The Other Orphan

Chapter XIII

The children had always loved to ride the trolley. Their parents would never understand this, but were doting enough to indulge in the activity as often as possible; shuttling the children to the cars to ride the tracks on the weekends, making excuses to go into town and hold the children tight as they watched the world pass by outside, the blurring greens and grays of the landscape.

As the children grew older, the parents let them go on these excursions themselves, sending them off with a basket full of food to last them an afternoon at the beach or the park. The children would wait at the station, and step from the platform, feeling so at home in the gentle sway of the cars as they trundled along in a never ending loop.

Most often, the children would ride off into the sunrise, hair blowing in the breeze, adventure in the air, and head to the beach. It became a routine process for them, that last summer, almost so routine they didn't notice how their parents continued to make excuses as to why they couldn't accompany them. They didn't notice how their parents seemed to be trying to get them away from the house as much as possible.

But after all, getting your kids to spend time with each other is rarely in the spirit of bad parenting. Neither is keeping them away from danger.

~Alice~

I was running late to lunch, though I suppose "late" is rather a subjective term in a place that doesn't adhere to normal time in any way. Mr. Remora had held me after class to reprimand me for doodling in my commonplace book, and had only let me go after I had rambled off most of that days lesson back at him.

As I walked out of the classroom I exhaled deeply, trying to expel the scent of bananas from my sinuses. If I never, ever ate a banana again, it would still be a lifetime too soon. The amount of bananas consumed by that man was sickening.

I almost debated skipping lunch after that—was the burnt, crusty lasagna really worth the trek across the school? My stomach growled almost as if in response to my thoughts, so I turned and went on my way.

The halls were quiet, as everyone was already in the cafeteria, knowing full well you couldn't get food if you weren't there on time. When Mr. Remora had pulled me aside after class, Duncan had asked if he should wait for me. I had waved him on, not wanting him to lose his lunch too, and jokingly asked him to save me some lasagna, if it was edible.

"It never is," he had replied, eyes glittering with amusement. Then, for a millisecond, they softened, and he said "But I'll save you some anyway." And then he had been swept away by the crowd of classmates, and was gone. The words definitely hadn't been bouncing around my skull throughout Remora's lecture, and if they had, they had been solely in response to my ever-growing hunger, not because of the bright eyed boy who had said them. I shook my head lightly as I walked into the cafeteria, trying to chase the thoughts away.

I'd been here long enough now no one noticed me anymore—I was old news, passed on for other, easier gossip fodder. I wasn't about to complain. I made my way through the cafeteria, avoiding peoples eyes and weaving through tables, unable to see the little table in the back. Getting closer, I turned the corner, avoided a group of people and narrowly avoided getting a lasagna spilled down my jacket, and there they were.

I could see the backs of Duncan and Isadora facing away from me, talking to some people on the other side of the table. One of the other people shifted as I got closer, moving past the triplets blocking my field of vision, and I found myself looking into the eyes of my brother.

I blinked. I had to be dreaming. There was no way it could be him. My lost twin. My brother Klaus. Duncan and Isadora turned around in unison (triplet instincts are remarkably similar to twin instincts) and smiled warmly at me. Once they moved, I could see on the bench next to Klaus sat Sunny and Violet, who followed his gaze and looked up at me.