Lemon Scent

Ricardo and Sofía drove us to the hotel address I gave them.

The hotel was hella-big. I was walking behind them on the parking lot, occasionally speeding up my steps so as not to be left too far behind. Sometimes they would shortly turn around to check on me. I didn't know why, but it felt a bit weird to look at them in the eyes.

We walked into the lobby and they asked one of the men at the computers about the hotel room number written under the W in my paper.

"Ricardo and Sofía Borda?" He looked up from the monitor.

They looked at each other and nodded.

"One moment, please." He picked up a phone and dialed four digits.

There must have been a 4 second pause, but each and every second felt like unnecessary torture. I bit my left thumb nail.

"Sir, this is Gerardo from the lobby, how do you do?" I thought it was funny that he should smile like that to talk on the phone. Funny, because he wasn't genuinely happy to be talking to him on the phone, and as if his voice tone wasn't enough, some part of him felt like an additional deceit was necessary. Ricardo smiled at me playfully when he heard my slight chuckle. "I was calling to inform you that your guests have arrived... Send them in? Okay... Okay, sir. They'll be there in a second. Yes, okay. Bye..."

He hung up the phone and the smile disappeared. He looked at Ricardo and Sofía and told them to follow him.

We followed him to an elevator and Gerardo pressed the 20th floor button. Again with the suspense pauses. Why not a 4th floor? I stared at my feet and kept on biting my thumb fingernail for the whole ride.

An electronic bell. Doors opening. We stepped out.

I felt my heart thumping.

I walked behind them, nervous.

And then there was the knock on the door. I heard how a few tranquil steps approached the other side of the door until it was finally opened. Mr. Wammy was smiling.

"Thank you, Gerardo." He offered him a bill. I didn't get to see which one, but Gerardo looked more than pleased.

"Thank you, sir." He left without uttering anything else. I wondered if throwing two pesos at him would have been enough to purchase a "goodbye".

Mr. Wammy now turned to invite us in.

Ricardo and Sofía seemed as much as curious as me, specially when checking the room out. It was big, decorated with flowers and white carpets. A big window on the other side of the room showed an impressive view from the city. The kind that would have made my mother a bit sick due to vertigo. The furniture looked overly expensive. Suddenly I became too aware of my own body, trying not to accidentally destroy anything.

Mr. Wammy invited them into another room so that they could talk, but when I intended to follow, he stopped me.

"Why don't you stay here or go check out the other rooms? I'll handle them." He winked at me.

I stared and ended up smiling.

"Okay."

He closed the door behind him and I stood staring at it for a while. I just didn't know what to start with. I turned around to look at the place and shrugged. I started walking around, touching stuff. Mostly vases. Smelling their flowers. I sat in front of the window and looked idly outside. They were taking their time.

The volume scared me, so I turned the telly immediately off after having turned it on. I sat on every couch and in every position possible. I sighed, bored.

I decided that I would probably find something to draw on if I looked in another room, so I stood up. Kitchen. What the hell.

I checked everything to be fair, but honestly, opening the fridge door had been my sole aim since the beginning, and when I did, I thought I would cry.

All sorts of cakes and sweets and... And... Nobody would actually care if I took OOOOONEE thing, right?

"What are you doing?" A British voice.

Bam. Right from behind me. Out of nowhere. Ninjas were real.

I turned around, still not fully closing the fridge room, but guilt was making my heart beat faster than normal.

"Who... are you? Where did you come from?" I asked him.

A boy around my age had appeared. Black hair, strange eyes. I couldn't positively decide on their true colour. However skinny, he was significantly taller than me and could quite possibly take me down in a combat for cake.

He scratched his hair, quite expressionless except for a minuscule grin.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" He wondered honestly. The honest wonder was a very slight irony.

"Well... That depends." I kept the ball rolling.

"Hm?" He looked at me.

His stare was intense and piercing, fully focused on mine except for an underlying aloofness. I liked it. Sofía or Ricardo would never look at me when talking for long. It made me feel a bit off their track, I don't know. Like if despite our physical closeness we would be miles away. But this guy and I... We were on the same frequency.

"What's your excuse?"

"I've been living with Watari for years now, and there has never been any sight of you. And yet here you are now, in our kitchen, stealing our food."

I should have been embarrassed, but he made me laugh. Why, yes, I was stealing food after all. How ridiculous a scene.

"What's yours?" He requested.

I pondered. It beat mine, so I sighed.

"You win. I was invited by Mr. Wammy and told I was free to investigate the rooms."

He now looked actually curious. I understood what he was thinking.

After a pause for consideration, I spoke first.

"Do you think Mr. Wammy purposely didn't mention each other's existence to us?"

He hummed.

"I think the real question is why."

I nodded, but I was confused. It was so strange to me that we'd come to understand each other like this after so short and so odd circumstances. He didn't seem to had noticed yet.

"Who's Watari?" I asked regarding whom he'd mentioned moments before. I figured it had to be Mr. Wammy, but why would he go by another name? Or was it a nickname this guy was giving him?

"Who are you?"

"I'll tell you in exchange of a piece of cake." I bargained.

He considered my proposition for a moment until he finally looked up.

"Alright. But on one condition: it can't be from the chocolate one."

Wow, this guy took his cakes seriously.

I shrugged, fair trade. I wanted the lemon pie anyway.

He followed my example and took a portion of chocolate cake for himself. We sat on the floor to eat. I was still to answer my question, but it would seem as if prolonged pauses were not a problem in our way to converse.

"My name is Amelia." I introduced myself after a few bites "And this cake lacks lemon scent."

He glanced at me and went back to his, absorbing both the cake and the information at the same time.

"I know." He said after a while, pinching his cake with a fork, more playfully than decidedly. He looked at me mischievously.

So we had an evil one.

"How did you end up here, Amelia?" He asked, putting his empty plate away. Unlike Mr. Wammy, he pronounced my name right.

I licked the cream of my fork, shrugging. I removed some of the cream left on my face with my fingers and licked them as well.

"Long version or short version?" I mumbled indifferently. I had forgotten all about nervousness.

"Short, please."

"As we speak, my foster parents are arranging with Mr. Wammy to have me go with him to his orphanage in Britain."

His every movement stopped. He turned to look at me with a look of bewilderment.

"To the Wammy's House?"

I shrugged meaning to symbolize a vague 'yeah'.

He still didn't move, I raised my eyebrows.

"I don't understand what it is that you don't understand." I told him.

After a while he replied.

"Amelia, dear, I think there's plenty that neither of us will understand for a while now."

My head tilted, almost to be lost in thought, holding on to reality.

"How long a while now?"

He shrugged and got up to put his plate on the sink. The sound of water running filled the room. It was only the sponge sloppily rubbing itself against the plate that interrupted it, followed by an altogether silence when he closed the tap.

He extended his hand to me without turning, asking for my plate. Obediently, I turned it in.

The same sequence of sounds filled the room, peacefully, despite the violence of the water falling.

From below, a question reappeared in my head, claiming for it's opportunity to be spoken out.

"So what's your name?"

He didn't flinch. When he was done cleaning my plate he turned and shook his hands lazily to dry them. He accidentally splattered me a bit in the process, but I wasn't bothered by it as much as I was bothered by curiosity.

"You can call me L."

I tilted my head again.

"How do I spell it?"

"With an 'L'."

We held each other's gaze. He seemed amused by my disconcert.

"Is that your name or a nickname?" I asked.

His expressions went through a fast, yet noticeable transition, until he went back to looking the same old expressionless again. I wasn't going to get a verbal answer.

I stuck my tongue out at him and, behind his tranquility, I saw surprise.

We heard a door open on the other room and adult voices suddenly became clearer with each second.

We looked at each other before my name was called.

"Amelia..?"

Our goodbye consisted of a simple blink.

I got up and followed their voices.