"Go shopping with us."

"All right. I need new clothes, anyway."

Oliver picked up his head from the clothing rack he was rummaging through to eye the girls chattering loudly. The cashier was giving them rotten eyes from the front counter. They finally quieted from the man's glare, and gave each other sly glances as they pawed through the selections. "This store drags," one said. "I can't find anything decent to wear. I'll look like a whore if I wear any of this."

Another one snickered, "I don't mind." She gasped when she found something to her tastes. She pulled out two shirts, putting each of them against her chest, looking uncertain. "What do you think?"

"You're the one that is going to wear them."

The girl posing with the shirts sighed. "Oliver!"

"Yes, I am right here," Oliver called from being halfway submerged inside a clothing rack.

"Which one should I buy? I don't have enough money for both."

He straightened, surveying the tops for a moment before diving back into his search. "If I were you, I would chose the blue top. It matches your eyes."

The girls glanced at each other before turning away from him, trying their best not to erupt into more giggles. Oliver kept quiet, turning to a different clothing rack, but did not find anything suitable for himself. As he watched the girls do that strange whispering and snickering they usually do, he felt like there was something more present than simple gossiping.

"Oh, hey," one of the girls barked, startling him. "We got to go to the next store over after this. That's where the others are."

"That is fine."

"It's mostly all make up and cosmetics, though. I don't know if you needed anything from there, so..."

"Oh." Oliver grimaced, putting the shirt he pulled out back on the rack. The girls were fierce but loyal companions, but some low part of him yearned for the rough and down to Earth company only another boy would offer, without worrying over silly things like what color of eyeliner went with their lipstick. It was just another silly thought that zipped through his mind. He did not know what or who could offer better than they do. He lied, "T-there is some other place I wanted to check out for a tad bit, anyway."

They cheered up. "Really? Good! We can meet back up at the House."

Oliver left the thrift store with only one bag of socks, ties, and candy from the main counter. He glanced into the windows of the other stores, but they did not show anything worth entering as of that moment. He did not stop any of the pedestrians, walking with their heads down, to ask what was of interest. They would not tell him, anyway. Pastel pink and blue stripes of another shop's awning caught his eye, and he glanced up to the colors popping in comparison to the adjacent buildings.

The door swung open from someone giving it a rough shove as they breezed past Oliver. The scent from inside the shop erased any thought for a moment. He stood, paralyzed, deeply inhaling the warm smells as the door closed. He lunged forward, and pulled it open to step inside. Even the floor tiles were a lovely pale color, and he could say, as strange as it was, that the atmosphere welcomed him.

Nobody was behind the counter, and Oliver did not know whether to go up to it, or sit at one of the light blue tables along one wall. He awkwardly stood by the entrance, taking more whiffs of the scent that made his mouth water like a starving dog. A loud clattering ran beneath his feet, and he hurried to the counter, worried for the dropped object. A short elderly woman shuffled from the kitchen doorway behind the counter, sighing as if she were exhausted. She picked up her head and gazed at the boy with slate eyes.

"Uh..." Oliver did not know what to say. "You all right?"

The old woman seemed taken back from the question. "To be honest, no. May I ask of your help?"

Oliver did not hesitate. "Yes, of course."

She cracked a toothy grin, causing the wrinkles behind her round glasses to crinkle further. "I have just made four dozen cupcakes for a business meeting of some sort, so there is a lot of dishes to wash. If you help me, I will see that you walk out with more money than you walked in with."

"I can do that!"

"Good. You may put your bag on one of the tables there."

The boy crept into the kitchen with his eyes jumping around the plastic bowls littering the counter to the great mountain of dishes in the sink, spilling into the other basin. A few utensils were scattered on the floor. As Oliver tackled the mess, he contemplated what to buy with even more money. He was tempted by the bakery's scent to purchase something from there after the counters were wiped. Oh, what a marvelous thing that earning money was!

The elder was there, too, watching Oliver diligently work from the corner of her lens. When the laborious job was finished with both of their efforts, the boy wiped his forehead in playful exhaustion, flashing a bright grin. She noted, "You put plenty of effort into what you do."

Oliver tried his best to be humble. "Why, thank you, ma'am."

"My name is Anabella."

"Thank you, Anabella."

"You may call me Bella."

"A-all right."

The old lady was pulling his legs, evident in her own cheeky smile as she turned for the front room. After digging around the cash register, she cupped her hand against the boy's, leaving a healthy sum behind.

Oliver exclaimed, not able to help beaming at the money, "Thank you, Bella!"

"Thank you, young man. It is nice to have someone who tries around here. What is your name?"

"Oliver."

"Would you like something to eat, Oliver?"

"Oh, please, yes!"

Anabella reached inside the display case resting on the counter, and plopped a large chocolate muffin in his open palms.

"Wow!" Oliver slightly faltered, "How much is this going to be?"

"Just eat it," Anabella said. "If you ever want more, come by, and I will give you something to do."

Oliver gasped, his expression brightening once more. "Really?!"

"What, you want me to say, 'Gotcha!' and laugh at you?" She twisted a dishrag in her hands. "Go on, get out of here, and make sure you come back."

"Y-yes ma'am, ah, Bella."

Anabella flicked the towel at his back, making the boy hurry out the door with his treat. He bounced down the sidewalk, not caring how the pedestrians swerved away from him. Oliver shot across the street when the light down the road turned purple for vehicles to stop. However, a car turned anyway, whipping around the corner. He gasped in fright, and leaped back, cramming the muffin in his mouth.

The car zipped by without so much as a honk, and Oliver stared after it, the lower half of the pastry crumbling onto his hands. He hopped onto the other walkway, pausing to inhale the left over dessert, and put a hand to his racing heart. He wondered what was inside the delectable treat. It was rich, dark, and indulgent; nothing like his mother's light desserts. He certainly would not mind going back for more.

Oliver hurried back to the House, back to his bedroom, so he would not be almost ran over again. When he reached the near end of the hallway, he set down his bags to fish for his keys. A door from the opposite end of the corridor opened, revealing heavy feet and deep laughter. At the sight of another person, the laughter died.

"Hello, Lutz, Siegmund," Oliver called before the brothers could go downstairs. They stopped, staring with shocked gazes. "Are you going outside? It is a lovely day out."

"Uh, hey, Oliver," Lutz grunted, looking fatally uncomfortable. "That's the Italian winter, I suppose."

"Just a tic, you two." Oliver knelt beside his bag, rummaging for something good. Siegmund ran a nervous hand down the pony tail resting on his shoulder, giving his brother a puzzled look. Lutz shrugged, shuffling closer to the other teen. "Here," the boy shook his closed fists to gesture for them to hold their hands out. They did, twitching as if grenades were going to drop in their palms. Two wrapped candies fell instead.

The brothers stared at the sweets, holding them to their eyes like apes gawking at diamonds. Siegmund made a breathy gasping sound, before lashing out a pale hand, and snatching his sibling's piece. "Wha...?" Lutz seemed confused to why his candy was suddenly gone. "Hey!" He barked, pelting after his brother, who flung himself down the stairs. Their heavy stomps reverberated through the floorboards, until Miss Warden's voice snapped in a scolding manner.

"Oliver, hey, Oliver!"

The boy let out a small sigh, wanting to put up his aching feet from walking around town all day. He faced the speaker, smiling anyway, since it was one of the girls from the bleachers. "Hello, dear. Do you need something?"

The girl padded up to him, her hands fumbling as if she were nervous. "The others were wondering you wanted to tag along for another shopping spree. We're taking the bus to the next town over, and raiding the supermarket. Are you up for it?"

"I could always do more shopping," Oliver nodded thoughtfully. "What time were you thinking?"

"Sometime tomorrow afternoon."

"That is good. I will be able to work first, and get paid, so I can buy some more bits and bobs."

"Work?" The girl raised her eyebrows at potential gossip. "You landed yourself a job? Where?!"

Oliver giggled at her enthusiasm. "There is this bakery within walking distance-"

"The Queen's Cupcakes?"

He faltered from her worried expression. "Why, yes. I helped the owner clean up her kitchen after a large order, and she must have liked what I done."

"I'm not sure, Oliver. Don't you think she's a little...odd?"

Oliver plucked his bag from the floor to straighten out offense hinted on his face. "I only met her once, so I suppose I have to find out for myself."

"All right, I guess. At least you have a job." She dropped the subject. "Tomorrow, meet us on the bleachers!"

"Yes, after work."

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

The next day, "Pinch the bag from the top, not the bottom. Use your lower hand to guide the icing where to go."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bella." The old baker chuckled to herself as she scooped out fresh cupcakes from their tray.

"Of course- oh!" Oliver clenched the full pastry bag too hard, making the frosting fly out in ripples onto the cupcake and counter.

"That is all right, Oliver. Messes can be cleaned up. That will your cupcake." While her back was to him, the boy licked the icing off the treat, and squeezed more onto the top. Something thumped softly against his head, and he flinched, clamping a hand on the offended area. "I caught that, young man," Anabella set the carton of eggs she wielded on the counter, but her gray eyes twinkled with amusement. "I am glad you enjoy my baked goods so much. Perhaps you would do well to know how to make your own."

"Yes! I would love that!" Oliver cheered. "My mum and I used to make scones all the time!" Anabella stared, and he realized how stupid his wide smile felt. "S-sorry-"

The elder turned to click her eggs against a large bowl, but her quiet laughter rose above the crackling sounds. "Do not apologize for being different. After all, that would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for expressing your happiness."

Oliver shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to look dignified. Bella continued, "Things were different then...people were nasty, more so then they are today, believe it or not. When I was a young girl, around your age, if I remember correctly, everyone would call me this silly name. What was it? S...yes, a smiler. You do not even had to smile to be considered one. It also meant you were an outcast, different and shunned from the rest of the crowd, but calling someone a smiler was easier."

The boy stiffened, his eyes flickering toward her ramblings. "A smiler?" He grimaced at the feeling falling to his stomach, as if he insulted himself.

"The boys would ask me, 'What do you have to smile at so much?' and the girls would not let me sit with them during meals, saying I was too strange. Of course, everyone bit their tongues when they realized what a beautiful woman I became."

They shared a light bout of laughter. Oliver quipped, "If that is the key, then I pray that I do not have to wait long."

Anabella slowly waved a shaky hand. "No need. You are already a handsome young man. I would not be shocked if you attracted all the little ladies into the shop when they find out you bake." When Oliver did not say anything, opting to make his peak of icing perfect, she added, "Or all the cute boys."

The elder was prized with a confused look in her direction. "You said all these boys and girls used to make your youth difficult. Where did all this take place?" Oliver quickly added, "If you mind me asking."

"Difficult?" Bella echoed. "We used to call it the House, back in my day."

The pastry bag slipped from Oliver's hands, and onto the cupcake he was working on. "Oh, sorry." He fumbled, and wiped the frosting that got onto the bag, doing his best at shakily touching up the damaged icing.

Bella put a hand on his shoulder. "It is not the best place to make friends."

Oliver could feel the guilt radiating on his face, and meekly nodded. "To be honest with you, I had no interest in even trying when I first arrived. Some of those kids are harsh and rude."

"Of course. You have those kinds all over the place, but some of them are only following the pack."

The air grew quiet. The boy uncertainly broke it, "Bella? I am finished." He stepped away to display his work.

"Well done," Anabella nodded approvingly. "That will be it for you today. If there is anything left in the pastry bag, put it in the refrigerator, and I will give you your pay."

Oliver did as he was told, and snatched his cupcake off the counter. He wanted to make it last, but his little nibbles became unhealthy chomps, and the treat was down his throat before Anabella turned from the cash register to see the sloppy sight. The boy thought that if he had his own bakery, he could eat as many cupcakes as he pleased.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

It was pleasant, indeed. Between the girls' company and lively gossip, and back and forth from the bakery, Oliver was feeling much less bitter about living in the House. Many sunsets later, when he slunk into the main hall from a robust day at the bakeshop, Miss Warden remarked, "You have been disappearing for long periods of time."

The boy skittered a stop in front of her desk. "I found somewhere to work."

She peeked over her book. "Is that right? Well, if it is an honest living, then that is more than a lot of these kids make of themselves. How long have you been at the grind?"

Oliver smiled as he fiddled with his hands. "Almost a month, ma'am."

Miss Warden made a thoughtful noise. "I can tell you have been spending a lot of time in the library as well. I thought my books were going to grow cobwebs." Despite her light words, her face remained like stone. She leaned over, opening one of her desk drawers, and placed a tattered book on the edge closest to Oliver. "Since you take a liking in reading, try this one. It is the only book in this building that is not non-fiction...that I know of."

Usually, books were printed under government regulation, but the cover flap had scrawled letters. Oliver took the book tentatively, peering inside to see everything was hand written. It was rare to catch talk of fiction and fantasy, let alone to hold a work of such in one's hands. He wondered if he was somehow breaking the law by accepting the temptation. "I do not think I ever heard the name Shakespeare before."

"Of course you have not. Not many do. He was a famous playwright in his day, though not the good kind of famous. Not everyone fancied the fact he used such vulgar jokes, and indecently poked at the follies of society."

Oliver like the play before he even read a line from it. The phone on Miss Warden's desk chittered loudly, snapping both their attentions. "This is Warden's Youth Hostel. What is the purpose of your calling?" The old woman's eyes widened in the slightest. "Yes, there is plenty of room. Hm, is that so? All true."

He gave himself a shake when he realized he was listening to a private conversation. Not wanting to be rude, Oliver turned to the hall. He slowly walked away, trying to read and move at the same time.

"I will be waiting." Miss Warden roughly set the phone on its receiver. "Oliver? Where did that boy run off to? Oliver!"

Oliver back tracked to the front room. "Yes?"

"I was not finished with our talk."

He obediently sat in one of the seats. The elder continued, "Now, the language of Shakespeare is far outdated, so there will be things that may be detrimental. If you need assistance, do not be afraid to ask for it. Your curiosity will not be punished."

"Thank you."

Miss Warden acknowledged his words with curt nod. She folded her hands together on her desk. "On a different subject, I am expecting a visitor. The hostel has not received any new children in a month."

"That is nice to hear," Oliver quipped, unsure why the elder was telling him those things. Perhaps she was lonely as he once was, since he never saw any of the other kids speak with her, unless they were getting scolded. "That is good, right?"

"It depends how you interpret the situation. Youths seem to be leaving more than they are coming in. Then again, consider the area's declining birthrate. There are more older citizens than younger ones. That is not what concerns me."

Oliver gripped his armrests. He wondered what could possibly concern Miss Warden.

"Our potentially newest addition has been repeatedly sacked from his previous residents."

"Sacked? People have been hitting him?"

As if it were possible, Miss Warden's frown deepened. "No, he has been evicted, thrown back onto the streets."

"Oh, that is horrible."

"How do you suppose so? The callers told me it was for the sake of the other children."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "That bad?"

"Apparently. The local police figure a stay overseas will clear his mind. Things are handled differently here. People do not feed into stupidity as they do there. Perhaps time in my residence will have an affinity to tame youngsters. Some say it weakens them."

"Why?" Oliver's nose curled. "Kids are considered lame for enjoying their youth and themselves?"

"Supposedly." Miss Warden rapped her hands on the desk. "Oliver, we can go on for the rest of our lives trying to explain why people are the way they are, but that would not do anything beneficial to us, or society. It is getting late. I suggest going to bed now, and we will see what this newcomer brings us."

A.N.- Anabella- OC.