Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.
The Heavens and Earth rose out of Chaos.
John Milton - A Paradise Lost
Read on, oh faithful ones.
...
Chapter Fourteen
...
Layla entered the kitchen the next morning to find Warren standing in front of the espresso machine, looking both incredulous and ready to worship the stainless steel appliance before him.
"All right there, Warren?" she asked in amusement, reaching around him to turn the machine on for him.
"Fine."
It seemed that even a very expensive coffee machine couldn't make Warren a morning person, Layla thought, grinning to herself.
"Do you want anything to eat? There's bread for toast, or cereal?" she offered, reaching up to take a plate from the cabinet for her own breakfast.
Warren shook his head, keeping his gaze firmly on the coffee machine when he noticed how Layla's skirt rode up with her action. He didn't look away until it was time to leave, but she didn't seem to mind that he wasn't paying her attention. (It was so unlike Freeze Girl's constant need for attention that a few times Warren actually contemplated checking to see if Layla was still sitting there or not. A moment later, he would hear her sigh, or tap, or make some sort of noise, and he would relax, taking a sip of the coffee to help fire up his neurones.)
As the bus made its way over the hill, Layla looked at Warren, smiling briefly when she saw that he looked much more alert now. It was a wonder he managed to get to the bus on his own in the morning.
"Does your mother always assume you've been kidnapped if you don't go home or ring?" Layla asked, checking to ensure their conversation wouldn't be overheard.
"Not always. Last night was the first time in about a year," he replied with a shrug. "My father kidnapped me when I was a child, and I don't think she ever really got over it."
Layla simply stared at him for a moment, shocked at the blasé tone he was using. Then she noticed his fists clenching and her stunned expression faded.
"How did you get away?"
"I blew a hole in the wall. It was mostly accidental because I was ..." - Terrified, scared, angry, confused, worried about leaving Mum alone. - "... emotional," he said shortly. "Either way, it worked and he never tried to do it again."
Nodding briefly at the gloss and sugar coated response, Layla slid a little closer to him, taking his hand in her own. She didn't offer any words of sympathy or pity, simply because she didn't have any, and she'd hated every fake word that had spilled from others' lips at her mother's funeral and wake. She wouldn't subject Warren to the same false words.
For the rest of the ride, Warren just looked out of the window, pretending to take an interest in the light grey clouds that were building. Both were silent, not even crying out when the bus took off. He kept her hand in his until the bus landed at Sky High (holding onto the rail with one hand was an interesting experience), and slowly disentangled their fingers.
"Hey, Warren? Thanks for telling me about that; I know it mustn't have been comfortable to relive all of those emotions and memories," Layla said when they were off the bus and alone.
He shrugged briefly. "It was a long time ago. I'm over it."
Shaking her head slightly, Layla stood on her tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Stepping back before either of them could deepen the kiss, Layla smiled at Warren, telling him that she'd meet him outside for lunch.
Watching as she left, Warren waited for a moment before making his way into the building. He stomped his feet a few times, telling himself sternly that he did not go weak in the knees over a kiss as simple and chaste as that.
...
By lunch time, the few clouds that Warren had noticed earlier that morning were completely black, a storm raging around the school as the buildings and grounds were pelted with heavy raindrops.
Of course, due to the extreme weather, there was little choice but to sit in the cafeteria to eat. Layla sat with her back to Will and Magenta, who had started making out the moment they were close enough to do so. Zach looked a little green and decided to sit beside Layla, a growl from Warren on the other side of her not even enough to change his mind. Ethan slid onto a seat opposite them, frowning slightly as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"It feels very badass to be sitting on my own like this," he commented after a moment, starting to grin.
"Yeah, you look totally badass with a ketchup stain on your shirt, Popsicle," Warren muttered.
Seeing that he was right about the stain, Ethan frowned, hurrying to clean it.
"I got the videos of Save the Citizen you sent me; thanks for those," Layla said.
"Have you watched them yet? I took some notes, and I'd be interested to go over them with you."
"Don't say that, Eth! They'll just get better and whoop our butts faster next time!" Zach said with a groan.
"You lasted the entire game. That was longer than some of the heroes," Warren pointed out.
Zach opened and closed his mouth a few times, eventually settling on a frown. "That's not the point. You shouldn't give them pointers on their game!"
"We'd reciprocate, Zach," Layla said, grinning slightly when he perked up. "You tell us things we did wrong, and we do the same for you."
He grinned cockily. "I didn't do a thing wrong; I was made of pure awesomeness."
"You took too long to light up and didn't hurt Warren, which was one of the few things that cost you the game," she replied.
His grin slipped and he muttered under his breath.
"Speaking of Save the Citizen," Ethan said, nudging the conversation along. "I've been approached by a lot of heroes and sidekicks who would like to fight against you."
"What?" Warren asked, surprised. He'd seen the sidekicks talking to Ethan and Zach after the game, but he hadn't thought it had been about this.
"Everyone's seen how you fight, and they're eager to go against you. Of course, they're also ecstatic at a chance to actually fight. One senior hero hasn't even played before!"
"Why not?" Layla asked, frowning.
"Apparently, Lash and Speed only fought against sidekicks unless Boomer made them pick a hero. Even then, it was only against heroes they knew they could beat without a fuss," Zach replied.
"The idea of actually being able to participate has encouraged a lot of requests to fight against you. I've even started a schedule and begun to pair up heroes and sidekicks for you," Ethan said, quickly going into his bag to bring out a red-covered book.
He opened the first page to reveal a list of heroes and sidekicks, their powers and whether they'd fought in Save the Citizen before. Some of the heroes and sidekicks were linked by perfectly straight lines, while others seemed to be colour coded, and a third set were joined by corresponding numbers. The page was already filled, and Layla dreaded what she would see if she turned the page.
"I thought it would be better to go against people who haven't fought before, but it's up to you. Of course, it's also depends on whether you continue to win or not," Ethan added, grinning briefly.
"Can you send me a copy of that? If people are coming to you to make an appointment, you might as well keep the book," Layla said.
"You're really okay for me to do this?" Ethan asked, sounding hopeful and anxious at the same time.
"Go ahead, Popsicle. Just don't go over the top with it, understood?" Warren said with a glare.
"No, no. Of course not! Discretion is my middle name," he replied, grinning.
"Yeah, right. Have you seen your wardrobe?" Zach asked with a laugh.
"Like you're one to talk," Ethan muttered.
Offended, Zach launched into a long story about bright colours and glowing, while Ethan defended his own choice of clothing.
They sound like an old married couple, Layla thought to herself, shaking her head with a brief smile.
...
Walking up the road, Layla saw an unfamiliar car sitting on her Great Aunt's driveway. Guessing it to be Mrs. Olgestein's, she glanced at the two-storey house to ensure that no windows were broken, just in case. Everything seemed fine, and she continued to walk at a leisurely pace.
"Oh, hello, Layla," Frieda called from the front door as she walked up the driveway.
"Hello, Mrs. Olgestein, how are you?" she asked with a brief smile, stepping through the open door.
Frieda looked as though she'd caked on her makeup, large and obnoxious earrings sparkling on either side of her face. She looked a few years younger, but it definitely was not in a good way.
"Fine, fine," she replied distractedly, glancing outside. "Is Warren not with you today?"
"No, Warren's working tonight," Layla replied, grinning slightly when the old woman's hopeful expression fell.
"Ah, well. Let's go find your Great Aunt. She's insisted on walking around the entire house, despite the doctors telling her to rest. She must have really missed being at home, even if it was just for three nights," Frieda said, shaking her head.
Layla followed Frieda obligingly, a frown flitting on her face. It sounded like her Great Aunt didn't trust her to stay in the house for three days without stealing everything and selling it to the highest bidder...
They found her Great Aunt in the lounge room, just straightening the Van Gogh painting as if she'd taken it off the wall to check that it was the original rather than a poster.
"Don't exert yourself, Greta. I'm sure the painting was straight before you touched it," Frieda tutted. "Why don't you sit down now, and I'll go get us some drinks?" she suggested, leading Greta to an armchair. "Layla, you'll keep your Great Aunt company, won't you, dear?"
"Of course," Layla replied, sitting across from her, folding her hands in her lap demurely.
Greta waited until Frieda had left to glare at Layla. "I don't know what you did, girl, but I know you're the reason I was poisoned."
"I don't see how. I've never been to the golf course before, and I was studying with Ethan, Zach and Warren when I got the phone call about you being hospitalised," Layla said truthfully.
She kept her expression and voice calm, and didn't look away from her Great Aunt's face. Greta looked away first, her eyes roaming over the various ornaments to ensure they were all there. They both heard footsteps approaching, and Frieda appeared with a tray, three glasses resting on it.
"Here we are. A lemonade for each of you," she said, handing the glasses to them. "And a gin and tonic for me," Frieda said, settling down on the lounge beside Layla.
"How much gin did you use?" Greta asked with a half-hearted glare. She was still fairly drugged up and still couldn't manage a full glare.
"About three fingers' worth," Frieda replied, smirking. "Henry's leaving on a business trip tonight, and I want to get absolutely smashed in celebration."
"Who is Henry?" Layla asked with a brief smile.
"My husband... Thing is, we're both retired and since handing over the business to our daughter, he hasn't been needed at work in years. Business trip, my ass," she scoffed, taking a large gulp of her drink.
"Oh," Layla said a moment later, when she realised what Frieda meant. "Why are you celebrating then?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"Because when he gets to the hotel he booked, he'll find that the floozy is actually an actress hired by my divorce attorney," Frieda said with a chuckle. "It voids everything in the prenup just by him going to meet with her, and when they're done in the three point five seconds it'll take him, the floozy's going to give him the divorce papers. I'm going to sue the pants off of him, although I still haven't figured out if I mean that literally or not... He owns a lot of very nice Armani suits," she mused.
"Literally, Frieda. Sue the pants off him," Greta muttered. "It's not the first time he's cheated on you," she said, her voice thick.
"Yes, yes. I know, you kept telling me I was weak to stay with him. But he's all I've ever known, and it's hard to let go of that," Frieda said.
"I'll be right back," Layla murmured quietly, leaving the room before either one could reply. She returned moments later with two boxes: one of tissues, and one of chocolates. "I'll leave you two to talk. I'm going to go study now."
"Thank you, dear," Frieda said, taking one of the larger chocolates.
Greta nodded at Layla briefly, taking a chocolate as well. "You can't back down, Frieda. He'll just keep walking over you..."
Leaving them to their discussion, Layla hurried upstairs. Despite leaving her door closed that morning, it was now wide open. Stepping inside, she saw a few things out of place immediately. One of her shirts was on the end of her bed when she'd left it in the middle, her mother's jumper was lying over the back of her chair rather than on the seat, and the jewellery box was open.
Frowning on seeing the last one, Layla closed the door behind her and went over to the small box on the dresser. She looked at the pieces of jewellery to ensure that they were all there, but soon discovered that her mother's flower brooch was missing. Her frown deepened, and she opened all of the small drawers, checking each piece more carefully this time. Taking the box, she tipped everything out onto the floor. A small tree grew, quickly sorting and separating everything onto individual branches. The brooch was still missing. Sending a vine to search the floor in case it had fallen, Layla clenched her hands tightly when it returned empty, the vine sinking down into the floorboards once more.
Wrenching her door open, she heard Frieda's sobs from downstairs, and her Great Aunt's words to try and make her angry rather than sad. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, Layla made her way downstairs. She would ask her Great Aunt very politely about the brooch, and if she said that she didn't have it, then Layla would send her vine to search through the whole damned house.
Layla moved closer to the lounge room, seeing her Great Aunt sitting beside Frieda, the box of chocolates on her lap and the tissues wedged between them.
"Put the gin bottle down, Frieda. You're not going to achieve anything by intoxicating yourself to the point of hospitalisation..." Greta sighed heavily. "You should stay the night, Frieda. You're obviously in no state to drive, and I'm not allowed to drive while under the influence of these drugs..."
Something shiny glinted straight into Layla's eye, and she looked for the offending item inside the lounge room. Her jaw clenched tightly when she saw the red, green and black flower brooch pinned to her Great Aunt's shirt.
She refused to step into the room and confront her over taking the brooch, not knowing what she'd do to her Great Aunt, even with Frieda there beside her. Layla turned on her heel, making her way back upstairs. She would get her mother's brooch back, no matter what it took.
...
Frieda had composed herself in time for dinner, but her breath still smelled of gin and her eyes were still fairly red. Layla served dinner wordlessly, giving the woman a brief sympathetic smile.
"This is really nice, Layla. Did you make it yourself?" Frieda asked, sounding surprised.
"Yes. It was my mother's favourite meal. I haven't cooked it since she died," she replied quietly.
"Oh, well ... what made you want to cook it tonight?"
"I thought it would be a nice welcome home meal for my Great Aunt."
"Oh, isn't that lovely, Greta?"
Her Great Aunt didn't reply, and Frieda gave Layla a look as if to say that she was silent due to the drugs that were still in her system.
"That's a lovely brooch," Layla commented as pleasantly as she could. "Where did you get it?" she asked, looking at her Great Aunt.
There was silence for a very long moment, and when it became clear that Greta wasn't going to answer, Frieda hurried to make her own observations. Internally, she wondered why her friend was glaring at Layla and refusing to answer her seemingly simple question.
"It is a very unique brooch; I was commenting earlier how I've never seen it in a catalogue or store before, and how I don't think Greta has ever worn a brooch. I think this one suits her."
Of course it was unique; it was made by a stall vendor at a weekend market that had long since closed. It was the first thing Layla had bought for her mother using her own earned money. It was cheap, only fifteen dollars, but she'd saved to buy that brooch for months, begging the elderly woman to not sell it until she had the money. At six years old, Layla had been as cute as a button, pigtails braided and a green tunic over a flowing brown skirt that her mother had sewn for her. The vendor had no chance at denying her a thing, and reluctantly agreed. It had taken three weeks of chores to get the money, and then a few hours cajoling her mother to return to the market. It had all been worth it though, when she'd seen the delighted look on her mother's face on her birthday the next week. She'd worn it for months straight until the clasp became loose and she almost lost it during one particularly rough protest. Her mother had put it away, reserving it for special occasions, and Layla had lit up every time she'd seen her wearing the brooch, even six months ago for her thirty-fifth birthday.
"Graham bought this for me years ago for one of our first anniversaries. I thought about him a lot in hospital, and decided to start wearing it again," Greta said, not looking up from her meal.
"Really? It doesn't seem like Graham's style. He was always one for diamonds, more than shiny trinkets," Frieda said, looking at the brooch more closely with a frown.
Greta glared at her friend, standing abruptly. "I'm going to bed now. You know where the guest room is," she muttered, leaving before either one could say a word.
"I suppose all of those tablets they gave her made your Great Aunt grumpy as well," Frieda said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Now, tell me, dear, what are your plans after school? College, a job? I know a lovely restaurant that could do with a good chef... The one they've got is nice enough, but he doesn't believe in salt or spices," she said, pulling a face.
"Oh, I don't think I could do that. This is one of the few dishes I know how to make, and I doubt I'd be confident in a kitchen environment..." Layla said, trailing off. She smiled quickly, and hurried to answer Frieda's actual question. "After school, I'm hoping to go to college, but it depends on the available scholarships. I'm still not sure what I want to major in, so I'm hoping to get a more concrete idea of my future when I start working at my new job."
"You have a job? Greta never mentioned anything about it."
"I found out on Friday, and didn't get a chance to tell her before everything that happened at the golf course on Saturday."
"Oh... Well, this scholarship bit is nonsense; I'm sure Greta would be all too happy to help you further your education!" Frieda said.
"I couldn't possibly ask her for that, Mrs. Olgestein. My Great Aunt worked very hard for that money, and I'm sure that she has more important things to spend it on than me," Layla replied with a tight smile. "I'll just wash up now if you're finished?" she offered, standing and waiting to take Frieda's plate.
"Yes, thank you, dear."
Frieda watched as Layla left for the kitchen, the plates and glasses balanced carefully in her hands. When she was gone, she looked to the door that Greta had left through, frowning as she recollected her friend's behaviour towards Layla. So far, she'd only seen the young girl be polite and caring, yet Greta maintained that she was the devil incarnate. Layla's smile didn't slip, she didn't glare when she thought no one was looking, and she'd been nothing but pleasant. Frieda doubted that any demons would put it upon themselves to wash dishes either. Standing, she went to help Layla clean up, hoping that Greta's behaviour really was just an effect of the medication.
...
Late the next morning, Frieda woke up with a hangover, the empty bottle of gin cradled in her arms, and no memory of how she'd got there. Sitting up with a small groan of pain, she was glad for the dark curtains hanging up. Small threads of light wove their way into the room, enough for her to see the tray sitting on the bedside table. Picking up the note lying between the glass of juice and the small vase with a yellow rose, she opened it to read the words inside, a small square falling onto her lap.
Dear Mrs. Olgestein,
I hope that you aren't feeling too poorly after last night.
I brought you some juice to help with the dehydration, and despite your request, I didn't destroy your photograph of Henry.
While I am still young, I have had my heart broken, and I understand how it feels to lose a friend in this way. I will not degrade your feelings or marriage by making any further parallels between our relationships.
I haven't known you for very long, but I can already tell that you are a strong person, and I am positive that you are strong enough to get through this. You may surprise yourself at your own strength as well.
Have a pleasant day, and I hope you feel better soon.
Sincerely,
Layla.
Looking down at the small photograph of herself and Henry, Frieda clenched her jaw slightly. Folding up the note once more, she tucked the photo inside, deciding to destroy it when she had her husband's money in her account. Of course, the money wouldn't make up for his cheating or the destruction of their relationship, but it would be a nice start. Maybe she'd take a cruise somewhere sunny.
Drinking the juice slowly, Frieda was surprised to find that her hangover didn't feel as bad as she thought it would be, and put the note in her purse. It would be a note that she would look to whenever she felt her resolve failing. One day in the future the creases on the page would become so worn that it would fall to pieces in her hand, but when that day came, she would be strong enough to continue without needing the words in print.
For now, Frieda simply stood up, set the glass down, and rushed out to the bathroom, realising that she had been wrong. The hangover was as bad as she'd thought it would be.
...
"Are you sure you kids don't want something to eat or drink?"
"No, thank you, Ms. Peace," Layla, Zach and Ethan chorused, returning their attention to their work when the woman left the dining room.
Warren refused to look up until his mother was gone. "I told you it was a bad idea to come here," he hissed.
"It's not that bad, dude. Mrs. Stronghold was worse," Zach pointed out.
They all grimaced at the memory of Josie Stronghold coming into the lounge room like clockwork every thirty minutes to check on her son, make sure they were studying, offering food, and bringing in cookies in the middle of a heated discussion over who would win in a zombie versus vampires fight. (The results were still undecided as it is surprisingly difficult to argue while eating cookies, and a parent is watching and waiting for praise for their cooking.)
"Yeah, that's true. If my mother brings in cookies, I vote we leave," Warren muttered.
"I second that vote, but only if we take the cookies on the way out," Layla said, grinning.
"Was there any possibility of us leaving without the food?" Zach asked, laughing.
"Where would we go then?" Ethan asked, looking at each of them in turn.
"My Great Aunt's. She hasn't hosted a study group yet," Layla said.
The expression on her face sort of definitely scared Ethan and Zach, and they could have sworn her eyes flashed green for a moment there.
"Is it all right for you to leave your Great Aunt alone since she only got out of hospital yesterday?" Ethan asked, frowning.
"Mrs. Olgestein offered to keep her company until I got home, because they both think that my studies are very important," she quoted sarcastically.
"Hmm, I think you're trying to imply something there, Lay, but I'm not sure what," Zach said, rolling his eyes at her.
"That her Great Aunt doesn't care about her stud... Oh, never mind," Ethan said quickly when they all looked at him.
Warren shook his head, and looked back to the mathematics book in front of him. If a superhero and sidekick are travelling at 100km an hour towards the centre of a city, where the villain has already had the hero's girlfriend tied up for the last fifteen minutes and is monologuing to her, how long will it take before the hero can save her?
"This is ridiculous; the question doesn't even make sense!" he growled, his hands flaming.
Layla rolled her eyes at him, taking the spray bottle off the table beside her and spraying water on the book. It wasn't the first time he'd set the book on fire that afternoon.
"What's the question?" she asked, holding out her hand for the book.
Warren gave it to her, the cover wet and curled from the flames, and watched as she read the question, his arms folded over his chest. Layla flipped the page, and he bit his tongue so he wouldn't swear - his mother had a sixth sense when it came to things like that. He hadn't looked at the next page, and had no idea if whatever was written would help answer the question.
"If the centre of the city is an hour away from where the hero and sidekick are, and the villain takes an hour and a half to finish his monologue, as it says here, then it will take the hero fifteen minutes to save her. So, you want option C: twenty minutes due to the sidekick giving wrong directions."
"Hey!" Zach and Ethan cried out in indignation.
"Don't give me that. I doubt yours are any better about heroes," Warren muttered, taking the book back from Layla. "Thanks, hippie."
"You're welcome," she said with a smile. "Although, if you can't work that out, you might want to seriously consider choosing someone really smart to be your hero support," Layla added, her smile becoming wicked.
"The pain, will it never cease?" he said sarcastically, writing the answer in his book.
He tried not think about that wicked smile, but it was getting harder to keep thoughts of Layla out of his head.
"Hi, kids! I brought cookies for you," Warren's mother announced, opening the door and walking in with a plate of choc-chip cookies.
Frowning at each other, Zach and Ethan wondered if they were really going to leave now. Without a word, Layla and Warren both started to pack their things, and as a feeling of pressure began pressing in their heads, the two boys hurried to follow suit. Taking a handful of cookies each, they left the house with their bags slung over their shoulders.
Taking one of the few remaining cookies (to keep those had taken more of her power than she expected; dear god, did those kids like to eat!), Warren's mother grinned at finally getting the house to herself, and bit into the cookie as she left to watch TV with the volume up loud.
...
End of chapter fourteen.
Thank you for reading; I hope you liked it!