His mother's voice brought him out of his daydream.
"I'll be there in a minute," he yelled back while zipping up the stairs.
As he washed his hands, he glanced into the mirror. His root beer brown hair was standing up like Frankenstein's monster. Being wavy, it frizzed when he got sweaty. He tried to smooth it down with the brush so his mother wouldn't be upset and tell him he looked like a mad Chopin. It did no good. As usual, his hair had a mind of its own. The small birthmark under his left eye glared at him; he hated it. But the doctor had said, short of surgery, there wasn't much that could be done about it. It grew lighter in the winter, but the summer sun turned it an intense brown. There were days when the kids ribbed him about it.
"Pierce, dinner's on the table, and it's getting cold!" Amazing how fast a mother's voice could become shrill. But at least that voice sounded familiar, judged Pierson on his way downstairs. He decided to keep his eyes open for any other differences in his parents. Their being aliens was the only logical explanation for their weird decision.
"You decided to join us after all," commented his father as Pierson settled in his chair.
"Sorry, I guess I was daydreaming," he said. "Mmm, the meatloaf looks great." Pierson looked down at his plate and tried to act casual while he waited for his mother's response.
"It looks great? You hate meatloaf," she replied.
"I do?"
"Until tonight you gave a good impression of hating it. Are you feeling okay?" She put her hand to his forehead.
"Ma!" He grinned and tossed her hand aside.
“Well, you're acting strangely. What else am I supposed to think? That aliens took over your body? Your hair certainly looks as if you've had an extraterrestrial experience. It's standing straight up like it's electrified."
"I'm acting strangely? How about your off-the-wall decision to spend the summer in exile?" This might be the last chance to persuade his parents to abandon the idea. He opened wide his strikingly black eyes and put on his puppy-dog face, the look he knew melted his mother's heart. Crossing his fingers under the table, he took a deep breath. "Dad, you love playing tennis, and your partners are here in town. You can't play by yourself in some cow field. What about night life? Who knows if this place even has a movie theater? And, Ma, you like to go riding with your friends. The only horse out there could be a fat old plug that's been plowing fields for the last thirty years! And–uh–without your exercise tapes, instead of being a shadow of your former self, you'll cast a shadow large enough to hide huge buildings–"
His mother and father burst into laughter, and Pierson knew it was a lost cause. Scratch the alien theory.
"A shadow able to hide huge buildings?" his mother asked between her peals of laughter.
Pierson smiled in spite of himself. "You're not buying it, huh?" He frowned. "I don't see how this vacation will be any fun. There'll be nothing to do."
"Hey, buddy, do you think you can't make it out there in the wild woods?" His father poked him in the ribs. "Do you think the only fun to be had is in those computer games of yours? Besides, your mother and I have been putting in long hours, and we wanted to spend this time with you. Think positive! There'll be lots to do. We'll swim in the lake–"
"And I'll positively freeze," shot Pierson.
His mother sat. "Come on, P. This family has been pressured by meetings and deadlines for too long. We pass in the halls like ships in the night."
"But I love deadlines. I thrive under pressure. I live for stress."
"Be brave and try the pioneer life. We'll go hiking in the forest and chop wood for the fireplace."
"I'll be eaten alive by mosquitoes."
"It'll be great trying to cook on a real cast iron stove or in the big fireplace." His mother sounded excited. "I plan to use this summer experience for a Colonial America lesson in the fall."
"I take back what I said about the shadow. We're all going to lose a lot of weight," said Pierson, rolling his eyes.
"Pierce, exactly why do you think–" His mother's voice was drowned by the dog's barking. The door buzzer sounded again.
"A classic saved-by-the-bell moment," muttered Pierson as his father left to answer the door. He shifted his meatloaf from side to side on the plate because he decided the messier it looked, the harder it might be to tell how little was eaten. His hand slowly slipped a piece to the grateful mutt, Kiwi, sitting patiently under the table.
"Hi, Maggie," he heard his dad say. "This is an unexpected surprise."
Unsteadily, Aunt Maggie burst into the room. She was shorter than his mother and chubbier. Her straight blonde hair was untidy as though she forgot to brush it. When his mother ran to her, Pierson could see that his aunt's eyes were red and swollen.
"Maggie, what's the matter?" Mom put her arm around her sister's shoulders and led her to a chair.
"It's Will," Aunt Maggie said, clasping her hands in her lap. Her voice wavered, and her eyes welled with tears.
"What happened? Is he okay?" Dad leaned his hands on the table with a concerned look clouding his face.
"He's all right, but..."
"Is he in trouble again?" asked Dad quietly.
"Not real trouble exactly, but..."
Dad took Aunt Maggie's petite hands in his giant ones. His penetrating black eyes seemed to help her gain control. Gently he said, "Calm down and tell me everything, Maggie. I'll do what I can to help."
"Oh, Dawson, I'm at my wits end with Will! I can't do anything right with him these days. You know, since his father left, he seems to be angry at the world. I can't talk to him or reason with him. He takes it out on me that Jake left us. His grades were never A's like Pierson's, but now he's almost failing. When I try to talk with him he tells me, 'Get off my case.' When I tell him I love him, he screams, 'Yeah, just like Dad did.' He's never been an easy kid, but–"
“What's happened now?" interrupted Dad.
Right on, Dad, thought Pierson. He knew how Aunt Maggie could go on and on with her moaning and groaning about poor Will, Pierson's cousin and least favorite topic. He'd been a problem since Pierson could remember. He was always getting into one scrape or another, but since his parents' divorce, things had rapidly gone downhill. Pierson was three years younger than Will, but he found him to be a big, boring, dumb ox and he avoided him whenever possible. He didn't know how Will felt about him. Will never sought him out at the infrequent family gatherings, which suited Pierson fine.
Aunt Maggie continued. "I guess it started out innocently but got out of hand. You see, there was this small party that Will wasn't invited to—I don't know. I guess he got angry. He started banging on the door. Something must have set him off because he put his fist through one of their windows. I had to take him to the emergency room for stitches."
"Where is Will now?" asked Dad.
"I'm not sure. He could be anywhere. When we left the hospital, he wouldn't get into the car; he said he wanted to walk. I didn't know what else to do so I came here. I'm sorry. I just didn't know what else to do." Aunt Maggie was crying again, and she reached for a tissue.
