Hi, all! I'm back, with an update! Dun dun duuuuun…XD These drabbles aren't my best, but it's really late here so I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes. Thank you!
Disclaimer: Me? Own WordGirl? Nah. I will eventually, though…XD
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Sometimes I bring out the helmet, normally when no one's around and I can think straight. So, in other words, not often.
Not often at all.
And when I do pull it from its hiding place in my closet, lift it up to the lamplight and gaze at the cracks riddling its faded surface, I can feel those silly tears come rushing to the front of my eyes. They pool on my eyelashes like water from a broken fountain, uneven and irregular, and before I know it they've overflowed their boundaries and trickle sadly down my cheeks; they drip off my trembling chin and splash into the surface of the old helmet, melancholy and forgotten by everyone but me, and suddenly all I want to do is sob.
The helmet feels ancient now, heavy yet fragile in my shaking hands; the once-bright surface has been dulled with time and disuse, the marks of forgotten battles softened to gentle ruts and dips. The dark red lining along the brim is scratched, too, and when I run my fingers over it and close my eyes I can almost pretend the slits and scuffs are miniature mountains. Almost.
The outfit that went along with the helmet has been lost for years, tossed forlornly into the fire when it at long last came to me that I wasn't needed anymore.
That no one cared.
And yet the helmet remained, stuffed behind a shoebox of doodads from my elementary school days and waiting patiently for its time. Waiting for me to pick it up hastily, settle it onto my dark hair and shout, "Worrrd Up!" with a wide grin and an open hand ready for my sidekick to grab tightly.
It doesn't seem to realize that those days are long gone.
That they'll never come again.
When those thoughts hit me, I return the helmet to its place and shove an extra memory in front to smother the aching sobs.
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"Lookit, Becky!" TJ shrieked suddenly, racing from the kitchen to the living room like a madman, and letting that obsessive expression gain conrtol of his face. "WordGirl's on TV!"
Becky glanced wearily up from her book just in time to catch a recent recording of herself, sitting nonchalantly in an unexpected interview and answering some of the silliest questions ever asked of her in her life.
"Ha, that was an interesting day," she muttered. TJ blinked in confusion.
"What?"
Becky panicked. "I-I mean, uh, that must have been an interesting day for WordGirl. You know, since she's a superhero and gets lots of attention…" she babbled, but TJ had already lost interest in his sister's rushed explanation; he was busy staring at the screen and grinning goofily.
"I wonder how much it'd cost to replace that monkey guy she works with…" he said dreamily, hugging his toy WordGirl doll to his chest. Becky grimaced.
Sometimes it was hard having your younger brother crush on you.
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"You know…" I started softly, watching as Tobey fiddled with his newly created remote and adjusted the miniature earpiece atop his head. "If you just tried…"
Tobey glanced up at me from his mechanisms, his expression a mix of irritation and condescension. "What, Becky Botsford?" he snapped. "I'm trying to work some chaos here, if you hadn't already noticed."
For some reason, I could feel a blush heat up my cheeks as he glared at me. "I was just going to say that if you gave kindness a shot, WordGirl probably wouldn't be so inclined to hate you." My voice had never shaken like that before, but with a power I didn't know I had I forced it to strengthen and gain the usual coldness with which I spoke to the boy "genius."
He rolled his eyes. "Please, Becky," he said with a conceited chuckle, returning his gaze back to his bulky new remote. "What would you know about what WordGirl does and doesn't like?"
I scowled at him, my hands clenching into fists at his smug grin. "A lot more than you do, obviously," I snapped, and stalked off with an unusual anger boiling in my stomach.
Pity it didn't smother the butterflies.
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I don't belong here. I'm innocent. I don't belong here. I'm innocent...
The mantra swirls in her head, bouncing against the walls of her skull and echoing in her ringing ears.
I don't belong here. I'm innocent.
And she knows it's true. She didn't steal the dolls, nor did she blame another girl for the crime, nor did she lie to save herself from the police.
"I'm not the one with the bad rep sheet…" she mutters angrily, reaching for a weight. "I'm not the one with the temper issues and the birthday obsession and the cutesy demeanor. I don't steal."
She clenches the uncomfortable weight tightly in her gloved fist, ignoring the pinch of pain when the crushed metal of the bar digs into her palm, and lifts it up and down in an attempt to calm herself. But all she ends up with is a burning arm and the incredible urge to shout her innocence to the Warden. As if that could change anything.
"I'm innocent," the superhero whispers into her sleeve as the weight rises again to brush her bangs. "I'm innocent."
It's going to be a long eight hours 'til the trial.
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Tah-dah! Thanks for the deadline, keacdragon, and thank you all so much for reading this new chapter, even though these drabbles were unexpectedly short. So please please please review –feedback is appreciated to no end!
Thank you again! :)