3:00 p.m.
September 14
Loud Family Residence
Lincoln tensed up and gritted his teeth as he creaked open the front door, fully expecting to be mobbed by his sisters as soon as he entered. Much to his relief, though, he walked in to find the house uncharacteristically tranquil. As it turned out, most of his sisters were either still at school or upstairs doing homework. The only greeting he received was from his big sister Luna, who was reclined on the couch, strumming out some chords from Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) the Reaper".
"What's up, Linc?" she asked. "How was your first day of Middle School?"
"O-oh! Hi, Luna. It was... uh... good. No complaints." He prayed that she wouldn't press him for details, as he struggled to remember a single noteworthy aspect of his day that wasn't Connie- related.
"Glad to hear it, little man," she said. "But keep on your toes. Sixth Grade can be a harsh mistress if you don't treat 'er right."
Lincoln responded to her cryptic warning with a muttered, "Mm-hmm," and started clopping up the stairs. As he made his way to his room, he maintained a brisk, measured walking pace: fast enough to avoid any prolonged contact with his sisters, but not fast enough to arouse suspicion. Acting natural was a skill he came to perfect after years of living with serial meddlers.
Upon making it inside his room, he slammed the door behind him, let his backpack fall off his shoulders, and belly flopped onto his bed, sighing with relief.
All right, I'm in the clear, he thought. Now what?
As he sat up on his bed and propped his back up against his pillow, his attention drifted over towards his unopened backpack, whose girth had nearly doubled from the influx of new textbooks and introductory homework assignments. He briefly entertained the thought of getting started on his homework, but most of it wasn't due until the end of the week. For now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
He knew that he wanted to approach Connie at some point tomorrow; he just wasn't sure how. He cleared his throat and started rehearsing potential opening lines.
"'Hi, my name is Lincoln!'...'Hi, Connie, remember me? I'm Lincoln!'...'Hey, thought you could use some company. Your name's Connie, right?'...Hi, um, Connie, was it? I'm-"
"What are you doing?" came a raspy, monotonous voice from below Lincoln's bed.
Lincoln's heart rate skyrocketed, and the shock nearly sent him careening off his bed. Just as he was teetering off the edge, he managed to grab hold of one of his bedposts and hoist himself back up with one sharp tug.
"L-Lucy?!" he cried, in between bouts of heavy panting. He clutched his aching chest, feeling his heart hammer away at his ribcage.
"Sorry. I thought you knew I was here."
Out from under Lincoln's bed popped Lucy, his brooding, black-haired little sister. She stood back up and brushed some stray crumbs and dust bunnies off her dress.
"What were you *gasp* doing under my bed anyway?!" he demanded.
"I can't find my poetry diary," she said. "I thought that maybe I left it in your room, so I tried looking under your bed."
Lincoln's breathing slowed down, and his heart rate started to drop towards a healthy level. "I-it's okay, Lucy. Just, you know, ask before you go poking around my room."
"Okay."
An awkward, stony silence passed between them. Lucy continued to stand in the middle of Lincoln's room, silently staring at him, almost as if she was an actress waiting for her cue. After thirty tedious seconds, Lincoln decided to give her one.
"You can go now," he said, pointing towards the door.
Much to his dismay, Lucy responded by planting her feet and crossing her arms: the universal sign for I'm not budging.
"Tell me who Connie is."
Lincoln groaned. "You're not going to leave until I tell you, are you?"
"No."
Lincoln let out a defeated sigh and motioned for Lucy to come closer. "Okay, I'll tell you. But you have to promise you won't tell anyone else. Okay?"
"Sure," Lucy said with a shrug. Maintaining her stoic disposition, she climbed up onto Lincoln's bed and crawled closer to him on her hands and knees.
"So, Connie is... um..."
A light blush began to spread across his pale cheeks. "...a girl."
"Mm-hmm..." Lucy hummed with a slight upward inflection, as her lips began to curl up into a tiny hint of a smile.
"A new girl, in my homeroom class," Lincoln continued, sinking deeper into his mattress.
"Go on," said Lucy, creeping closer to Lincoln as her half-smile grew into a conspicuous smirk.
"Well, you see, uh, she's..."
Lincoln's voice dropped to a squeaky little whisper. "...really cute. I like her."
Lucy gasped with joy, prompting Lincoln to tackle her and clamp his hand over her mouth.
"Shhh!" he hissed. "I said I wanted to keep this a secret!"
"S-sorry," said Lucy, her voice trembling with un-Lucy-like excitement. "I'm just... you know, sometimes even a heart as black as mine is capable of... that is, even in the darkest, deepest pits of my soul, I..."
Finally, Lucy just gave up, dropped the facade and gave Lincoln a hug, burying her face in his chest and making unintelligible squealing noises. Lincoln gave off a nervous chuckle, unused to seeing this kind of behavior from his gothic little sister.
"A-all right, Lucy. Take it down a notch."
After a few more seconds of squealing and giggling, Lucy picked herself back up, took a few deep breaths and regained her composure. "O-okay, I'm good," she said, letting a couple more errant giggles escape. "Continue."
"See, the problem is that I'm not really sure how to approach her," Lincoln explained. "She's shy. Like, really shy."
Lucy's girlish smile disappeared, and was usurped by a contemplative frown. "I see," she said, rubbing her chin.
"So how do I do it?" asked Lincoln. "How do I get close to her without scaring her away?"
"Well, first of all, it's a good thing you're coming to me first," said Lucy. "The other sisters don't understand introverts like I do."
Lincoln raised an eyebrow at her. "Intra-what now?"
"Introverts. People who avoid crowds and like to keep to themselves. Like me."
Lincoln's gaze broke away from hers. "O-oh, of course," he muttered. For an eight-year-old, Lucy had quite the robust vocabulary.
"Anyway, you're going to want to approach her when she's alone. She'll be more likely to open up if she's not surrounded by other people."
"Shouldn't be hard," said Lincoln. "Today I saw her eating lunch alone. I could try sitting with her then."
"Perfect," said Lucy. "And when you're talking to her, be natural. Treat her like a friend."
Lincoln hopped off the bed, yanked open his nightstand drawer and whipped out a piece of looseleaf paper and a pencil. "Hold on, lemme write these down."
He planted the paper down onto the nightstand, smoothed it out and scribbled down the following notes:
- Approach her during lunch
- Be natural
- Talk to her like a frie-
Lucy snatched the pencil out of his hand before he could finish.
"I think you're missing the point," she said. "She's a person, not a pop quiz. Just act natural and be yourself."
Lincoln's eyes wandered away from the paper. "Just... be myself?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. Surely it couldn't be that simple.
"Just be yourself," Lucy repeated. "I know it sounds cliché, but it really is the best way to approach her."
She took Lincoln by the hand and beckoned him to look at her. Though he couldn't see her eyes, he felt the intensity of her gaze boring through her thick, black bangs. "And she'll know if you're trying to be someone you're not. We introverts have to spend our whole lives surrounded by fakers, and we know one when we see one."
Lincoln gulped, feeling a shiver run down his spine. "U-understood."
Lucy leaned in closer, eliciting a second, more intense shiver. "You're a good kid, Lincoln," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "You're smart. You're nice. You're funny. Let her see that."
Lincoln sighed and released the tension in his body. "T-thanks," he uttered. "I will."
"Good," said Lucy. Her lips curled into a quasi-smile. "Let me know how it goes tomorrow after school."
With that, she gave Lincoln a quick hug around the neck and started for the door. "And don't worry," she added. "Your secret is safe with me."
After she left, Lincoln fell backwards onto his bed, sighing with relief. The ideal solution was right under his nose the entire time; if there was anyone capable of keeping his affairs a secret, it was Lucy. By coming to her first, he had managed to get the advice he needed and avoid the dreaded Sisternado.
For now, at least.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*
Lincoln was snapped out of his vision by the sound of his cell phone's alarm going off right next to his head. He took off the goggles, snatched up his phone, and saw the message "TEXT RONNIE ANNE" emblazoned at the top of the screen. As soon as he saw her name, the sight of her catatonic, trance-like expression right after she took the goggles off flashed before his eyes. That, and the awkward, forced smile she gave him right before she left, and the way she exited the room with her head down and her hands at her sides. Something was definitely the matter.
Lincoln took a deep breath, snapped up his phone and texted Ronnie Anne the following message:
hey did u make it home ok?
It was a bit of an odd question; Ronnie Anne's house wasn't that far from Lincoln's, and Royal Woods wasn't exactly a tough neighborhood. Really, he was just looking for an excuse to text her.
A moment later, his phone vibrated, displaying her response in the center of the screen:
yes.
Lincoln knit his brow. In the medium of texting, a "yes" (in lieu of a "yeah", "ya" or "mm-hmm") was almost always a sign that something was amiss, especially when it was followed by a full stop.
Figuring there was no use in beating around the bush, he responded with the following:
ok good. btw is everything alright?
To which she replied:
um yeah i guess. why?
Lincoln felt a pang of worry growing in the pit of his stomach. That tacked-on "I guess" at the end couldn't have been anything other than a cry for help. There was no reason to include that awkward piece of word cruft, unless she was trying to signal that something was wrong.
idk, u were acting kind of weird before u left
oh im just stressed out about school and stuff. no worries
Lincoln was 90 percent sure that that was a lie, but he'd have to let it slide for now. She'd open up to him when she was good and ready.
kk see u tomorrow
yep yep
Just as Lincoln was about to set his phone back down on his nightstand, he felt it vibrate in his hand again. The following message was on display in the center of the screen.
and lincoln?
Lincoln, feeling the pang in his stomach resurge, texted her back.
yeah?
And Ronnie Anne responded with a text that would dominate his thoughts for the rest of the night:
im sorry for being so mean to you.