Madison Isabella Alicia Amoretti-Rodriguez

I sat curled on my bed with One Direction blasting from my earphones. I can still hear them arguing. Maybe if I get under the covers, I can shut it all out. I draw the covers down and climb in, then pull the blanket over my head, tucking it under my pillow. I move the few stuffed animals I allow to sleep with me aside and try to get comfortable. I turn the music up louder, at this rate One Direction will be stuck in my head for days. I can hear them arguing again, so I decide to sing to myself, maybe that way I can block them out. "Baby you light up my world like nobody else" I whisper to myself. I can feel my heart banging violently in my chest. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I'm not scared; it's just getting to be too much. This has been going on for weeks now, why can't they just get a divorce? I hear a crash, and my bedroom wall shakes with the impact. I can feel it from under the protective cave I've formed for myself. This must be a big one. "The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed" I sing, my voice wobbling. Am I crying? I bring the hand not stuffed under my pillow to my cheek. Yes, it's wet, I didn't even realise. The wall shakes again, and I hear a thud. Pulling the covers away from me, I sit up in my bed to see that my pinboard had fallen from its place on my wall, next to the posters of One Direction and Mindless Behaviour. All my notes that I had carefully arranged colour coded of course, of my weekly schedule was now scattered on the floor in a mess. I huffed and pulled the covers off completely to go over and pick it all up. I don't like mess.

As I push myself up from the bed, wiping my face clean of any evidence of tears previously fallen, I hear a light tap-tap on my window. Curiosity got the better of me as I sat back on the single bed once again and rolled over to the other side, landing firmly on the contents of my jewellery box which must have dropped off my bedside table. I tried not to cry out in pain when I realised I had stepped on the sharp end of one of my earrings, yet my eyes became watery, and I let out a small sniffle. I hear the light tap-tap once again, and remember why I had been so eager to get to this side of the room in the first place. I hobble, on my good foot, to the window. I open the curtain and Mo is standing two storey's below my window smiling up at me. I can tell it's a pity smile; I've been receiving quite a few of those lately. I open the window letting the cold air and sounds of the housing estate in. Children laughing and screaming in delight could be heard from the public playground not far from where Mo stood. Dogs barking, and teenagers huddled together on corners smoking, laughing and checking their phones every minute when it went off could also be heard amongst the distinct sounds of the Haringey Estate. I smiled back at Mo, I was genuinely happy to see him.

He looked like a typical thirteen-year-old boy in his black trousers and blazer he wore to school over his sky blue dress shirt which was hurriedly tucked into his trousers.

"What are you doing here?" I shouted down to him, half leaning out my window.

"Came to check on you innit? Though you might like to see my beautiful face", he shouted back with a grin that reached his eyes. The cold air was starting to get to me, so I wrapped my cream cardigan around me tight, smiled and leaned out the window to shout back to Mo.

"Ha, you wish! But what are you really doing here?" I looked over to the clock on my wall which read 13:07. "It's after one, why aren't you in school?"

"I could ask you the same thing shrimp! Plus, they sent me home to re-evaluate my attire" He shouted rather smugly from his place on the grass below. I stared at him, trying to figure out what was so wrong with what he was wearing that he needed to be sent home for it. Mo must have seen my face scrunched up in trying to figure out the offending items, as he flamboyantly gestured to his shoes and then turned the cap on his head around properly for me to have full view, and posed leaning back to the left, arms folded slightly and right hand lifted to touch his chin. The grin had returned.

"You wore your brand new Jordans to school!? And what's with the hat?" I screamed at him. He really was a show-off.

"What!? Snapbacks rule! And they match!" He said and gestured to the black and blue Jordans and hat.

"You're such a show off Mo, and that's what gets you into trouble" I chastised.

"Yeah well, the other kids need to aspire to be like someone!" He yelled matter-of-factly, throwing his hands in the air and backing up a few steps.

I started laughing, and he did too. Then I heard another bang on my bedroom wall. I stopped laughing immediately, and Mo must have sensed the change and sobered up himself. I turned from the window to see that my stack of books had fallen off the table. The table which was still shaking violently and the sounds of arguing still audible. It shook again, threatening to through the rest of my belonging to the floor. I turned back to the window to look down at Mo. He shifted under my gaze. He knew what was going on.

"Talk later, yeah?" I hurriedly shouted out to him, turning back to my room and moving away from the window, evaluating what I should clean up first.

"Yeah. Come by mine if you need to, Mum doesn't mind." He shouted back.

"Yeah" I whispered to myself as I surveyed the room. If my room looked like this, what did the living room look like? I bent to my knees and pressed my hands to my face tiredly. I hope they don't expect me to clean it up. As I reached to pick up the fallen pinboard, I heard another shout from the window.

"OI SHRIMP! DID YOU HEAR ME?" Mo shouted at the top of his lungs.

I rushed back to the window and stuck my head out.

"I hear you okay! Now go back to school!" I shouted back.

"Good! And don't shout at me I'm older than you shrimp" He shouted back pointing at me then straightening his blazer. "Have some respect" he said looking away smiling and turning the cap on his head back to front to regain his thirteen-year-old street image. I laughed, and he looked up and smiled at me.

"Well, I'll see you later, yeah?" He said walking backwards away from my window towards his own block of Flats.

"Yeah," I said pulling my windows closed. The sounds of the Haringey Estate ceased, and the sounds of Flat number 237 grew louder as another crash was heard along with screaming.

"Well let's get this cleaned up Blobs," I said to my stuffed Mr Blobby which I had received from a charity shop when I was six.

"Let's get this cleaned up."

xxxx

An hour later and the Flat had calmed significantly. Well, the banging and throwing of things had stopped at least. After picking up my fallen possessions, carefully placing them all in their correct place, I decided to get started on my school work. I rummaged through my bag for the right worksheets. Unlike many children my age I actually enjoy my lessons. Well, I enjoy my extra lessons at Mycenae House more than those at school. At school the lessons are simple, to say the least, and I always finish before the other kids. I usually just sit there for half the lesson looking out the window daydreaming or doodling in my notebook, sometimes I contemplate skipping school altogether, but I'm way too much of a chicken. I really loathe being in trouble, any form of confrontation really, especially when I've done wrong puts me on edge and in danger of crying.

My teacher suggested that I go to Mycenae House to give myself more of a challenge academically.

That's where I met Mo. Well… that's where I met 'Muhammad' for the first time. Miss Jenny, the tutor, insisted on calling Mo by his given name, which Mo despised with an eye roll every time she addressed him as such. When I started three years ago, I was paired up with Mo which he also despised, thus resulting in him calling me a 'baby' because I was nearly three years younger than him. Miss Jenny quickly informed him that he could learn a thing or two from me and he promptly kept quiet. He was incredibly smart for his age but preferred to use his time getting himself in and out of trouble. Mo was tall and lanky with an afro hi-top; his grandparents were from Jamaica which he used as some badge of honour whenever there was some form of confrontation. He would puff out his chest and declare to his opponent in a put-on Jamaican accent "You think you're bad. I'm Jamaican mate". Apparently being a Jamaican meant nobody messed with you.

Mo and I became fast friends especially when we realised we lived in the same housing estate and despite the age difference, we clicked. Mo was like my annoying older cousin that I adored, and I was his little shrimp who he would protect till the end. This meant I was frequently at his house on the evenings that my parents decided to kick it off.

I smoothed out my worksheet to see what I had to complete for my extra lessons' homework. It was on Germany in the time of Hitler and the Holocaust. It was mainly multiple-choice, but there was a small essay section at the end that I would need my textbook for. I rummaged again through my bag for the required material. It wasn't there. I stood from my crouched position in front of my book bag and turned on my heel to walk over to my table. I scanned through the books there, lifting them one by one scanning the covers. Nope, no book. I huffed and turned to go back over to my bed where I had left my worksheet, and then it clicked. I left it on the table in the hall! I quickly went over to my bedroom door and opened it slightly and as quietly as I could. Sticking my head out, I stopped to listen. I couldn't hear anything, no screaming or crashing noises so I guessed the coast was clear. I tentatively stepped out of the safety of my bedroom and walked out into the hall to get my textbook.

xxxx

I tiptoed slowly over to the hall table, manoeuvring myself quietly amongst the abandoned appliances that resided in our hallway. I made it to the table which was next to the living room door, the room which my parents probably carried out WWIII in. As I scanned the pile of junk that was on the table, courtesy of my mother's bad cleaning habits, I found my textbook and gently slid it out from under the newspapers stacked on top of it.

As I turned to head back into my room, I could hear talking coming from the living room. This was a vast contrast to the previous sounds coming from the room. As the door was slightly ajar, curiosity getting the best of me once again, I decided to listen. I bent to my knees and scooted myself to the door, making sure to be out of sight just in case.

From my spot on the floor with my textbook held to my chest I listened. I could hear my Mum speaking, her voice cracking and filled with emotion.

"Ramon you can't do this. It's stupid" she said.

"No. What is stupid was me sticking around for all these years. You lied to me Serafina" my Dad hissed.

I shifted in my spot, my knees hurting on the hardwood floor. I've never heard my Dad like this before. Angry yes, but he sounded more than angry but not quite, he sounded hurt.

"You lied for eleven years, made me love her. We have had our fair share of betrayal Serafina but this, it tops the fucking cake." My Dad's Brazilian accent was stronger at this point. It usually came out when he got really angry or upset. I guess in this case he was both.

I chanced a glance through the slight crack of the door. I could see my mother, her back to me, sitting in the chair facing what I presumed to be my father. From my position, I could see her foot nervously shaking on the floor, which was covered in debris, under the chair making a rapid tap tap tap sound. She didn't say anything.

"I teach her, I teach her the way of my people!" my Dad hissed. He came into view, and I quickly moved my head, holding my breath in fear of getting caught. He must not have seen me as he continued his rant.

"Portuguese! I teach her Portuguese! She could say 'eu te amo paizinho' by the time she was two! Two! I taught her that." He said again voice rising.

The realisation hit me like a ton of bricks. They were talking about me. Me!

xxxx

I sat still beside the door, my legs starting to lose all forms of feelings from my chosen bottom on heel seating position. I could hear my mother shifting her weight in the chair as if to get up.

"No! You listen." My father demanded. A creek from the chair indicated my Mother sitting back down.

"Ramon, there is no need for this, you know now. She is still your daughter." I heard my Mother say, her Italian accent forever present.

I froze in my spot, my heart pounding in my chest. This is not possible. He's my Daddy. I closed my eyes tight and cursed myself for not staying put in my room. Silent tears were falling steadily, and my body jerked as I silently sobbed.

I heard my father's voice next, and what he said crushed my heart.

"No, she is not. I don't know how to love her now. She is no different than the criancas on the street. The only difference is I feed this one!" he all but shouted.

I could feel my face get hot and my head was pounding with all the hurt and betrayal I felt. I was finding it hard to breathe amongst all the crying. I didn't try as hard to keep quiet. My body was unable to under the pressure. My quick short breaths of air, in out in out, was oblivious to my parents. Well, parent and Ramon.

"Paizinho" I whispered, tears falling again and I began to rock in my position by the foot of the door.

"Non avete il coraggio!" my mother shouted. I could hear light but firm footsteps towards the centre of the room, probably where my father stood. No, where Ramon stood. "She is your daughter, and she is mine. Ours. Il nostro. You can love her just as I love her. Blood ties mean nothing, she is mine." She said.

Wait. I tried to still my breathing at this declaration. What did she mean by this? Ramon must have felt the same and questioned her.

"What do you mean? 'love her like you love her'"

She didn't answer.

"Serafina! Responda-me" he growled.

I held my breath wanting to know the answer and fearing it all the same.

"She's not mine." I heard my mother say. I felt faint. "Well, she is mine. She is ours" she said more forcefully.

"Explain!" he shouted now.

I winced in my spot, head still hammering and breathing irregular despite my methods of soothing myself.

"Well…" she began.

"Well, what!?" he demanded again.

"Well, she has another parent." My mother said.

My mind was racing, and everything was taking longer than usual to process.

"No fucking shit Sera!" my Father spat.

My nerves were taking over I was starting to hyperventilate.

My Mother mumbled something inaudible. Ramon was having none of it.

"Speak!" he shouted, and I heard a yelp which must have been my mother cowering in fear.

"She has another Mother." My mother cried out. Her cries echoed in the otherwise silent room.

I gasped and let out a small squeak. I'm quite sure my heart stopped beating, and my blood stopped flowing. It felt like an eternity before another word was said.

"How?" my father questioned. He sounded defeated as well as tired.

I listened as my mother told my father everything. From the time before my conception to her meeting him and having their beautiful bambina. I listened as she said she thought she was in love. In love with another woman. Woman. I listened as she claimed it was all a mistake, that lifestyle wasn't for her. I listened as she said she was pregnant when they met. I listened as she told him she didn't know the egg had attached and something about the other woman trying for months.

I swayed under the weight of her confession barely able to physically stay upright with the vast amount of pressure. I strained myself to hear more and thanked myself for the self-control of not barging in there and demanding an apology and answers. Trying to comprehend the immense confession played havoc on my brain and its abilities. It felt like mush. I felt like mush.

"What's her name?" he said surprisingly calm.

"Whose name," she asked.

"Don't play dumb. Maddie's mother's name!? He said more forcefully, quickly losing the calm he once had.

"I'm her mother!" she shouted.

"Serafina! Her name!" I could hear that he had stood from his seat at this point.

I heard a light shift and the positioning of cushions. I thought she wouldn't answer until I heard her whisper.

"Lena…her name is Lena Adams."