I do not own Criminal Minds.
Las Vegas, Friday 20th June 2008
Although summer did not usually disrupt Roxie Reid's solid work ethic, this heat wave was tempting her to make an exception. Everyone else in the classroom was either drooling on their desks, daydreaming out the window or tossing notes across the classroom. The heat smothered the room, pressurising like a storm cloud, the students beading heavier and heavier as the clocks ticked by mercilessly slow.
Currently, she was trying to copy down all her notes on To Kill a Mockingbird by the time the bell rang so she would have less to do over the weekend. Exams had been over two weeks ago, and ever since her teachers had been relentless in rewarding their students with even more in-depth study of their subjects.
As she was just beginning her notes on Chapter Two, a small paper missile struck her from behind. It didn't hurt her, but what firmly irritated her was the titter of sniggers from the little snobs behind her. She knew where they came from. Just because Papa worked for Dolly McKinley's father, all her many followers had decided Roxie should to. When she refused to put up with them dumping their homework on her all the time, she had simply handed in empty sheets and booklets.
It had seemed like the sensible thing to do until the bitch started circulating rumours that she was the one who snitched on half the football team who skived out the back door during the mayor's visit, earing them all a suspension. She was half-convinced McKinley had snitched on them herself to get her in trouble and revenge on her ex. Ever since half the school had been giving her bloody hell.
When she refused to dignify McKinley's spite with a response, another missile landed on the back of her head. This time, it rolled over her shoulder and landed in the middle of her work. Very deliberately, she took it by a corner, pocking out from the little paper ball, and dropped it over the side of her desk, ignoring the snickers behind her. When a few more continued to batter her, she tuned them out.
When the bell rang, the storm clouds building inside the classrooms burst out into the hallway, spilling out of the school. Whilst everyone else left, Roxie waited behind to cram her books into her bag so her notes wouldn't be crushed. It always took her a while to fold them all as neatly as she could, which was usually why she and her friends were the last people to leave. These days, though, considering the number of people who liked to trod on her foot and shove her shoulders were as numerous as the number of sports fans, she preferred to walk after everyone else had gone.
"Enjoy The Mockingbird, Roxie?" Marcella smiled, stepping up beside her. "Didn't you say it was your favourite book?"
"Yeah, Papa used to read it to me as a kid," Roxie grinned. "He thought it was an excellent way to instil law and justice into us, through good reading."
"And he started you off on a rape trial and lynching? What was wrong with Secret Seven."
"I loved it. Apparently Dickens used to just make me cry. Harper Lee was the only thing that could get me settled when I was a baby."
"He read it to you when you were a baby? Was he trying to traumatise you?"
"I understood it rather well, actually. Papa said I used to smile at the ending and frown at the trial bits."
"Does your dad really believe babies can understand what adults are saying?"
"I don't know. Apparently someone told him that there are studies that prove children can understand language through tone and he just spent every night reading me classics. And now I hate him for it," Roxie winked at Marcella, who laughed. Both of them knew Roxie's bible was her collection of Russian classics.
"People don't hate you that much for being a nerd. They hate you for McKinley's bullshit."
"Keep on believing that and you can dream you're actually popular."
"They're just jealous!"
"Oh yeah! They're so jealous of me and my toilet-class reputation," Roxie scoffed, but smiled at Marcella for attempting to lighten the mood. In an entirely friendly way, she was jealous of her best friend and her ability to case sunshine on everything. Unlike Roxie with her flat brown hair, square glasses an pale skin, Marcella was platinum blonde with baby blues and brains equally as refined and brilliant as Roxie's. She was charming and sociable, without Roxie's inherent clumsiness, and could probably have kicked McKinley right off her perch if she so pleased with the dirt she could have hacked from her computer. But she was as honourable an enemy as she was a friend, so simply stood by her friend whilst most of the school bullied her.
Outside, the rest of their friendship group – Paul, Cooper and Darry – waited to help escort Roxie back home. At first it had seemed like a necessity, but after a while it had become a nice tradition. They'd stop off for bubble gum at the sweet shop, swing on the rope underneath the park oak, before throwing what was left of their lunch off a bridge to the ducks. Unfortunately, they had to skip all that today to get Roxie home by four.
"Why are you going to this stupid party if you hate everyone so much," Paul asked her for the umpteenth time.
"I don't hate everyone. Just everyone who isn't Prababushka, Babushka, Dedushka, Aunt Ruby's bunch, Great-Uncle Quentin's family," Roxie replied with a mask of haughty logic, which faltered at everyone's disbelieving look. "Ok, I hate pretty much everyone. But its Prababushka's birthday and I'm not missing it. We who are the decent brood must protect her against the vipers. I honestly don't know how such a crapload of pariahs came from such a lovely woman."
"You know for someone who prides herself on worshipping the classics, you have a very poor appreciation for the English language when you say "crapload" and "little shits"," Darry sniggered with mocking formality.
"You've clearly never read Baldwin and Ginsberg," Roxie shot back. "But it's not like you guys can judge me. Paul you complained all last year about the Christmas you spent with your grandparents that, and I quote, 'suffer from a serious condition of sour milk breath'."
"Yeah but at least they are nice. I've seen the way some of those cousins look at you, Roxie. Like they want to kill you."
"Ah the downside of being Prababushka's favourite. They think the 'little Russian slut and her spawn' are going to get all the family money."
"Will you?" Marcella asked.
"No. Prababushka may have personal favourites, but she wouldn't let that affect her opinions on fair division of assets between the family without good reason. The fact that they don't believe actually just reinforces the fact that they really don't know her very well…"
"Ok," Darry butted in again. "I know I'm going to regret this on some level. Why do you call her Prababushka instead of Great-Grandma? You're not even speaking Russian."
"'Prababushka' more beautiful than 'Great-Grandma'," Roxie lightly snapped. "You know, if you fools would learn Russian I could speak it much more often."
"But you don't even speak it at home!" Paul began laughing with Roxie, bringing a smile to her face.
"Because Papa doesn't know it! And for some reason Mama and the others prefer speaking English!"
"Because they're normal…"
"Oh what's the fun in being normal," Marcella laughed. "Nobody wants to be normal when they grow up, they wanna be different and exciting. Its how we get into college, get jobs, meet new people… Who the fuck wants to be normal?"
"I'd really like to be normal actually," Roxie sniggered, then groaned as her house came into view. Already she could see her mother packing their cases into the car, whilst simultaneously piling her brother's outdoor toys and bicycle into the garage and yelling at her sister when she came out wearing her pyjama trousers. "I should probably start mediating a Truce before Mama starts killing Annabella. And I promise Papa that wouldn't happen until after this weekend."
"Yeah, go and practice for your future appointment as the UN Peace Ambassador," Cooper snorted. "Meanwhile, I'll head home and practice my future career a casino tycoon."
"Oh yeah, its your Poker Club tonight," Roxie grinned, leaving them behind on the corner as she began walking up the street. "Good luck taking money from your friends and keeping them after."
"It's all in good humour. We only bet chocolate now."
"Don't tempt me. I can't afford the calories!"
"Tha… hey, wait… is that a challenge Roxie?"
"Statement of fact, Cooper!"
"Bring it on! Game! Monday! Lunchtime!"
"I look forward to the candy!" Roxie managed to get one last shot in before they fell out of earshot, enjoying the echoes of their laughter as they disappeared back down the street. They hadn't run into any trouble on the way back home like they had before – maybe it was time to start thinking about not wasting her friend's time anymore by asking them to walk her home. It didn't make sense for them to make this a habit – Cooper and Marcella lived all the way across town.
"Annabella, you cannot get on a plane wearing a teal polo shirt and pink teddy bears! Now go get changed!"
"You said wear something comfortable for the flight, so I don't complain about being uncomfortable! This is what I wear when I am comfortable!"
"Don't be so difficult! Go wear that nice dress Great-Gram got you for Christmas!"
"It's in the wash!"
"I put it on your bed this morning! Now go get changed! No Sacha don't get your football out again!" Saphya snapped at her nine-year-old son, who promptly dropped his ball and ran inside the house. Realising she may have overreacted, Saphya turned away and caught sight of Roxie walking up the drive. "Roxie, how long does it take you to get home from school? What did you do to your shirt?"
"Spilled something at lunch," she replied quickly. "Where's Papa?"
"He's not home yet," she snarled, whipping her lilac-streaked blonde hair over her shoulder. "He better be in a grave to be this late! Well, go and get changed so we can leave when he gets back!"
"Yes, Mama," Roxie replied with resignation, dragging Annabella with her before she and Mama could start firing off again. They found Sacha crouching in front of the TV bouncing a soft baseball in his hand. Rubbing his soft bushel of straw-coloured hair for his comfort, she turned to Annabella with a deprecating smirk. "Just go get changed."
"I don't wanna go to Great-Gram's stupid birthday. I wanna go to Bailey's sleepover." Roxie sighed heavily. Sometimes she wondered how Annabella and Sacha could possibly be twins – she could moan better than a class of five-year-olds sitting down to broccoli, whereas Sacha, like Roxie, would suffer in silence till the end of his days.
"Great-Gram only has one birthday every year. And she might not have many left," Roxie smoothed her sister's bouncy curls, meeting her steady fire calmly until her word had their tempered effect. "Now, she bought you that lovely pink dress because she thought you'd like it, because it was your favourite colour, and you'd look really pretty in it. And I know you like it too."
Annabella didn't really say much for the next few minuets. She just stood there, swaying, like a dozy leaf hanging off an autumn branch. "I don't wanna go. Eileen's really mean."
Urgh, Eileen… Rosemary's mirror-image daughter, who was Mama's most hated cousin for a reason. Simply put: blue-blood bitch training daughter to inherit that status. "Just don't take any notice of her. Play with Sylvia, she's nice."
"Sylvia doesn't speak."
"That's because she's shy. You have be patient with her. Now go change before Papa gets home." Though she moaned under her breath as loudly as she possibly could, when Annabella disappeared up the stairs to change, Roxie considered it a personal victory. Turning to drop a kiss on Sacha's head, she asked him, "Where's Nikki?"
"He's in the car playing his game. He wouldn't let me play."
"Honey, we all know you didn't mean to break your brother's play station, but he doesn't see it like that. Just give him some time and he'll let you play with his Gameboy again."
"Yeah," he moaned. Outside, she heard a car pull into the driveway and Mama begin shouting again.
"William, where the hell have you been? … I don't care about the traffic on the '95 road, you should have left earlier … well you should have rescheduled … do I look like I wanna argue? Go get changed!"
Roxie smirked as Mama grew even more irrational. The ire seemed to have gone from her voice when she had been shouting at Annabella. Unfortunately, Papa's inner-lawyer prevented him from backing down when was wise. When he stumbled into the house, dropping about ten files and a briefcase on the side, stopping only to kiss his children hello. "Go to the car before your Mama kills us all."
'Yes, Papa. Come on Sacha. Where are your shoes?"
"Mama put them in the garage under my football," he mumbled quietly. Smirking with exasperation, Roxie sent him out to the car whilst she went to get his shoes.
Boston
"Lewis, we need to leave if we're going to arrive in time for dinner tonight!" Barbara called from the kitchen. "I want to speak with Wesley about some of the funds we organised for the ballet school fundraiser last month. He says they didn't go through."
"Yes dear, I'm just coming," he called out, trying to dig the strain in his voice away. His fingers were viciously scribbling across his private account book he never let her see, but the sums, either way, wouldn't get any better. He always tried to make sure the jewellery and clothes she'd bought using her cards connected to the trust fund didn't bounce back so she wouldn't notice their problem. If payments to the family faltered a little, that was ok. He could default to their joint account within a couple of days while blood ties smoothed the stormy tide. Yet her growing interest in family affairs did not help his problem.
Neither though, did his gambling. With the payments he had to draw out of the trust to pay off de Roca, he and Barbara were barely gonna have enough money in their account to pay off their bills and mortgage this month. Without her knowing, she was supporting them both – half of his salary was paying off the rest of his debts to Joel Sinclair.
Now Barbara wanted to start having children and buy a bigger house! She had bought his Grandmother another first edition of Victor Hugo for her birthday. It would help when it came to his asking her for some money in a short time after this weekend was over, but for now it would just add onto the debts they were about to owe their energy providers. If push came to shove, he could tap into the neighbours supply again.
"Lewis!"
"Barbara, please don't rush me. I'm coming!" he snapped, then immediately regretted it when he imagined her face falling. He'd been doing that far too much recently. He really had to stop. Maybe if he took some anger management it would help. Breathing techniques and mental exercises to give him some better measure of control. It had worked before, the last time he was stressed and he got through that point all right in the end. All he had to do was just keep calm again, and he would think of something.
Here are the Russian translations for Roxie's addressing of her family:
Prababushka - Great-Grandma
Babushka - Grandma
Dedushka - Grandpa
