Leni Loud woke with a start, the sound of screaming echoing through the chambers of her mind. She started to get up, still half asleep, but stopped when she realized it was only the last lingering vestige of a dream. She flopped back against the pillow, sweating and panting for air, and fought to catch her breath. Thin morning light trickled through the curtain and the clock on the nightstand read 5:57am in glowing red numerals. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep, her alarm would go off in five minutes anyway.

Calmer, she laid there and gazed up into the ashy gloom, trying and failing to remember her dream. Isolated shadows appeared in the swirling mist shrouding her brain like ghosts in a fog bank and she tried to make them out to no avail. She couldn't remember exactly wha her dream was, but it had something to do with her sisters. They weren't listening to her and then something really bad happened and she got blamed for it. It was automatically her fault because she was the oldest and the one in charge. If they were doing something wrong, it was her job to stop it, but she didn't, she let it happen.

Only she didn't. She tried so hard to make them listen just like she did when she was awake, but they wouldn't do what she said.

A vision came back to her so suddenly she jolted.

Luna was laughing at her - a big, eyes-closed-mouth-open belly laugh - and Leni got so mad she slapped Luna across the face. The atmosphere was thick around her, like water, and the blow landed as a gentle tap. Luna didn't even notice it. She went right on laughing and laughing, and Leni boxed and battered her face in a desperate attempt to make her stop, but each punch and slap fell softer than the next.

Remembering the sharp feeling of hopelessness, Leni shuddered and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Nothing she did worked; she might as well just give it up and let everyone do what they wanted. She, like, washed her hands of the whole thing. If Lana or Luna fell down the stairs or ripped their fingertips off playing their guitar too hard, oh well. They weren't babies, they didn't need someone holding their hand 24/7.

She thought back to all the times Lola and Lana rode their Jeep in the house, to all the times Luna cranked her amp all the way up to 11 and shook the windows, to all the times Lisa blew up the house and Lynn broke stuff with her ball and Luan pulled mean and sadistic pranks that hurt people. Who was she kidding? They did need someone to stand over their shoulders and bark orders at them. They were like wild animals, if you didn't take the time to train them, they would keep being bad.

They needed Lori.

Not her.

Not Luna.

No one else but Lori.

Maybe Lincoln could pull it off one day, but he was just a kid and Luna, Luan, and Lynn would never listen to someone younger than them, even if he became Lori 2.0. You, like, totes need a basic level of respect to build on. The younger ones looked up to Lincoln the way she herself looked up to Lori, so when he became the oldest at home, it would probably be easier on him than it was on her because Luna, Luan, and Lynn didn't have respect for Leni. They thought she was a total loser and dumbhead, so nothing she said mattered in the slightest. She might as well be younger than them for all the respect they had for her. Even Lily would do a better job.

And why wouldn't she? Leni was retarded. She failed kindergarten twice and took things so literally that if you told her chop chop, she'd go make you a salad. She had issues and everyone knew about it; they knew about her autism and they thought that made her a total retard who couldn't understand anything but the joy of drooling on herself. They never said so out loud but you could see it in their eyes and in the way they treated her. Even when they weren't being butt wipes like they were now, they handled her with the patronizing care of an adult interacting with a profoundly stupid child. There was a lot more in her head than just air, you know, but they didn't realize that. She could get hit in the head and become a super duper genius just like Lisa, but it wouldn't matter; they'd still look at her as poor, dumb old Leni. Let's ignore her, she's weak and stupid, what can she do to us? Hahahahahaha, let's crash our Jeep into Lincy's door and almost break our necks falling down the stairs. What's the worst that could happen?

And they called her dumb.

Anger burned in Leni's chest like hot coals and stinging tears flooded her eyes. She gripped the blanket so tightly that her knuckles turned white and clenched her jaw until her muscles stood out like fat worms. Her nostrils flared bull-like as she drew in great gulps of air and her heart pounded so hard her body shook.

Just as quickly as it came, her anger departed, leaving her cold and empty. The alarm went off, startling her into a yelp, and she turned it off. Throwing the cover off, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood on bare feet, her toes unconsciously wiggling in the carpet. She shrugged into a silky robe and went into the hallway, meeting Lincoln just as he came out of the bathroom. "Hi, Lincy," she said glumly, "you're up early."

"Just wanted to get a hot shower for once," he said in a nervous rush. Anyone else might have thought he was up to something and pressed the matter, but not Leni; his tone and evident agitation sailed right over her blonde head.

"Yeah," Leni said and sighed.

Lincoln's features softened with concern. "You okay?" he asked.

"No," Leni said sullenly.

Understanding, Lincoln took her hand and gave it a consoling squeeze. "Same old problem?" he asked.

Leni's head bobbed silently up and down.

Lincoln took a deep breath like he was preparing himself for an uncomfortable conversation and even poor dumb Leni could sense something coming. "You have to accept that you're not cut out to be the oldest," he said.

"But -"

He held up his hand. "You can never be at peace with yourself until you come to terms with who you are. You can't keep trying to force a square peg into a round hole. It won't work and it'll only hurt you even more. You're sweet and kind and just not a fighter or a bossy pants." He smiled weakly. "You have to admit that to yourself and accept who you are."

Leni opened her mouth to reply but stopped and processed his words the best her hobbled brain would allow. She knew deep in her heart that he was right - some truths are so elemental that they are wholly self evident - but she couldn't give up. Lori was counting on her and she promised she would be the best oldest she could. And if she gave up, who would be the captain? This ship, like, needed a captain, and if it wasn't her, it would be Luna. Leni used to think Luna would do a much better job but after the last few weeks, she totes changed her mind. Luna would be a terrible oldest. She'd play her music really loud and let everyone do whatever they wanted. By the end of her first day in charge, the whole house would be an itty bitty pile of rubble. Then where would they live? Huh? With Aunt Ruth? Leni might be stupid, but even she was smart enough to know that sometimes you have to, like, reign it in. Luna and the others didn't get that. They wanted to always be wide open 100 percent, and when you're wide open 100 percent all the time, it leads to problems.

Like wrecking the house.

Leni didn't want to live in a little bitty pile of ashes or in the back room at Aunt Ruth's house. She wanted to stay right here because this was her home and where she was happy and comfortable. If she gave up and let Luna take over, all hell would break loose, and she refused to let that happen.

"I can't, Lincy," she said "Like...sometimes you have to make yourself be something you aren't naturally. That's how, like, heroes are made."

For a second, Lincoln opened and closed his mouth like a fish struggling to breathe on dry land, then he pressed the heel of his palm to his temple as if to keep his brain from falling out. "You have a point," he admitted.

In the center of her head, a realization sputtered into being, very small and very feeble like a wet match in a dark cave., and she tilted her head to one side, her brow heavily furrowing. Anyone who had spent any length of time around her would know what was happening. Leni Loud was not a deep thinker, but occasionally the mysterious mechanizations of her mind hit upon a magical process by which it could consider and process information at an above average rate. The wheels and cogs in her brain spun faster, the dynamo of her deeper reasoning sparked, and somewhere in the corridors of her logical cortex, a light bulb went off, chasing shadows away and filling her skull with bright, eye-stinging revelation.

A bead of drool formed on her bottom lip and dribbled down her chin. Her brown eyes, normally glowing with life and vitality, gazed vacantly into space, seeming to stare at and through Lincoln. He hated when she did this because it was mega creepy; she looked like a zombie under a necromancer's thrall, and he was secretly afraid that one day, she wouldn't come back to herself...but that something else would.

Unable to bear her dead expression any longer, Lincoln snapped his fingers and she shook her head. "That's it," she said and thrust her index finger into the air like a scientist who had just made a major, world-altering breakthrough. "I got it. I know what I have to do now."

"What?" Lincoln asked.

Leni's brows lowered mischievously and a big, Grinch-like smile spread across her lips. She steepled her fingertips and laughed in the back of her throat. It was an ominous sound and Lincoln couldn't help giving a fearful little shiver. Leni could be intimidating at times. It didn't happen often and was not a skill she could call upon when she wanted to, but it was definitely in her repertoire.

"They want Lori," she said, "they need Lori. Thenfore, I will become Lori."

Lincoln opened his mouth but she cut him off. "I won't literally be Lori in DNA, but I'll be close enough to give them what they want." Grinning that mad grin of hers, she turned away and went back into her room in a ghostly flutter of nightgown, leaving Lincoln standing in the hall, mouth agape.

I got it...they need Lori...close enough to give them what they want.

Two exposed wires touched in the center of his brain and, like Leni just a few moments ago, the light of revelation burst forth and scalded his eyes.

For now, he could see clearly.

He knew what he had to do.

Giddy as a girl, he rushed back to his room and got dressed. Instead of putting on briefs, he slipped on his panties. And because he was feeling extra sexy that morning, he put on a bra too.

Ready, he went out to get the boy.

That morning, Clyde McBride was up before the dawn and kneeling before the altar he had built to Lori. Candlelight bathed the tiny space in a warm glow and the low rush of air through the vent overhead made them dance like phantoms at a midnight rite. He rested his hands on his knees and his shoulders hung slack, his head slightly down and his eyes glued to a glossy 8 by 10 of a smiling Lori that he had clipped from last year's high school yearbook. Tears pooled in his eyes and a single bead trickled down his cheek, staining his black skin. Loss and sadness twisted and writhed and twisted like a nest of snakes in his chest and icy slush weighed down his stomach. A lump formed in his throat and he squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to keep from breaking down and pursed his quivering lips.

The pain in his breast throbbed like a mouthful of abscessed teeth and his breathing was labored. Surprisingly, he was not upset about Lori, at least not about Lori leaving. He was sad for himself. Sad that he couldn't let her go, sad that he was living his life for a girl who did not love him, sad because he knew there was something wrong with him and could not fix it. He had been to therapy, he'd taken medication, he'd done all of the mental exercises that Dr. Lopez had prescribed him. He genuinely wanted to change and to become a better person, but he couldn't do it. You have to want to improve, Dr. Lopez told him repeatedly, that was half of the battle. For the longest time he didn't want to change, he didn't see why he should. He was mired deep in the cold, unforgiving muck of denial and his personal growth was at a standstill.

Now he did want to improve. He put his mind to it and gave it everything he had...yet he still failed. Failing at something you know you didn't put much effort into is manageable, but making an honest try and firing on all cylinders only to bomb (and bomb spectacularly) wasn't. He tried so hard because he wanted it so badly, and here he was, sleepless and tired after staying up half the night and thinking about Lori yet again. Here he was nursing the tattered remnants of an achingly beautiful dream and the sick feeling he got when his tired mind realized that's all it was, a dream and not reality. Here he was weeks after Lori left, his mind still firmly stuck on her and his head hurting because even when he wanted to stop, he couldn't.

What was wrong with him? This was more than generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and possibly a desire for stability and a mother figure. It was something more entirely but he didn't know what. He didn't think he was crazy in the clinical sense - he knew the difference between right and wrong and his thinking was clear and coherent - but he couldn't pretend that he was 100 percent okay. He wasn't and he never had been...probably never would be.

It occurred to him to kill himself, and his heart jogged. Not because he had the thought in the first place, but because it was so much more appealing than it had ever been before. He had entertained the thought of suicide a million times in his life but even at in his absolute worst state, he didn't want to die. He wanted to live because even though it was dark and cold now, he honestly believed that the future would be better. No one who kills themselves really wants to die, he thought, they want to be happy instead, and they only go through with suicide when they reach a point where they don't believe they will ever be happy again. Clyde suffered from the hopeless, indefatigable optimism of childhood and saw only good things ahead. Now, he looked at his surroundings, really looked, and you know what he saw?

A fucking weirdo kneeling in a closet at a sick shrine to a girl he had been stalking for years. He saw a pervert in glasses who was on track to grow up into the kind of guy who sleeps on a bare mattress and plasters his walls with photos of his victims. He saw a future serial killer who would kill and kill and kill to fill a void in his soul...a void that nothing save being lethally injected could plug. In the feeble candlelight, he saw a future that was filled with pain, misery, and probably mental illness.

That was not a life he wanted to live.

It was not a life that should be lived.

He took a deep, watery breath, blew out the candles, and got up. In his room, sunlight had filled the day. As if on cue, his alarm went off and he slapped the OFF button. In just his underwear, he went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pants and then a shirt. He dressed, put his shoes and socks on, and shoved his things into his backpack. Thoughts of ending himself raged through his mind and his heart slammed furiously into his ribcage, making his shirt visibly twitch. Howard and Harold were still in bed (they went to a party at Harold's boss's house last night and got really tipsy on wine coolers) and he didn't bother them as he left.

The morning was damp and warm, the sunlight glistening on the dewy grass. Clyde thrust one thumb through the strap of his book bag and walked toward school at a slow, plodding pace, A garbage truck with constellations of rust flecks on its sides lumbered down the street and the thought of leaping into its path crossed Clyde's mind. He tensed, not because he meant to do it but because he was afraid he would, and waited until it was past to allow his muscles to unclench. A white guy in a neon orange shirt and heavy work gloves held onto the back, and Clyde watched him as the truck turned onto Oakdale Drive, focusing on him rather than on the fact that he just casually thought about diving in front of a truck.

Poor guy. Imagine spending your workday riding around on the back of a trash truck like a flea stuck in the matted fur of a smelly dog, the hot stench of garbage wafting into your nose like the world's worst purufume. Lori used to wear this fruity perfume that made his mouth water. It was called -

Aaaand there he went thinking about Lori again. He had the most uncanny ability to always circle mentally back to Lori even when she was the least relevant topic to the situation at hand. He was thinking about the eye-watering stench of garbage, for crying out loud, how in the name of God did he make it about Lori?

That was the one thing he was good at, he figured.

He sighed.

At school, he went to his locker and put his things away. He shut the door just as Lincoln walked up. At once, Clyde noticed there was something strange about his friend, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was a certain confidence in his step. That and what he would later come to think of as a swish. He leaned one shoulder against the locker and crossed his arms over his chest. "Hey," he said, his voice lifting.

"Hey," Clyde said, suddenly guarded. He didn't know why or how, but Lincoln's vibe was different, almost...intimidating?

"Um...do you want to come over later? We can...you know...hang out." One corner of his mouth curled up in a devious little smile, and Clyde knew at once that he had something special planned.

Now he was intrigued.

"Sure," he said, "got anything in mind?"

Lincoln shrugged one shoulder. "You gotta wait and find out."

Hmmm.

Interesting.

"Alright," he said.

Lincoln smiled. "It's a date."

He brushed past Clyde, and Clyde turned to watch him go. His hips rolled hypnotically from side to side and his butt wiggled beneath his jeans. Clyde's brow furrowed in confusion and after a moment, he slowly shook his head.

What got into him?

The bell rang and Clyde put it out of his mind. He went to his first class and took his usual seat by the window. Today, he vowed, he wouldn't gaze out the window and think about Lori. He would focus on what the teacher was saying and forget all about that hateful girl-specter which haunted his mind. That was all he had to do. Literally nothing else. Sure, it wasn't easy, but he couldn't sit here and let her consume his every waking thought. He couldn't count on someone else to save him, he had to be proactive and do it himself.

He took a deep breath.

You got this, Clyde.

Did he, though?

Of course he did. He had to have it. Otherwise, he might as well have jumped out in front of that garbage truck after all.

The other kids streamed in, and the teacher appeared a few minutes later in a rush, a cup of gas station coffee clutched in one hand. She stood in front of the blackboard and launched into the day's lesson without preamble. Clyde cleared his mind of all thoughts and concentrated harder than he ever had before.

To his surprise, it worked.