Videre

The carpet was soft, freshly vacuumed and smelling of the clean sheets on the nearby bed.

Nervous, I attempted to raise my head.

"Get down!" she hissed, tugging at my hand. "There are too many windows! The Hunters will get you!"

I rolled my eyes and settled in beside her. The afternoon sunlight washed past the crevice between her lavender walls and her bed, painting her delicate bedspread with the pale golden-white of spring.

This was not how I'd intended to spend my Saturday.

"Okay, go," my friend whispered, crawling past me, grabbing a painted stick of bamboo from beneath her mattress.

I followed her, indulging her latest fantasy. The girl was a master at playing pretend; at times I wondered if she confused her constructs for reality.

She held out a hand, demanding pause, as we neared one of her many bookshelves. The bottom rung of this one held a thesaurus, various books on espionage, and two non-fiction volumes on Lord of the Rings: one on the films, the other on weaponry.

"Shhh!" she admonished me. "I think I hear something!"

"What?" I asked, confused. I  certainly didn't hear anything.

"A tapping," she enunciated, articulating the two words with all her three years of drama camp.

"Huh?"

"They're shooting arrows at us!" Her eyes went wide with excitement and the simulation of panic. "Take cover!"

As though crouching on her floor to avoid the two walls of windows were not enough to protect us from the imaginary attack.

She leaped to her feet and pressed herself between the tall keyboard and the shelf, narrowly missing the windowpane.

I stood more slowly, feeling the pale green carpet grind against my toes. I didn't bother to avoid the window, instead leaning over the keyboard to peer into the front yard. The puff paint and the keys it decorated were a series of cool bumps under my palm, giving with clicks of protest.

The only things moving in the yard were the magnolia leaves as the wind scattered them on the lawn.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, words rolling out high and fast. "Don't be stupid!"

I ignored her, moving over to sit in the desk chair. The padding was thin, and I could feel the cardboard beneath the upholstery rub against my tailbone.

"He-ey!" came her whine of protest.

"There's nothing there, 'Lyta!" I exclaimed in exasperation, tracing my fingers through the pencil shavings that coated her desk, sending the scent of cut wood spiraling into the room.

For a moment, there was only the air-conditioner's hum to prevent silence.

The bed squeaked a little as she settled next to her pillows, pushing a stuffed animal out of the way as she set down her decorated bamboo stick.

"You're no fun," she complained.

I shrugged.

"We can't all live in fantasy."