Historically Inaccurate

🌥 S E V E N 🌥

"What's going on?" Carlos asks, strutting in and directing himself towards Alan and Ophelia who stop fighting once they notice us.

"It's about the sandwich."

"It's not about the sandwich," Ophelia corrects Alan, although the way she says this makes me feel like it is about the sandwich.

I tune out the conversation that goes along the lines of Alan being allergic to tuna or something like that, and the dark theory of Ophelia trying to poison him. There is also a Shakespeare joke thrown around.

"So, this is your cult huh," Ethan mentions, his hands crossed over his chest.

"I told you not to call it a cult."

"Yeah, I ignored that, look, where is your leader?"

"President." The first thing he had asked Carlos when we met him outside of the building was whether or not he was the leader of the cult I was in and if he was aware that I bribed people in order to run me over. Carlos had not been surprised at the second fact, but had cracked a smile at the thought of being the obscure leader of our historically inaccurate club.

"I prefer the title Emperor," he'd said to a very confused Ethan.

"Pharaoh is better."

"Sol, please we all know that is not the --"

"So, Sol? That's your name right." Ethan brushes off my comment, taking his glasses off and sighing as he walks towards one of the desks against a wall and sitting down, I glance around the room quickly, as if I'm somehow scared people will see me talking to him and we're not in a small enclosed room with only six other people.

"That's not important."

"You hadn't told me your name before that."

"I'd given you a hint."

"What?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can't blame him for not knowing more than one language, but he could have done his research at the very least.

"Sol means Sun in Spanish --"

"So you are Spanish." To that I do roll my eyes, picking up my hand to stop him from talking.

"Hispanic, Mexican, whatever, not 'Spanish'. That's a language or used to refer to people from Spain , which I'm not from."

Ethan lets out a small laugh.

"Sorry, it was the first thing that came to mind."

I don't want to get into this argument, I know it's something I'm bound to lose a few people's interest on, so I let it go, accepting his apology like any grown up person should.

"So, Sol, why did you join this group, why do you guys do what you do?"

I suddenly feel like I'm in an interview I did not prepare for. I have beat around the bush when it comes to those kinds of questions for about three months since I first decided I would join the club. Why would anyone want to join a place whose induction process includes actively breaking the law? It's insane and yet pretty genius. You know someone is devoted to the club if they do join, and yet that only makes it sound more like a cult than it ever has.

I frown, beginning to open my mouth to reply with the best that I can do, but as I am about to do this the door opens once more and Anna walks in, blue hair shining bright over her bright orange jacket.

"Hello my children, prepare for death." She's carrying two cases of cokes and some bags are hanging from her right elbow.

The girls in the back seem to be thrown off by our President, and while I indulge in that surprise as much as I know Anna does, what catches me off guard is when Ethan grabs my arm, him sitting on the desk next to me, and gets close to me to hiss:

"That's your leader?"

"Our Dear Leader, yes, Mr. You-live-in-a-cult."

"No, I mean, that's Anna Howard."

Anna, who currently is not aware we are angry whispering about her, is talking to Carlos who is filling her up on the whole sandwich ordeal. She hasn't seemed to notice the fact that Ethan is doing anything but signaling at her with neon traffic signs.

"Yes, and you're Ethan Winston --"

"You know my last name?"

"No, I know your grandparent's last name. I'm assuming you go by the same name." I'm trying so hard not to rub my temples, he went from being suspicious to oddly flabbergasted and I cannot keep track of all of these changes at once. "What's wrong about Anna, Ethan?"

"I won't be getting my key back, not from her, at least."

"What?" I ask, "Is she your ex-girlfriend or something?"

"Not exactly, no." As he's saying this, I hear Anna laugh and follow that with a:

"Hey Sol --"

This is when the room goes silent, and I mean that quite literally, all the girls stop whispering,

Ophelia and Alan have not been talking to each other ever since Carlos interrupted them, and next to me Ethan has gone completely rigid. This is really soap opera worthy and I am only mad at the fact that I didn't bring any coffee or pan dulce to eat as I watch.

Then, a small smile begins to appear on Anna's lips as she says:

"Hey neighbor."

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