AS: Thanks to Kenzie Jadenwie for reviewing in the prologue. I was so glad to see your review when I turned my computer on this morning: yes, somebody actually tolerated that fanfic! Anyway, this is another test for this whole fanfic. It may be a little slow-paced but it's pretty much a current life-story.
It's All In the Smile - Chapter 1
I woke up to an eyeful of bright sunshine. Curtains just aren't what they used to be. I rolled around a bit so that I'm curled up into a bundle, my head stuck under the pillow, and my feet, cold from being dangled off the edge of the bed all night, tucked in at the bottom. Hmm…so nice and waaaarm. Maybe if I stay like this forever the world will go away.
…..
Maybe not. But I must have fallen back to sleep for a bit, because now someone's got their hand on my shoulder. I make an unintelligible grunt and clutch tighter to the duvet, in case anyone is going to rip it off me. God I'm so tired, it feels like I haven't been to sleep at all! And all my hair's in my eyes and my feet are itchy. It's cold outside my little cocoon, I can feel it on my ear, which is now the only part of me poking out. If it's too cold when I get up I'm going straight back into bed.
"Max?"
Someone's playing the radio downstairs. And…oh, what's that smell? I shuffle a little so that I can catch that smell again. Hm….PANCAKES! Someone's making pancakes.
Who is this on my bed? Tala? I guess it is. He's the only one who'd ever wake me up this gently. If Kai gets send up to do it it's usually: 'Max get out of bed or you're not getting any breakfast', followed by the duvet being ripped from my fragile and usually cold person.
Tala's just pulled some of the hair out of my eyes. How did my head get out from under the pillow? Aw he's stolen my pillow!
I'd pout if I wasn't so tired…
"Max?"
"Hm?"
"I'm making pancakes, do you want some?"
I turn my shoulders to see if I can focus now I'm facing away from the sun. And yes, it's Tala. He's knelt on my bed with a small smile on his face. He's wearing a white t-shirt and dark pants, his bare feet poking off the edge of my bed, eyes with that wolfish feral glint watching me placidly as I struggle to come around. His wrists, laid delicately over his knees, are accompanied by quite a few bracelets and he's got that necklace Rei got him for Christmas around his neck, the same colour as his pants, I notice. The two strands of hair usually separate from the rest get into his eyes and he blinks them away. His hair has grown longer over the weeks and months, and it looks a bit shaggier than when I first laid eyes on him.
"Hey Tala,"
"Hey," he says, with a small smile. He stands up and steps over me, prodding me with his toe, "Now get up if you want pancakes,"
I whine when he prods me in the side, where I'm freakily ticklish. It's a publicly known thing, and although it's alright for fangirls to know and coo over, it's a lethal weapon in this house. Ok, now I'm distracted, what was I thinking about?...oh yeah…pancakes. Mmmmm, I love Tala's pancakes. I sit up and stare across the room. I feel half dead, what's wrong with me? Did I drink last night or something? Actually, I can't remember what I did last night. Apart from sob over the boiler when it packed in again.
I sit and itch my feet for a while, even after the scratch has gone.
However much I love pancakes, I still can't seem to drag myself out of bed.
"I'm tired," I moan in Tala's general direction as he leaves the room. He's taken his time, picking up a few of my stray t-shirts and pants that have been scattered across the floor and piling them up over the end of my bed. Now he's at the door, stepping over my collection of school books I dumped there yesterday. He just chuckles at my moaning and exits, leaving the door wide open so more of that glorious pancake smell wafts into the room. I sit where I am and lazily daydream going downstairs and eating a pile of Tala's amazing pancakes dripping in everything I can think to pour on them.
Mmmmm….
"You've got five seconds Max, until I'm throwing them all away!"
Dilemma. Big dilemma. I want to go back to bed but I want pancakes…
"Five!...four!"
"I'm coming!"
Oh God, another argument. This time I'm left on the sidelines, hurriedly washing dishes whilst Tala and Kai hiss and spit at each other like two fighting felines in the living room. All in Russian too. Although I know exactly what it's about, seeing as it started at the breakfast table. I'd sort of like it if we could have one meal time where there wasn't going to be a mini-implosion. Particularly in the morning….too many loud voices. Suddenly my red haired roommate it stood next to me. He grabs two plates and begins to clean them, nearly shouldering me over.
"Are you Ok?"
The front door opens and closes. Kai's exited the building.
"I'm fine,"
He puts a plate down and stares out of the window. There's not much to see out of our kitchen window. I suppose it's a pretty impressive view of the rest of Brooklyn, but it's a pretty shabby patch that our apartment looks out onto, and there's a dog peeing on a lamppost and a cat hoiking up on the pavement. And it's way too quiet. Everybody's probably scouting out patches of grass in the parks, under trees or in the full glare of the light where they can tan and enjoy the sun. Walking dogs or going for a run or just generally being outdoor-ish. We should probably be doing that too.
"Tala?"
I prod Tala gently on the shoulder but he's completely zoned out. Probably best to leave him. I dry off the plates and let the water out. The dog that was peeing starts to chase the cat that was throwing up, and now there's nothing left in the streets I can see. I briefly wonder how my Mum's doing in Mumbai. Whether it's hotter than it is here over there. I wonder how my Dad's doing on his insanely-long cruise with his girlfriend. He should be somewhere in the Maldives by now. I try and get Tala to move over so I can put away the plates but he's not moving. He's starting to scare me now. He's not responding.
"Tala. Tala. Tala!" I click my fingers in front of his face and he eventually comes around.
"Tala,"
"What?"
"You zoned out,"
"Sorry,"
He moves so that I can reach the cupboard and wanders into the hallway.
"I forgot! The mail came," he calls, "You got a postcard from your Dad!"
"A postcard?"
"Yes,"
I rush into the hallway and grab it from him, as he begins to fish through the rest of the mail. He's right. A postcard. Not a letter. No! No money then. Looks like the boiler will have to wait a while until it can be properly fixed. Another stretch where the three of us will have to put up with our showers spontaneously becoming freezing sheets of ice bulleting down on our backs. I turn the postcard over and read the two lines scrawled on the back. Two lines. 'Having a good time, write to later love Dad'.
If I didn't recognise Dad's writing, I would have assumed his new girlfriend - whose never laid eyes on me in real life before - wrote it. Thanks, Dad.
"Oh, here's the rent cheque," Tala fished out the slip of paper, flapping it in the air, "And then some junk mail," he pauses to read them, looking interested, "Max are we having termite problems?"
"No. But a similar problem comes up when Tyson visits,"
Tala flipped his wrists and the entire pile of junk mail landed in the bin under the hallway table.
"Nothing interesting then," he looks bored. To be honest, sometimes I think Tala wishes he had such a rigorous training structure as he did at the abbey. He had something to do every minute of the day, and he knew he had to do it or he'd face consequences. Now, apart from washing the dishes and eating three square meals - which is a hard task for Kai and I to make him do - there's nothing that Tala's expected to do. He was brought up to be a terrifying Beyblader. Now he's got nothing to do. Also, nowadays, he's forced into social interaction. I don't think he's still entirely used to it. He still glares at people when they try to talk to him in the street, and he has problems dealing with Tyson and his rampant questions, particularly when they're in the same space like a room or a lift or a corridor…or, you know, planet earth.
But over the months, he's talked to me and Kai whenever he feels like it. I think I'm seeing the sort of person Tala may have been if he'd been given a good home instead of the Abbey. It's just a glimmer, but I suppose under the circumstances it's that little spark's chance to shine. I've also seen a gentler side to Tala. Like the way he wakes me up in the morning. After years dragging his team mates out of bed at four o' clock in brittle Russian mornings, I'd thought he'd be a pro at whipping sheets away and prodding people from their beds. Maybe it was the coma that did it. Or the change of life's pace…
"How's your Dad?"
I stuff the postcard away, "Fine. He's fine,"
"Where abouts is he?"
"I was right: the Maldives,"
For a moment I stand in the hallway, whilst Tala moves off, still smarting from the argument with Kai. The apartment, right now, is the last place I want to be .
"Tala!"
"Yes?"
"Do you want to go to the park?"
His head appears around the side of the living room doorway.
"If you want,"
I fiddle with a corner of the postcard in my pocket.
"I just don't want to stay indoors anymore,"
"Ok then. Lets go,"
He passes me for the door, and as he does I throw my Dad's postcard away. That'll teach him to send me stupid non-committal postcards from some far-off region with his new girlfriend.
The park is full of people. It's a sea of half-naked bodies, glistening in the sun with their sun tan cream, trodden on and barked at by excited dogs off their leashes, as their owners throw their frisbees into the middle of a family picnic or a line of students sunbathing in bikinis. We wind our way to a quieter part, under the shade of the trees, where there are less people because there's no glaring sun to soak up. Five or so kids are sat in a circle not far away on the sandy grass, tinkering with their Beyblades, their empty chips flashing in the sun. I try to detract the attention away from the beyblades and say, "Where did Kai go?"
Probably not the best diversion tactic in the world there Maxy.
"No idea," Tala muttered, folding his pale arms across his chest. After a moment of tenuous pause, he stands up: "Do you want an ice cream?"
I nod. I'm pretty amazed Tala is actually going to eat something without being chided to do so by either Kai or me. I'm also sort of stunned at how he's willingly going into a situation that will enquire social interaction. Well, he could just grunt and point but Tala's not a Neanderthal.
It's the miracle of the week, I might say, if I hadn't seen the size of that woman's chest sat over there on the park bench. They are not natural. They must have their own micro-climate…
"Pervert,"
Oh crap! I leap a mile at the sound but my heat-addled brain eventually registers that it's Kai, and there's a definite smirk of amusement in his voice.
"Hi Kai,"
He doesn't say anything, but sits down next to me on the dried-out grass. I look purposefully at the branches above us so as not to be called a sex-craved perv. Although come on, I am at that age where I'm expected to be looking at women. Not that I'm looking at that particular woman in that way. It's more wonderment at how she hasn't broken her back or smothered someone, rather than appreciation.
We're in a comfortable silence, the park noisy around us but this is Brooklyn afterall.
Kai hasn't changed much from the world championships. Looking at him now you probably wouldn't guess things had changed. He could still be training with his team, in the line for the next World Championship title. But he's not. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure he's ever going to be again.
He stretches out languidly. Ok, maybe one thing's changed. He's a hell of a lot more relaxed.
Tala reappears out of no-where with two ice-creams in hand. He hits down quietly and hands me my ice-cream mutely. No apologies for not getting Kai one, I notice. I sit awkwardly between the two, as I lick at my ice cream. I try to start a conversation, but realise there's not much to talk about in this awkward situation apart from whose going to have a go at making the boiler work properly tonight.
"Do you want to watch a film tonight?" I eventually say, ice cream dribbling down my arm.
They both nod. Oh good, I got a response. I, very carefully, check Tala and how he's eating his ice cream. He's eaten about half of it, but seems to have stopped. Without even blinking, he slots his arm behind my head, ice cream in hand, so that it stops just beside Kai's ear. After a short pause, Kai takes the ice cream from Tala's pale hand and finishes it off.
Ok, what did I just witness there? Have they done this before? I continue eating mine, not saying anything, but completely puzzled. I could sweat they'd fallen out this morning, and that Tala was in a bad strop.
"Oh, by the way: my next paycheque should cover the phone bill. I'm getting it on Friday,"
"You mean today?"
"No. Friday. Tomorrow,"
"Max, today's Friday,"
I throw my ice cream to the floor and scramble to my feet, belting so fast the sunbathers I nearly trip over a poodle and a frisbee or two.
I had to beg and plead to persuade my boss to let me keep my job, as well as giving me the paycheque I was going to be given at the end of today's shift. I did my puppy-dog eyes routine, my sob story: I really need this money, I'm living all on my own, and eventually he was sweetened enough to let me off being two hours late for work. I told him I'd been chasing my landlord up, who had set an ultimatum.
"Yeah. You can keep your job. But you've gotta work two hours on the end of this shift, to make up,"
"Sure Sir," I say weakly.
"And Max?"
"Yes?"
"Is that strawberry ice cream around your mouth and down your top?"
"Um..."
I ring Tala on the payphone in the kitchen and tell him I'm going to be two hours late getting home. He says fine, and asks me what I want for dinner.
"Savoury rice would be nice," I say, flattening myself against the wall as a chef walks by with a huge metal bowl full of chopped up meat.
"Ok. Bye,"
I go back to work and spend my whole shift trying to do as much as possible so my boss can look at me again without glaring.
"Max I need all the bins shifted,"
"Shifted?"
"Yeah. Some idiot kids knocked them about last night. They're scattered all over the alleyway,"
When he means bins, he doesn't mean the small metallic type you find under desks. He means the dumpster kind, filled to the top with stinking rubbish. Of course he meant dumpsters. This is a café. But I never realised the size of the café's dumpsters until I was up close, and having to drag them into a straight and orderly line. I swear the inside had been layered with dried cement, because I could barely move them.
I tugged futilely on them for a while, whilst my boss shouted at me from the upstairs kitchen for not getting a move on, and that maybe I should join a gym or something. I eventually managed to get one against the wall, but the wrong way around. I tugged on it to pull it back around, but I pulled too far.
'Crap!'
I threw myself out it's way and tumbled to the floor. It hit the concrete and bounced, it's lid flying open. As it moved back up again in the air, the rubbish inside it spewed force. From where I sat spread-eagled on the alley floor, there wasn't much I could do. I was smothered in a spray of rubbish, closely followed by a spray of it as the dumpster hit the ground again.
God.
Kill me now.
"I'm home!"
Nice smell. Savoury rice. Drool. I can't wait. But until then I'll just stand in the hallway and bang my head against the hall wall.
"Max? Is that you?"
"Yes,"
I keep my forehead pressed against the wall. It's cool and doesn't smell of the contents of a dumpster, like I do. Tala appears on my right and puts a hand between my shoulders.
"Max?"
"Yeah,"
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry….You're supposed to be 'Maxy', the cheery happy blonde boy whose permanently on a sugar-high which everyone wonders how you got on. You don't cry or get depressed about things like this...
"What happened?"
"I think I may have lost my job,"
"Really?"
"Well, I don't know. But I think so. He was so angry when I chased away customers walking in looking like this, that he couldn't really talk. He just gave me my cheque and pointed to the door…"
He rubs my back in small circles. Don't cry Max, for Christ's sake, you're fifteen years old!
"Why do you smell like a bin?"
"I got sprayed by one,"
"Oh…"
Another shadow appears on me and I clench my eyes as tightly as possible. If I'm not gonna cry in front of Tala Ivanov, the infamously scary Russian beyblader, then I am not going to cry in front of my team captain.
"Dinner's ready," Kai says, quietly.
I get steered into the kitchen and we eat dinner in silence.
"Feel better?"
"Yeah," I say in a small voice into my empty plate. Tala's barely touched his. Tala is a fantastic cook. He can cook anything from curry to cakes, from stir fry to salad. Not that he eats much himself. Tala's relationship with food has, in Tyson's words and awful vocabulary: 'Gone whack', thanks to that time he spent lying unconscious and being fed through a tube.
"Good. Now go and have a shower, you smell,"
AS: Review…please. The lead up to Max's birthday is next...