Prompt: Write about a child's neighbor

As we passed by Marcus’ house, Cassie scrunched her nose up as if a foul smell had filled the air and whispered loudly to me, “Eww, I can’t stand him. And did you see what he wore to school today? It looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks! It’s so gross that you have to live next to him.”

Disagreeing with Cassie would be social suicide, but if my mom heard me talking about Marcus she would kill me. Not wanting to die either death, I kept my lips shut and nodded.

Marcus’s hair was always a bit greasy when he showed up to school and his shirts and khakis always had stains on them. My friends called him Pig Pen.

One time, we dropped food off at Marcus’ house—mom’s hashbrown casserole. I was annoyed she'd made it for Marcus’ family and not for ours when she knew it was my favorite dinner. But his mom had just died so I was scolded when I tried to complain.

Marcus’ dad opened the door while Marcus peeked around the door, saw me and then looked to the ground. His dad offered for us to come inside as he took the casserole. 

When we got to Marcus’ house, it was a mess. And not the kinda mess like when Mom says “this place is a mess” and I just have a few shirts on the ground. But this was a kind of mess I’d never seen before. There were pizza boxes by the sink, piles of clothes everywhere, paper plates stacked in a pile on the floor with cat food slopped on top. And it smelled horrible. I pinched my nose with my fingers and Mom yanked my hand downward so hard, I let out an “ow.” She shot me her “don’t you dare” look.

Marcus’ dad brought us sweet tea. I drank mine quickly because I wanted to leave. My mom asked Marcus’ dad lots of questions and then she said “I’m so sorry for your loss, Darius” and we finally left.

We went out to dinner that night and during the drive mom told dad about how we went to see them. They were whispering and had the radio turned up, but I was very good at hearing things I wasn’t supposed to hear. I heard her say “overdose” “hoarding” and other things, but I didn’t quite understand the conversation.  
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When we got home, that’s when Mom told me I had to be really nice to Marcus even though the other kids were mean. I don’t like having to be the nice one when it makes me stick out, but every time people talked about him, I thought back about how sad he looked sitting there that day, looking down and kicking his feet as the ice melted in his untouched sweet tea.