I walk up the long driveway to Wammy's House, for once regretting my isolation from the world. It might have been nice to have someone other than a bunch of little kids and an old man to spend my birthday with. On the other hand, friends take time, which I don't have going spare at the moment – there's also the fact that I am so suspicious these days that I would probably suspect even my closest friend of wanting to murder me in my sleep. All in all, I guess it's better this way; at least Wammy knows what kind of cake I like.
As I step up onto the porch I can hear an excited yell through the open window "He's here! He's here!" Probably Mello. I ring the doorbell, and the door is flung open by Wammy, a broad grin on his face; in the background the kids are lined up singing 'Happy Birthday'. There's Near, holding a robot and looking bored (he's really grown a lot since the last time I was here) Mello, wearing a black t-shirt with a skull on it, and there's Matt, waving around those funny goggles he got free with that game last year. I smile and run a hand through my untidy hair – all this attention is somewhat embarrassing.
I follow the kids into the canteen. All the tables have been pushed together in the centre of the room, and there is a large cheesecake decorated with strawberries, surrounded by other smaller cakes, and some clumsily wrapped presents. I climb onto the chair in my customary manner, ignoring the strange looks from the kids who haven't met me before. I turn to the presents first in order to stop the excited cries and chair-bouncings of the children, although I would much rather try the cake. The top one has a small note saying 'Happy birthday. From Near." I open it and discover a handmade finger puppet with huge bug-eyes and a lot of spiky black hair – obviously supposed to represent myself. Only the kids that knew me when I lived at Wammy's House have got me anything, so it doesn't take too long to open them all.
The last present has no note, but I can tell who it's from by the skulls on the wrapping paper. Inside is a pair of socks. I'm sure they are very nice socks, for those who like such things: black, with 'Genius' embroidered round the top. "Try them on!" Mello calls. I sigh, and slowly pull them onto my bare feet. They are scratchy and itchy, and they imprison my toes – I haven't worn socks since…actually, I can't ever remember having worn them; I must have an instinctive hate of them.
As Wammy hands out the cheesecake I can feel my sock-encased feet losing their grip on the edge of the chair. Frowning, I put my feet on the floor and sit normally. Wammy looks at me anxiously as he hands me my cake, and I try to smile in order to reassure him. I eat mechanically, my feet growing sweaty and hot, my toes clamped together.
When the party is over I almost trip over myself in my hurry to get away to someplace sock-free. I wave goodbye from the end of the driveway, and as soon as I'm out of sight of the windows I stand on one leg in the middle of the pavement and rip off the torturous socks. Aah, my feet are free!