipped up to her neck and was pressing against a big lump in her throat.

Feeling a little green, Claire spat out, "You're a liar!"

"No, I'm not. We learned it in school." He defended.

"Like you ever pay attention. You must have heard wrong!" insisted Claire. "Daddy, mommy, is that true?"

"—and you know those yummy strawberries you like to eat?" jeered Chris. "Covered with pesticides."

A very wet raspberry was Claire's rebuttal. "They are not! ...What are pestimites?"

"Pesticides are chemicals you spray on plants to kill any bugs."

Claire looked thoughtful. "Well, that's not so bad."

"True." Chris said, sounding as if she made a good point. "And if they kill bugs—think of what they do to you?"

The thought hit Claire like a ton of bricks and stunned her into silence.

"Did you ever think that maybe those chemicals in strawberries would turn you into some kind of mutant?" Chris asked devilishly. Then his eyes widened and he dropped his jaw so far Claire could see his tonsils. Whatever those were.

"Oh no…" he whispered gravely. "Claire…It's happening."

Claire whipped her head around, looking out the window in time to see a cow take a bite of grass.

"What? What's happening?"

"You! You've sprouted a horn in the middle of your face!"

"I've WHAT!"

"Oh, God, it's huge! Aaaaaah! And your hair is turning into a bunch of wriggly snakes!"

"No it's not!" Claire said, scowling. "Mommy!"

Sounding as if they were clutching to the end of their rope, Mrs. Redfield said, "Christopher Jay, cut it out right this minute."

"But mom, dad, she really is turning into a monster." He pulled a mirror from under the seat and handed it to Claire. "Look!"

Claire let out an ear-piercing shriek and swatted the mirror away, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Come on, Claire, look! You're turning into a monster! Like a zombie or something!"

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no!" she cried, kicking her feet feverishly. Even though her eyes were tightly shut, she had her hands over them and was passionately shaking her head.

"NO! I don't want to be a monster!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have eaten poisoned strawberries and drank pus-blood cow juice!"

"ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Mr. Redfield's deep voice filled the car, silencing his children completely.

"Claire Elizabeth Redfield, stop that screaming. Chris is only trying to tease you." His threat turned to Chris this time. "And Christopher, you know your sister is sensitive—do you have to torment her this way?"

"She's such a baby." Chris dared to protest.

"She's six years old. And she's your little sister. You should be looking out for her, not making trouble. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, it's only a couple more hours before we reach our new house. No more trouble until then, do you hear me?"

A vague agreement was mumbled between the adversaries and a truce was understood wordlessly as they looked out their respective windows. For almost fifteen minutes (a world record in road trip history) they rode in complete silence and then Chris had tried to start the road trip sing-a-long again. It was then that their parents made an executive decision to stop for lunch at a burger joint at the next exit.

BREAK

Surprisingly, the rest of the trip was completed without anymore major squabbles. They arrived at Meadowbrooke in the late afternoon, before the sunset in their new town. Claire grunted as she pulled her back pack out from the car, letting it plop on the grass. She stretched her legs out and dusted off her jeans and blouse. As Chris and her parents unloaded the suitcases from the trunk, Claire took a look around the neighborhood.

Before her was a two-story house with steps that led up to a wide porch. The porch had a swing that was swaying back and forth in the breeze. The lawn was a little bigger than the one they had before and there was a large tree residing on the left side of the house. Two sets of windows on the second floor made Claire wonder which bedroom would be hers. As she pondered this, her eyes fell on the house next door. This one was also a two story, white with blue trim and several pairs of shoes and assorted sports gear strewn about the porch.

Despite the homey, lived-in appearance, it didn't seem as if anyone were home at the moment.

"Come on, Claire, sweetie, why don't you carry these bags over there, they're about your size." Mrs. Redfield said, setting down a few bags on the ground.

Making no verbal response, Claire picked up the bag, hoisted her pack onto her opposite shoulder and trudged up the porch steps to where her father was unlocking the door.

"Here we are," he announced grandly, swinging the door open. "Home sweet home!"

Claire glanced at him through lowered brows and rolled her eyes, stepping inside the house. A staircase greeted her a few feet in and to either side of it were big, bare rooms with white walls and deep brown wooden floors.

Unimpressed, Claire set the bags down in the room to the right and went back outside. Just as she was heading down the steps, a van pulled into the driveway of the house next door. Their new neighbors were home.

Claire watched as the van pulled to a stop and the man driving got out of the car and waved at her parents. "Howdy neighbors! Welcome!"
"Hello." Mr. Redfield replied, walking toward the man and extending his hand.

"When did you get in?"

"Just now." Mr. Redfield said, which sparked a conversation that sounded very grown up and therefore very boring.

"Move." Chris said, pushing past Claire, carrying two suitcases up the steps. Claire took a step to the side of the walkway and looked at the van, where a second person was exiting, wearing a baseball cap and tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it again. The boy and Claire made a eye contact for a brief moment, long enough for Claire to see (even from a distance) that his eyes were a piercing, dark blue.

The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment and started in for the house.

"Hey, Scotty! Beam yourself over here for a second and come meet the Redfield clan!"

Freezing in his place, the boy turned solidly and headed in the direction the man instructed. Claire noticed that he took off his hat before shaking her father's hand.

"Hello, there." Mr. Redfield said.

"Hello, sir." He said.

"Well, you're just a regular carrot-top, aren't ya?" her dad asked and Claire groaned, embarrassed. She had noticed that the boy—Scotty, was it?—did have red hair but she'd hardly call him a carrot top. His fine, straight hair had different blends of colours: red with gold, orange, and auburn. When he moved it seemed more like fire than carrots.

Claire picked up a bag from the car and was about to retreat into the house when her own father called her over to join the meeting. As she made her way over, she was joined by her mother at her side.

"Aren't you a lucky man—traveling with two beautiful ladies." The other man joked.

"That I am." Her dad said. "This is my wife, Cynthia and my daughter, Claire."

"Hello, ladies, pleasure to meet you." The man gave his son a nudge. "Well, looks like you got yourself a girlfriend, doesn't it?"

Claire flushed furiously and attached herself to her mother's leg. The boy seemed equally humiliated. The adults shared an, 'oh-aren't-they-cute?' laugh and Scotty's father encouraged him to help Claire with the bags she was carrying.

"Oh, don't trouble yourselves with that." Mr. Redfield said.

"Now, Charles, don't worry, just being hospitable. We're just glad to see that you all made it here safely. Hey Teresa!" the man called at the house that Claire had thought was empty. A few moments later, a pretty lady with light brown hair appeared at the door. "Come and meet the Redfield's! Bring some cookies out!"

"Of course," Teresa said jovially from the porch. "Your children must be exhausted from the drive."

"What children?" the man asked, sounding puzzled. "They're for me!"

A round of laughter and the conversation continued and so Scotty ended up helping Claire with the bags. Between the two of them and Chris the suitcases were all inside the house before the adults had time to get through all their most clever jokes and witticisms.

Claire sat on the porch swing, her legs tucked under her and watched as Scotty returned with a tray of cookies and a few glasses of milk.

"My mom wanted you to have these." He said, setting it down beside her.

"Gee, thanks." Chris said, grabbing a cookie. "Claire loves milk."

Holding back a gag, Claire smiled.

"They're really good. My mom made them herself." Scotty said. His eyes locked with Claire's again and he quickly looked down at the tray. Picking up a cookie shaped like a star, he handed it to Claire.

"Oh, thanks…Scotty."

"Oh, it's Leon." He said with a laugh. "You know, like a lion? But my parents call me Scotty because…oh, a lot of reasons."

Claire smiled again. "Why do they call you Scotty if your name is Leon?"

Leon shrugged and bit into a cookie that looked like bell. "Well, my dad loves Star Trek, you know how they say, 'Beam me up, Scotty?'"

Claire shook her head but Chris nodded enthusiastically.

"My mom loves Scottish Terriers." He added.

"I'm allergic to dogs." Chris said lamely.

"And," Leon added, as if the next reason were his proudest. "My full name is Leon Scott Kennedy."

"I'm Claire Redfield." Claire said.

"And I'm Chris." Chris replied, helping himself to a second cookie.

Leon offered a glass of milk to her. "The star ones are peanut butter. You sure you don't want some?"

Claire shook her head, even though her mouth was getting a little dry.

"So, Leon," Chris said, looking a little bored. "What is there to do around here? I mean, you're cool and everything but are there any older kids around?"

Leon looked thoughtful. "Well, there's Jill Valentine—she lives just down the street. And Rebecca Chambers just around the block."

"Great, more girls." Chris said disdainfully. "Don't you hang out with any boys?"

"Of course." Leon replied, not sounding put out by Chris's tone. "My cousins all live within a couple of blocks around here and we go around and play baseball, football, we go fishing, and other stuff."

Chris looked unimpressed and Leon cocked his head to Claire who shook her own.

"Don't mind my brother. He just thinks he's the King of Cool since he turned twelve this year."

Leon smiled. "How old are you?"

"Six." She replied.

"I'm eight." He said, trying to hide the pride most eight year olds feel after finding out they are older than someone. Then he added, "But don't worry. You'll get there."

Claire frowned. "I'd rather not grow up at all if it means you have to move all the time." She set down her half-eaten cookie, which Chris promptly picked up and popped into his mouth, and ran off. Since the area was unfamiliar to her, the only place she could run to was the back yard where she sat in the middle of the yard.

BREAK

Leon looked worriedly at the new kid, Chris, who was polishing off his sister's half-eaten cookie.

"Shouldn't we go after her?" Leon asked.

Chris shrugged. "What for? She's just being a baby."

"She sounded sad." Insisted Leon.

"She'll be fine." Chris assured. "She's just a little upset that I told her that milk has blood and pus in it."

"WHAT?" Leon asked, looking down at his glass of milk that he had been gulping ever since they had started talking.

"It's only a little." Chris said.

"Blood and pus?" Leon repeated.

"Look it up, my friend."

Setting the glass down, Leon hopped down the steps, cast a glance at his parents and the new neighbors and followed in the direction the girl had gone. He found her sitting in a huff in the back yard. He paused a few feet behind her. He did not have much experience with girls but he knew that they were a little confusing. Sometimes they were happy, sometimes they were mad, sometimes they would talk to you for hours, and sometimes, when their other girl friends said something, they wouldn't talk to you for days because you had something called cooties.

"Hey, um, I'm sorry if I made you upset." Leon said, knowing that straight-up apologies usually worked. At least with his mother and father.

"It isn't you." Claire replied, her voice shaky.

Taking that as a good sign, Leon inched toward her. "Is it about the milk? The cookies? Your brother?"

"No! it's not about any of that. I just want to go home."

Leon looked from her to the house behind them. "Well, just because all the grown ups are talking outside doesn't mean you can't go inside your house."

Claire whirled around. "No! Not this house! My home. I want to go back home!" her eyes filled with tears. "I want my old house, my old friends, and…everything."

"Where did you come from?" Leon asked.

Claire sighed. "Three days in that direction." She said, tossing her hand to the left.

"Okay, but from Earth, right?" he joked and was relieved a second later when Claire laughed.

He took a big step and sat down next to her.

"I've never moved before." Leon told her. "It must be hard. You're really brave."

"It doesn't matter if I was brave or not. I didn't even have a choice. Nobody asked me what I wanted." Claire said angrily. "They just said, Claire pack up, Claire do this, Claire do that. Nobody even cared that I wanted to stay. That I had friends."

"I'm glad you moved here." Leon said.

That stopped Claire for a moment. "You are?"

"Yeah." He said sincerely. "When my parents told me that the O' Grady's were moving I was really glad—they were creepy you know. They had this big mean mountain lion thing and I think they tortured local animals for fun—"

"Um, you were saying?" Claire said.

"Oh, right, sorry…" Leon continued. "I was glad because they said the new family might have kids—and after seeing what your brother's like, I'm glad he's not the only one."

Claire blinked.

Leon added, "I'm not a poet, okay? I'm only eight." He smiled. "But I am glad you moved here."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his baseball. "You play?"

Claire shook her head. "No. Boys never wanted me to play with them back home."

Leon grinned. "Well, I guess that's their loss, huh? I'll teach you some time?"

Claire smiled. "Sure."

Leon stood up and dusted his pants off and held out his hand to her. Looking up at him, Claire put her hand in his and followed him back to the front of the yard.