"Let me out here." My eyes fixate on the wooded area around the road, tall thick pine trees creating shadows. They and the disappearing sun work together, creating an early darkness.
"Um. In the middle of nowhere?" New Kid stares at me strangely. I nod, leaving no room for disagreement. He slows the truck down, and I swing myself out before it stops. My feet sink slightly into the ground, the mossy carpet softening my landing. Before I can close the door, Ethan speaks confused, "Do you live near here?" His brows are furrowed, as he observes the forest around us.
"No, but I'll walk from here." The crossroad is not too far away, and, although I am starting to not hate Ethan, I do not want him knowing where I live. Even Lucilia is oblivious to my house's location. My home life is one of the major aspects of my private life, and it is going to remain that way.
"You sure? I don't mind driving you, especially if it keeps me away from my mom a little longer," he mumbles the last part, a scared frown taking residence. I shake my head and motion for him to leave. He hesitates but does as I said, speeding away.
I begin walking, a bitter blast of wind seeping under my clothes. It lifts my jacket, and I tuck it closer to me. The large pines help to block the wind some, but the approaching night worsens the air's temperature.
Turning right at the crossroads, I slowly trek to my house. It is a few miles from where I am now, so I start to run, desiring to get there before complete darkness falls. My breath comes out of my mouth in tiny spurts of fog, quickly vanishing with the wind. I focus on their appearances and the cool air that seeps deeply into my lungs with every breath.
Feet slamming rhythmically, I soar across the gravel road. My long strides detract the distance left until my house. All of my attention is riveted to the shaky ground, loose pebbles threatening my footing. I am accustomed to this terrain, though, so each step is sure and unwavering.
I slow my pace when the off-white two-story farmhouse enters my line of sight. Its wraparound porch with broken railings gets larger as I approach. The railing paint is peeling, revealing the aged wood beneath, and the precarious stairs protest under my weight. The windows, coated in grime and decades-old filth, adds to the rundown feeling given by the building. The door, ruby in color, is the only remaining part of the exterior of the house that looks unaffected by age.
I grip the handle, my knuckles turning white from the force. My stomach churns with distaste of this place and its memories. Pushing open the door, I slide through the entrance, musty air greeting me. I leave the door open and release the golden knob.
Standing at the entrance, I study the living room. The floral print couch with a sinkhole beneath the center cushion is to my right. Little holes decorate the yellow fabric, and a beer stain on the armrest is startlingly clear in the twilight-covered room. The small television set,—antennas included—is on, providing a pathetic light source for an equally pathetic room.
Home sweet home. My wry thoughts cause a twisted smile to form.
I flick the light switch, and muted yellow light illuminates the room and its flaws. I remove my jacket, bypass the couch, and climb the wooden staircase along the left side of the room. It leads to the second floor and to my sanctuary. Arriving at the top, I hear the unmistakable pitter-patter of tiny feet running, and I brace myself.
"Bubba!" Little arms wrap around my calves, and a blonde head of hair lays against my knees. The head bobs up and down excitedly as the little girl it's connected to jumps. "You're 'ome." I smile at her inability to say the 'h' in home yet and scoop the tiny body into my arms.
Peppering kisses over her face, I hold her close. "Of course I'm home, Queenie." She squeals in delight, her chubby freckled cheeks dimpling because of her smile. Our green eyes connect before she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a slobbery kiss on the cheek.
"I miss you, Bubba." Her pink lips tilt down into a pout, and her eyes widen adorably.
"I missed you, too. But I still have to go to school." I tap her nose with my index finger. "And you still have to go to kindergarten."
Queenie's pout worsens, and her emerald eyes glitter with the beginnings of tears. "But I no like kinerarten." I sit down on the stairs, preparing myself to console my spot of sunshine in this horrendous house.
"Why not? I thought you liked playing with your friends."
She vehemently shakes her head and speaks sorrowfully, "But you're not at kinerarten, Bubba, so I no like it." She crosses her pale arms and looks away. I grin, feeling happiness and satisfaction that I mean so much to her.
"You know I can't come with you, sweetheart. Just like yo—"
Interrupting me, her eyes shine with excitement now, not tears. "I can go with you to school, Bubba! That 'ay, you won't be wonely."
I finish my sentence softly, "Just like you can't go with me to big kid school. And I'm not lonely at school, Queenie."
For a child, she has perfected the condescending and questioning look that she sends me now. "Wes, you are. You 'ave no fwiends." I stare at her stunned before I remember that I have never introduced her to Lucilia. "I 'ave more fwiends than you."
I do not respond because my thoughts are on Lucilia and Queenie meeting. Lucilia would be smiling and laughing, making Queenie happy, too. They would be playing together, probably a game of hide-and-seek, and I'd be the one stuck trying to find them. I feel my lips curl into a smile at my thoughts, but I am broken from my wishful reverie by a small chubby finger poking me.
"Bubba, come pway." Queenie's puppy dog look could rival Thanatos's, and I fall prey to it.
"Okay, what do you want to play?" She slides off my lap and runs down the stairs. Already knowing her game choice, I lag behind. Please, let her choose something else. Anything else.
"Bubba! Let's pway Candyland," she screams eagerly. Of course I don't get my wish. I step off the bottom step to see Candyland strewn across the coffee table in front of the television.
I suppress a groan and swiped a hand across my face. "Don't you want to play something else?" Just this once?"
She looks me dead in the eye and speaks resolutely, "No." Well then.
The next thirty minutes are complete torture, and it is even worse when I lose. "You wost, Bubba! I win!" Queenie sticks her tongue out, mocking me. "Bubba wost. Bubba wost," she chants.
I lower my voice until it's barely a whisper. "Do you know what happens when Bubba loses, Queenie?"
She stops jumping around, and then she mumbles questioningly, "Bubba cries?" Her brows pucker together, and she appears at a loss to where I am going with this. I lean closer to her, my face not far from her own, and smile evilly.
"Bubba becomes a tickle monster." Queenie's eyes widen in horror, and she turns around to run away. I wait a moment, watching as she scrambles up the stairs on tiny legs. Then I stalk after her. At the top of the steps, I yell playfully, "I'm coming, Queenie! You'll never get away from the tickle monster."
A squeal followed by giggling alerts me to her hiding spot. My feet pad silently across the hardwood floor, the cold seeping into my feet. I approach my room and open the door as quietly as possible, despite the creak the hinges make.
"Oh, Queenie, wherever could you be," I ask aloud to myself, hands planted firmly on my hips. I observe my room, all four walls painted a grey color. To my right is my closet, the sliding double doors closed. In front of me, against the wall, is my black dresser. Some papers for school lay atop it. Next to the dresser is my red beanbag, the color fading from age and use. My bed sits against the wall to my left, a red comforter covering the mattress. Beside the bed is a nightstand with a picture of Queenie and I together on her birthday. My floor is wood like the rest of the house, but I placed a dark grey rectangular carpet over it.
Muffled giggling comes from under the bed, and I watch Queenie try to tuck her feet out of sight. "Hm, I wonder where Queenie is," I ponder aloud while silently walking to my bed. Bending down, I sink to my knees and place my palms flat on the floor. Queenie's giggling ceases, her last attempt at hiding.
My hands dart out, wrapping around her ankles, and I pull. She squeals and giggles uncontrollably as she slides across the ground. "Bubba! No! I no wanna be tickle." Twisting and squirming in my arms, Queenie tries to put on a serious face, but fails miserably when my fingers find and tickle her weak spot at her armpits.
My little sister's laughter rings loudly through the air, brightening the dismal house. Her angelic face, filled with childlike innocence and joy, warms my chest with the brotherly affection I feel for her. Halting my tickle attack, I stand and swing her in a circle. We spin, and the room spins with us. Her happiness causes my own to grow, and I know there is a full-blown smile on my face.
"Quiet, you two! I'm trying to rest," a feeble voice snarls through the house. It forces my smile to drop, my spine to stiffen, and I glare menacingly at the hallway. I glance at Queenie, whose glee has faded from her eyes, and rage starts to trickle through me.
"I'm sowwy, Mommy," Queenie sniffles out. I doubt that the woman heard her or cared, if she did. Green eyes twinkle when they start to water, and pink lips tremble. I hug her close to me, stopping the sobs before they escape her. "I no mean to make Mommy angwy, Bubba."
I shush and pat her tiny back softly, her body quivering as she cries. "It's not your fault, Queenie. Mommy's just tired."
Queenie pulls away to look at me sorrowfully and questioningly. "'Cause she sick?" I nod. She hugs me tightly. "Bubba?"
"Yes, my sunshine?" I ask calmly, wiping her tears with my sleeve.
"I wuv you."
"I love you, too." I tap her nose. "And you better remember that."
~~~~~
After feeding Queenie and placing her down to sleep, I stand outside the woman's room. I hear no snoring, so I know she is awake. Anger courses through me as I think about her indifference to her children. I do not slam the door when I enter; I don't want to wake Queenie.
I step inside the dark room. The window blinds are closed, preventing even a shred of light from entering. A silhouette lays across the bed in front of me, thick comforters forming a mound around her. I step closer and am about to speak when she does.
"What do you want, Ace?" Her raspy voice emits from the silhouette. I can hear the effects of the sickness in that voice. She is tired, depressed, and bitter, but I refuse to allow that to be an excuse for her failures as a mother. "Come here to see how much longer I have left, eh?" Her breathing comes out wheezy.
"No. I came to tell you to never speak to Queenie like that again." My tone is definite and hard, unyielding to her plight.
The lump on the bed shifts, and she groans from the effort. Facing me now, her haggard face is sunken in, cheekbones sticking out unnaturally. Her breath comes out haltingly, and she closes her eyes that I inherited. Opening them again, she speaks as firmly as possible, "I'm still your mother, Ace. Don't give me that tone."
I grit my teeth and clench my fists. "You stopped being my mother a long time ago. Don't pretend you care. The only reason I still speak to you is because of Queenie." My hands shake with the tumult of emotion, rage and disgust prominent. How dare she pretend to be my mother? A mother protects their child.
The woman who birthed me lays there, breathing harshly. Her green eyes that appear black in the lightless room scan me slowly. "So, all those years I took care of you mean nothing, huh? You're ungrateful," she snaps the last part.
I laugh, the sound menacing and dark. "Took care of me? You were a passive coward." She prepared a retort, but I silence her with a raised hand. "I'm not here to insult you. I'm here to tell you that you will apologize to Queenie. That's all." I do not wait for an answer. She will do as I said. I know that Queenie is her soft spot, in spite of their few interactions.
Closing the door behind me, I go to my room and finish whatever homework is due tomorrow. It is about midnight when I finish. I slam the book covers closed and place them in my backpack. Leaning against my headboard, I listen to the world around me and relishing in the peace I feel in my room.
The front door slamming echoes through the house. The sound is ominous and foreboding, and I clench my eyes shut as my stomach tenses. I rest my head behind me, listening to the stumbling coming from downstairs. My heart speeds unwillingly, and I feel like vomiting from the disgust and hatred I feel so strongly.
The door to my room creaks as it opens, and a blonde head followed by tired green eyes peer around the door. "Bubba," Queenie wipes her eyes. "Can I sweep with you?" The tightness in my gut eases when I hear her familiar mispronunciation. I pat the bed invitingly, and she sleepily stumbles to me. I reach down, lift her into my arms, and cover us with the scarlet blanket. Curling into my chest, she yawns. "G'night, Bubba. Sweep tight."
"Sleep tight, my little sunshine." She falls asleep instantly, but I remain awake and vigilant. My protective instincts restrict me, preventing sleep from overtaking me. I stay this way, eyes on the door and ears listening, until all footsteps downstairs cease and the house is silent. Only then is it safe for me to close my eyes and succumb to sleep's pull.
~~~~~
"Bubba! Wake up! Bubba!" I fall out of bed in surprise at the loud voice by my ear. Laying on the floor, I stay still, back aching from the rough landing. Giggles come from my comforter, and a smiling child's face leans over the side of the bed. "Bubba, you fell," she says innocently, as if she did not cause my unfortunate clumsy moment.
"Really? I didn't notice, Queenie."
Queenie rolls her eyes. "Silly Bubba." She changes position from her stomach to sitting cross-legged. Then she begins jumping up and down in excitement. "Bubba, I'm hungwy."
"Okay, Queenie, just give me a second." I sit up, raise my arms, and listen to my spine crack. After loosening my tense muscles, I stand tiredly. Looking at the clock, I groan when I realize I could have slept for thirty more minutes. Sleep's overrated anyway. "C'mon, Queenie. Time for breakfast."
She leaps off the bed and runs out of the room. "Yay!" She draws out her scream of excitement, and I hurry after her.
At the bottom of the steps, I survey the damage done. Alcohol and cigarette stubs lay hazardously around, and a potent smell permeates the air, making me dry-heave momentarily. Disgusting.
"Bubba, it smells gwoss." Queenie's nose wrinkles in distaste, and her small hands reach up to cover it in an attempt to ward off the odor.
"I know, Queenie. I know." I sigh and make my way across the room to the kitchen. Halfway there, my toe slams into a discarded beer bottle, and pain blasts through me. "Crap! Crap, crap, crap!" I cradle my wounded foot with my hand, hopping slightly.
Queenie stands by the kitchen entryway, hands placed stubbornly on her hips. "Watch your angluage," she reprimands sassily. Despite the throbbing foot pain, I chuckle at her serious look and inability to say 'language'.
I mutter to myself, "Crap isn't even a bad word." Making my way to the kitchen, I search the cabinets for a meal. They are mostly empty, except for some random food laying about. I grab a box of cereal and shake it. Almost empty.
Pouring some in a bowl with milk, I place it on the kitchen table before a bouncing Queenie. "Eat up, sunshine. You need to get ready for kindergarten." She pouts, her grass green eyes widening excessively. I give her a stern look and say authoritatively, "You have to go Queenie. Now eat." Queenie drops the expression and devours the meal.
Scouring the near empty cabinets, I realize that I am going to have to skip breakfast. I sigh, but accept that I need to get more groceries later. Sitting at the table, I wait for Queenie to finish eating.
My mind drifts to Lucilia as the time passes. Her smile that makes my stomach ache with feelings and her chocolate eyes that seem to shine radiantly with joy flash past my inner eye. But my mood darkens when I remember the light bruise discoloring her cheek. No one hurts my girl. I start to plan how to go about dealing with Mindy. A smirk slips onto my face. She discolored my girl. I discolor her. But I'm going to need help. My smirk transforms into a frown when I realize that the only person I can ask to help is new kid. Great.
~~~~~
"You need my help? Millstone High's very own bad boy needs moi?" The swelling of new kid's cheek had gone down overnight, but the bruising and nose swelling is impossible to miss. However, if he keeps acting like a fool, I am going to make sure the swelling gives a reappearance.
I glare at him as he leans against the water fountain. Lucilia is going to the bathroom, so it is just him and I. "Only because you have a truck," I whisper harshly, glancing at the ladies' restroom cautiously.
Ethan also looks at the door, but then faces me. "I don't know if I can," he states seriously. "My mom nearly killed me when I got home looking like this. And then I had to explain to her why I ditched school."
New kid rolls his eyes. "She thinks I'm being bullied now." He eyes me accusingly. "Which I guess I am. You're a horrible friend."
I nod in agreement. "And yet, here you are. Now, are you going to help or not?"
He sighs, dragging a hand over his face and through his hair. "Of course. What do I need to get?" I place the list in his hands and watch as he scans it. "Is this an elaborate plan?" I shake my head negatively. "Well then. I guess I'm going to be late for history class." He turns on his heel and stalks off, turning around the corner.
The restroom door opens behind me, and I spin around to face Lucilia. She looks around, confused. "Where's Ethan?" I pull out the notebook from my pocket and a pen.
I write, "Said he forgot his homework at his house. Went to go get it." She scans the words and then me with narrowed eyes.
"Really?" I nod my head once, and Lucilia does not look convinced. Seeing as how Ethan is not here though, she accepts my lie. If she finds out about my plan, she will try to stop me. I cannot let what they did go unpunished, especially since every time I see her cheek, my stomach clenches with fury.
"Okay." She leans towards me and points at me. Wagging her finger, she threatens, "I don't believe you, Ace. You've done something or are going to do something. I'm watching you."
I scribble hastily, "Watch me all you want. I don't mind." She reads the note and glances up at me. I wink, a feeling of satisfaction overtakes me when she blushes.
Spinning on her heel, Lucilia heads to history class, stumbling slightly in her haste to hide the blush. I chuckle at her adorable shyness, but soon follow her to class.
Entering the room behind her, I walk to my chair by the window. Lucilia makes her way to her chair and places her backpack down before sitting. Our teacher enters, beginning the class, but I barely pay attention. My thoughts are on the groceries I need to buy, the money I need to buy them, Queenie, and last of all, Lucilia.
Tiredly swiping a hand down my face, I can feel the stress weighing down on me. I fix my eyes on the field outside the window. The familiar sense of comfort I get from wide, open spaces helps to ease the tension, and I begin categorizing what I need to do into a mental checklist. First, earn money. Second, buy groceries. Third, feed Queenie at home. Fourth, do homework. All four points play in a chant in my mind. Having a plan relaxes me; I feel like I can complete everything as long as there is a path to follow.
Th bell rings, signaling my freedom, and I meet Lucilia outside of the classroom. Walking beside her, I hold her delicate, soft hand in mine. I cannot help but rub my thumb over the smooth skin. A smile lingers on my lips when she does not reject my touch, and my stomach clenches in happiness and excitement, her proximity nearly crippling me.
We remain close together the whole way to Lucilia's English class, and my heart thunders every minute in her presence. Arriving at her class, I release my hand from hers, nudging her to class. A shy smile slips into her pink lips, and my eyes are drawn to them. "See ya later, Ace." I perform a half-grin back and wait until she is seated before going to Math.
Ethan is leaning outside the classroom, and he watches my approach. Outside the door, he whispers conspiratorially, "All is ago, Joker." I give him a quizzical look. He shrugs. "I'm embracing the Two-Face nickname. So, you need one, too." I roll my eyes and shoulder past him to my seat. He sits beside me and leans close. "Seriously though, I have everything. It's in my truck."
I nod, showing I understand. "We'll set it up after class."
"Do you know where the redheaded beast will be?" Ethan slouches as he speaks, as if the monster in question in lurking behind Kersivats's desk.
"Yeah. She and her on-and-off boyfriend like to meet at one of the janitor's closets. So, we'll leave Math class early, set it up before they get there, and then let the fun begin." A vengeful smile appears on his face, and I know it matches my own.
Mr. Kersivats enter the room, his eyes scanning it. Seeing our malicious smiles, his eyes narrow suspiciously. I give him an innocent look. He laughs lightly and shakes his head. "Okay, class. Homework at the front, please. And turn your books to page seventy-three."
Math being an easy subject for me, the class passes quickly. Fifteen minutes before the bell, I raise my hand. "Mr. Kersivats, Ethan and I volunteered to help move some files for the nurse, so we need to leave early." He scans me from head to toe, searching for an identifier to my falsehood.
Crossing his arms, he interrogates, "Do you have a note?"
I pat my pockets and face Ethan. "You have the note, right?" I inflect a slight worried tone into my voice and furrow my eyebrows. Ethan appears lost, and I kick his leg.
Jumping from shock, he stutters, "Of course. It's right..." He searches his backpack. "I could have sworn it was here." He rummages around frantically and, hysteria rings in his voice. "I can't find it, Ace."
I rub my face. "Well, now what do we do?" Mr. Kersivats watches, amused and definitely unconvinced.
Leaning against his desk, Mr. Kersivats raises one eyebrow. "You lost it? What a tragedy. I didn't know you did volunteer work, Ace." I nod, now slightly frightened by the smirk my teacher adorns. "That's great! You see, I need someone to help me with some things, and you are the perfect candidate. You'll help, won't you?" I hesitate, but eventually nod. He claps his hands once. "Wonderful. Now, you and Ethan go help the nurse." Wearing a knowing smirk, Mr. Kersivats ushers us out of the room.
The door closes behind us. New kid faces me. "I don't think he believed us." I look at him condescendingly and stroll down the hallway in the direction of his truck. Footsteps follow me out of the school, and we stop by the bed of his truck. Grabbing the bags, I peek inside. Everything is there. Perfect.
Striding rapidly to the entrance, I ask Ethan, "How much time until the bell?"
Glancing at his phone, he responds, "About ten minutes. Is that enough time?"
I think for a moment. "Yeah. While I set it up, you watch out for people." I enter the janitor's closet and get out the supplies. Ethan stands beside the cracked door.
Looking in and seeing me pour green paint in the bucket, he says disbelieving, "That's what you're doing. That's so cliche. Where's the originality?" Throwing his hands up, he looks like I have personally offended him.
"I'm not a creative person, New Kid. Just take a look at my artwork. And if you're so upset, you think up the plan next time."
He huffs and grumble out, "I will."
Exiting the closet, I crack open the door with the buckets and my arm in the room. I pick up one bucket and lift it to the top of the door. Doing the same with the other, I wait a moment, making sure they are balanced. "Done." I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. "Now we wait."
Ethan points to a nearby male bathroom. "We should hide there." The bell rings, and Ethan and I race to the restroom, hiding behind the door.
Students flood the hallway, and one tries to enter the bathroom. I glare at him, warning him to pee elsewhere. His eyes widen in fright, and I wonder if he even needs to go anymore. Seeing him frozen, I lift one hand in a shooing motion. He understands, scrambling to obey me.
New kid and I study the students, searching for our victims. Ethan pulls out his phone beside me. I raise one eyebrow. "For entertainment," he explains. I face the sea of students and catch a glimpse of unnaturally red hair. I point to Mindy and her male companion, Samuel McCalister. This keeps getting better and better. Ethan's eyes follow my index finger, and a vicious smirk crosses his lips.
Mindy and Samuel walk closely together, arms intwined. Approaching the janitor's closet, Mindy sees it is already open. So unsuspecting. She faces Samuel, biting her lip. Mindy pulls him closer to her and takes a step back towards the closet door. Their combined weight against the door causes it to glide open...and the buckets to lose balance. They come crashing down on the crappy couple's heads, and green and yellow paint spreads everywhere.
Mindy shrieks in horror, and Samuel stands, slack-jawed. Paint coats their hair, face, clothes, everything. Nearby students jump away from the mess. Ethan, along with numerous other students, breaks out laughing. He clutches the door with one hand and holds his stomach with the other. I would laugh, but it is time for Mindy to see the reason no one messes with me and mine.
I place my hands in my pockets and approach a hysterical Mindy. Samuel tries to calm her, but fails to even be heard past her wailing. Facing the crowd, he growls, "Who did it? Come out, you coward!"
Pressing my shoulder to the locker, I speak authoritatively, "That would be me." They face me. Bright yellow and nasty green Mindy is soaked in cold paint from head to toe. The same goes for Samuel.
Samuel clenches his fist. "Why?"
I ignore him and focus my harshest glower on Mindy. She trembles and looks at the ground. I lean forward, and my voice deepens of its own accord. "Tell him, Mindy." Raw anger is evident in my voice. "You know what you did. So, tell him."
Mindy's voice trembles in time with her lower lip. "I-I said some th-things that were m-mean to Lucilia." I nearly punch the locker when she avoids saying what else she did.
"And?" I coax.
Her voice is barely a whisper. "I h-hit her."
Samuel looks shocked. "You hit her? Why?" She cowardly avoids his gaze and shrugs her shoulders. He addresses me, "Then why am I covered in paint, too?"
I stare him down. "I don't like you."
Beside me, Ethan pipes in, "I second that."
I step closer to Mindy and bend down to meet her gaze. Mockingly, I speak like I would to a child. "Now, Mindy? What did we learn today?"
Mindy whimpers and slips a little when she steps away from me. "Not to mess with Lucilia."
I smirk. "Good girl. Let's go, Ethan. We're late." We circumvent the paint puddles and start in the direction of Lucilia's class.
Ethan grins the whole way, ranting about and replaying the video. Taking a right turn, I see Lucilia standing alone and confused. Her brows are furrowed and lips puckered. Perfect. She's perfect. I raise my fingers to my mouth and whistle.
Spinning in place, Lucilia looks shocked before a delighted smile appears. She skips to us. "Did you get your homework, Ethan?"
"My wha—" I elbow him, and his eyes widen from the pain. "Oh, yeah. My homework. It's in my bag." He gives me a questioning expression when she faces me.
"What were you guys doing? You're never late to meet me."
Ethan and I make eye contact before he says, "Nothing." I nod and grip her hand, pulling her before she can interrogate us more. She is dropping the subject, though, or so I thought.
"It's not illegal, is it?" Her tone is so full of worry for us that I stop and release her hands to cup her face. I shake my head negatively. Her brown eyes, full of trust and care, stare searchingly into mine. She nods, accepting my answer. "Let's go then." So, we do.