Chapter Two—Loud and Clear
"You're so anti-social."
"Get out of your own little bubble."
"You're too quiet."
"When will you just smile?"
"Stop being so meek."
"Why do you act so sad all the time?"
"Stop being so sensitive."
"You're so gullible."
"You must have autism."
"Come out."
Come out.
Come out.
In the morning, the sun's gold-white light seeped through the translucent curtains of the bedroom, gilding the tufts of the carpet. The room had felt warmer than it had last night, with the fan slowly circling and blowing little breeze. I stirred and opened my eyes, hearing Leni quietly snoring from her bed, and seeing Lori asleep with her mouth ajar. My hair had fully dried overnight, though it was frizzy like an old rug, and had been parted upon not being brushed in some time. Softly moaning, I rose, allowing the blankets to slither off my chest. I licked my lips; my mouth tasted foul, ill morning breath like rotting mold, and I felt a stiffness in my calves. My nose was clogged with gross mucus, a soreness lingering against the back of my throat.
Well, at least I wasn't freezing in the streets.
I glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. It was 7:26 A.M. I was quite surprised I hadn't slept longer, given how exhausted and weak and frail I was the previous day. Today wasn't much better, but at least it was an improvement. I stood up, the bottom of the night gown dropping down to my knees, and slowly tiptoed to the bedroom door. Not a sound was made upon doing so, the two older girls didn't wake up. I twisted the doorknob and stepped out—
Quiet.
In a place commonly known as the Loud house, it was exceedingly silent. It looked like no one was up, there were no messes, no sounds of footsteps, nothing. I figured I must have woken up too early, until I heard the faint sound of high whistling coming from my left.
The bathroom door at the end of the hallway swung open, Lincoln striding out. He opened his eyes, breaking from his casual formal walk and noticed I was awake.
"Oh, wow, I had no idea you'd be awake this early," he said, approaching me closer. "Lori and Leni always sleep in, but Dad—I mean, our Dad—starts making breakfast at 8." The shorter boy wore a friendly smile, chipped tooth showing. I just stood there, my hands in a raptor-like position.
"Uh, you okay?" He waved a hand in front of my face, breaking my short stupor.
I nodded quickly.
"So, do you talk at all? How do you even—"
"Y-Yes, I talk," I said, cutting Lincoln off.
"Ohh. How do you make friends?"
Inhaling, I prepared to answer—
"It builds. It just . . . Builds, someone begins to talk to me and I gradually get to know them. I really do talk, Lincoln, more than you realize."
"Hmm, okay." Lincoln seemed to be satisfied with my answer. "Let's go downstairs. I want to show you my favorite show, called Arggh!"
"What?" Quite frankly, I am not familiar with too many shows, because I was the kind of kid who watched cartoons her whole life and never got her innocence ruined by watching PG-13 movies at age nine. I prefer animation over live action, because when I was at an especially young age, reality was a bore. Not that it still isn't.
Lincoln took my hand and guided me down the stairs, then to the sofa. "Starts just about now," he said, swiping the TV remote and clicking the red power button to activate the television. "Arggh! is the greatest show ever, you're going to love it."
"Why is it called 'Arghh!'?"
"It stands for 'Academy of Really Good Ghost Hunters," answered Lincoln, as the show started. "We're pretty lucky we were up before my sisters, because they always fight over the TV. And their shows are lame."
I began to ponder what sort of shows Lisa, Lucy and Luan liked to watch. I wanted to agree with Lincoln on his sisters' shows being lame, but it only made me curious.
"Wait. Ghosts?" I murmured, a tint of fear and disbelief in my voice.
"Yeah. Aren't they cool?"
"I'm scared of ghosts . . ."
"You are—?"
"Ugh! My hair is so tangled! I look like a dump truck full of failed dolls!"
I recognized the shrill voice to be none other than Lola's, as she stamped down the stairs indignantly, her hair a matted mess. She glided to the sofa and had a cross look on her face, directed towards Lincoln.
"Oh . . . You think because a guest is here with you, you can watch whatever you want, eh?" Lola suspected, narrowing her eyes. "Well, two can play at that game. Scooch over, Lincoln, only a superstitious fool would watch something as low-quality as Arggh."
I instantly felt uncomfortable. Last night, the siblings all seemed to get along well enough (save the twins), but now seeing the first one I met getting into a fight unnerved me a little.
"How 'bout we watch Prison Pageants, Annabelle, darling?" Lola offered, daintily claiming the remote as her own and switching the channel to her aforementioned show. "Trust me, season three is where things get tight."
Prison Pageants honestly didn't interest me too much either.
"Lola! I had the remote first! You should have woken up earlier if you wanted it so bad," Lincoln snapped.
Lola scoffed condescendingly. "Oh, hush, Linky."
This was exactly like a sibling fight at home, especially between my sister and any given younger sibling, or even me. She'd always blurt the word 'hush' at one of us if she had no other argument to throw out, but luckily, I just avoided her, so I never fought with her all too much. I don't mean to be a stuck-up person of gossip, but she has quite a problem of losing her temper over the smallest things and lashing out uncontrollably. It frequently got her in trouble, the lack of self awareness. And it never failed to intimidate or even anger me. While the fight was familiar, it was also far different—It was a fight between two siblings of a family I didn't even know.
Lincoln finally managed to snag the remote with his greater strength, lightly shoving Lola off the arm of the couch. "Ha, yes!" he cheered victoriously. "And now, witness my victory dance—"
"Ugh, if you'd like to lose your dignity," Lola retorted, getting back up.
"I . . . I've had enough television, thank you," I stammered, halfway standing up from the sofa. "I'm just going to go to the kitchen, you know, to, um . . . Yeah." My sick dry lips curled to a soft smile, and I went into the kitchen.
"Well, that was weird," I heard Lincoln say to Lola, and they fought over the remote again.
The dining room was rather small for a house full of thirteen or so people. There was a long, black wooden table with chairs lined up against it—five on each of the longer sides, one on one end, and two on the other end, presumably for the parents. I stalked into the kitchen, where I heard the sounds of dishes rattling and sink water gushing. Lynn Sr. was rocking his head and humming an unfamiliar tune that related to making breakfast or something, while he scrubbed at stubborn food stains on a gleaming porcelain plate. I stepped quietly into the kitchen, since I have a strange talent for being quiet as possible if I don't have heavy shoes on.
Then I felt a strong tingle in my nose, like someone had held up a pepper shaker to my nose, and I sneezed again.
Lynn Sr. turned from his dishes. "Oh, hey, there," he said, still looking friendly as ever. "Didn't think you'd be up this early, hardly anyone is except Lisa or Lincoln." He chuckled quietly. "Ya like pancakes?"
I nodded, rubbing the back of my wrist, and pulled my draping hair behind my shoulders.
"Do you like eggs, too?" Lynn asked.
I shook my head. Most people love eggs, but I, for one, despise them. They're revolting and odious to me.
"Oh." He gave his head a queer little tilt and frowned. "Can you, well, verbally respond?"
Truly, he wasn't asking me that . . . My own relatives are always pushing me to respond with words rather than mannerisms, and it pains me to speak in such situations as these. I prefer to communicate and answer questions with easily understood gestures, since it's much less difficult for me in a situation where I have to deal with complete strangers. Of course, I have been scolded for this oh-so-heinous act they seem to view it as, many, many times. But, I really can't help it. It's just who I had been, and who I am now.
"Um . . . O-Okay," I murmured finally, with a little nervous grin. "Talking is pretty hard."
Lynn Sr. put on his queer, confused look again, as if to say that I was talking right then and there. I scooted awkwardly out of the kitchen and made my way into the dining room, which was still empty of people. I pulled out the lonely chair at the very end of the table and sat in it, propping my cheek up on my palm. This had ought to be the strangest and most socially challenging situation I'd ever been in. A normal person would have talked so much more, expressed every detail about himself, looked in every nook and cranny for something he hadn't said. It was difficult for me to accept that under these circumstances, everything I did, everything I said would have to be controlled, no matter how much tension I was yearning to release at every moment. I genuinely enjoy talking and conversing with other individuals about deep topics, meaningful themes, but being separated from a place where I could get help and go home was suppressing the words I wanted to say—
"Hut, hut! Take a hike, Stinkoln!"
I jolted out of my chair and stared into the living room, where Lynn Jr. was dashing towards the couch with a football, aiming her hand toward Lincoln. Lincoln yelped and bolted out of his seat, but Lynn had manipulated him into giving up his spot in front of the television. Lynn unleashed a victorious little chuckle and switched to a snore-fest football channel. I don't understand why people, men in particular, go off-the-walls insane over these petty sports games—they paint themselves with the theme colors of their favorite sports teams, they shout maniacally when the team either scores or loses, and they are just plain overbearing and obnoxious at games. I don't attend games, but I've been to a few, and they're quite annoying, I tell you. I bet I have partially gone deaf due to school pep rallies and loud sports games.
Lynn cozied up against the back cushions of the couch, head held up on her crossed arms. She grinned and widened her eager eyes as she watched her game. Really, there has to be something more entertaining, more insightful and thought-provoking than watching people wrestle over a giant leather lemon. But, some people enjoy that kind of thing, I suppose, and who am I to judge?
I stiffly walked back into the living room, figuring there was nothing more to do. Lincoln stood back up and hunched his back. "Lynn, I was watching the TV!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I've already fought Lola over it, I can't fight you, too!"
"Suck it up, Linc, you gotta deal with this once in a while," said Lynn, shifting her gaze over to him.
I just stood there on the place where the green carpet and the tile floors met. The two siblings looked in my direction.
"And look at that, we have a guest who had to witness our fight," Lincoln snapped, causing Lynn to frown a little. Lynn hissed in guilt and jumped down from the sofa. "C'mere, you can choose what you want to watch."
I knew someone would say that eventually. Every time a choice gets left up to me, I get nervous, because I have always been too quiet to speak up and contribute to a family decision. At least, in more recent years. One of these decisions I'd sometimes have to make was choosing a movie to watch on television, but every time someone gave the remote to me, I'd shrug it off and say I didn't want to watch anything.
"N-No, you take the TV," I said, holding my hands up.
Lincoln looked confused. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day when a kid doesn't want to fight over the television channel." He smiled and took the remote, and changed the channel. I joined him and Lynn on the sofa, me sitting as far away as possible from them. Every minute or so, I'd release a loud, deep cough or a kitten sneeze, startling Lincoln each time. My immune system is very strong, but I suppose it wasn't agreeing with the cold weather this time around, unfortunately.
After a few minutes, the other Loud sisters came down one by one—first came Lisa, as she formally greeted Lincoln, Lynn and I with a research clipboard. Then came Lana (with a vivacious pet frog named Hops), then Luan, and Luna, Lucy, Lori, Leni, and last, Rita woke up and went up to wake Lily and bring her downstairs. All the kids came to the sofa with us, while Lynn Sr. started cooking breakfast a little before 8 A.M.
As soon as Lily was put with us, Lincoln switched the television channel to a romantic dating show and said, "One of our favorite shows is The Dream Boat. Here, one of the best episodes is on!"
I was quite taken by surprise at Lincoln's enthusiasm for this show. It seemed very feminine, but I guess living around ten girls has given him some peculiar interests. I was just hoping he didn't get teased for appreciating The Dream Boat. On television, a brunette girl with very curly hair and a roundish, babyish face (similar to mine) was having to choose between six young men, each one varying in size, hair color, clothing style, and interest. All of the Loud children were absolutely invested, but I found it hard to pay attention for even five seconds. Luna, Lori and Lincoln tried their best to get me to focus, but it was too difficult. The rest of the siblings, besides Lily, began to question why on Earth I wasn't fascinated by the show like they were.
At last, Lynn Sr. came into the living room with an apron around his neck, announcing breakfast. "Breakfast time!"
Everyone on the sofa erupted in cheers, while I just stood up slowly, confused. Lincoln got ahold of my wrist and pulled me into the dining room. "What's going on? Why is everyone so excited?" I asked.
Lincoln practically shoved me into a seat at the end of the long table, popping out from behind the back of the chair. "Our dad cooks the best dishes," he explained, as the sisters all eagerly took their seats and Rita set out plates and silverware. "Trust me, you are goin'a be hooked when you have the first bite." He sat in the chair perpendicular to mine, as Luan sat next to me as well.
Lynn Sr. strolled into the dining room, his apron off, and his hands both occupied by a towering stack of thick, fluffy pancakes and repulsive-smelling eggs—though, to the Louds, they smelled pretty good. I focused on the pancakes, and they were like no other pancakes I'd ever even beheld. They were neatly stacked, had a flawless, brown-orange flat surface, and were perfectly edged with the outer white. Everything about them looked so pleasing, alluring to the taste.
Rita brought a bottle of natural maple syrup to the table, and folded napkins for everyone. She then buckled Lily to a booster seat on one of the chairs. Finally, the two adults took their master seats at the other end of the table; we were ready to dine.
"Alright, everyone, dig in!"
The other kids all leapt over each other just to have the syrup bottle in their possession first, as I just sat there, waiting my turn. Instead of an argument, though, it was excited chatter and eager moans. Everyone, except me, scooped eggs onto the plates, and Rita had to intervene a literal toothy match of tug-of-war between Lynn and Lana over the pancake plate. She suggested the idea of passing it around, which we all did, and I was one of the last to receive my pancake. The syrup bottle was passed around us as well, so I drizzled my own pancake in the sweet substance.
And, oh my, was Lincoln telling the honest truth. The pancakes were twice as good as any my own father could make, and that is quite an achievement, since my father is also a dedicated culinary artist. Once I started eating the pancake, I realized how long it had been since I had last eaten, and I felt as though my appetite would never be satisfied again. I didn't notice half the Loud children staring at me until I was almost done eating.
"Dude, even we don't eat Dad's food like that," said Luna, agape.
I swelled red and swallowed my mouthful. It wasn't often I ate like such a pig, since my appetite is about the size of a mouse. Everyone returned to their own meals, as I just sat there for a moment, facing my plate, and proceeded eating.
The Louds started a conversation amongst each other, starting with the parents asking each child what big plans were taking place after they got back to school from winter break. The teens in high school mentioned there being huge tests over a lesson unit or projects due, and the younger ones had nothing particularly worrisome on their plates—figuratively, of course.
"The school's offered me to play the national anthem over the intercom the first day we get back," Luna smiled, eyes glinting with hope.
"That's fantastic, sweetie!" said Rita.
"There's a big sports game on the Friday after winter break," said Lynn.
"We'll be there," Lynn Sr. responded.
Everyone boundlessly bounced sentence after sentence off each other. A few times, Lincoln and Luan tried to pull me into conversation, but to no avail. Simply put, I was not being talkative.
The entire family finished breakfast in a matter of time, and they dabbed their lips with napkins. "Breakfast was delicious, honey," Rita complemented, briefly pecking Lynn Sr. on the cheek.
"Thanks, Rita." He stood from his chair. "You're all excused, go relax, it's still Christmas break."
The Loud kids all leapt up from their seats and dispersed, then I felt a mildly cold hand grab my wrist and yank me into the living room. Lincoln had pulled me to the sofa for another episode of The Dream Boat. "Oh, good! We left off right at a good part."
"Uhh, Lincoln, I—I'm not feeling too invested in this show," I whispered at such a low volume.
"Wait, what? I thought every girl in the world loves this show! Even Lynn and Lucy like it."
I shook my head. "I just . . . Don't really see it the way you do. I'm sorry."
Lincoln grinned. "It's okay, I guess. Hey, I think you and Lisa would be great friends."
"Huh? Who?"
"Lisa's the one with glasses," Lincoln explained. "Here, I'll take you to her, she's right next to my room."
We went up the black wood stairs together, then turned right on the long red carpet rug and entered Lisa's room. Lisa was perched on her stool at her dresser, alone, toying with test tubes and other laboratory tools. She turned from her activities and said, "Greetings, Lincoln and guest. Oh, would you mind stepping in here, for one moment?"
"Uhh, sure, Lisa." Lincoln led me into the bedroom, and Lisa darted up and shut the door. "Lisa? Why'd you shut the door?"
Lisa adjusted her glasses. "I'd like to give our guest a small inquiry session," she said, spit flying from her mouth. "No experiments, as Mother has told me, but she said nothing about asking questions. Follow me, Miss Annabelle, take a seat on my lab stool."
I hesitantly stepped up to the lab stool and sat down. "Good," Lisa grinned, swiping a clipboard from Lily's crib. She hopped onto the edge with one of the walls clipped down. Lincoln had this blatantly confused expression on his face, and he approached me.
"Now, just a few questions. Name your Myer-Briggs personality type."
"Umm, INFP," I answered, tapping both my feet.
Lisa muttered incoherent words to herself, but what I heard was: "Most definitely introverted . . . Prone to negative emotions and tear glands watering, feeling . . . Perception, positive."
She looked back up with one last peck of her pen. "Good. Any physical disabilities, bladder dysfunctions, appetite issues, etcetera?"
"No," I coughed. "But I'd appreciate some cold medicine or something—"
"Any mental issues? Disorders? Allergies I must be aware of?"
"I don't want to talk about it with Lincoln in the room."
Lisa wore a false smile and put her hands up to Lincoln's back, trying to push him out of the room. "Thank you, Lincoln," she said, reaching for the doorknob.
"Lisa, wait! I wanted to keep her company!" Lincoln snapped, turning back around and stamping his foot.
"Actually, I just don't want to talk about it at all. Thank you, Lisa." I left the stool vacant, and I left the bedroom with Lincoln.
"Can I show you my coin collection? I collect lots of coins from all over the world!" Lincoln enthused, guiding me to his bedroom perpendicular to Lisa's. We went into the room together, and he rummaged through a dresser to pull out a big book full of exotic-looking coins.
"See, this one's from Poland," he said, pinching the end of one coin and pulling it out. He set it back and carefully fished out another. "This one's from Ireland, one of my favorites." Lincoln began to point to different coins and label their countries of origin. "That one's from Canada, Scotland, Denmark . . ."
Honestly, I was a little bit interested in the coins. Foreign objects almost never failed to capture my interest, since there can usually be so much history and background behind them. Lincoln and I sat on the factory together, and he showed me some other fascinating items he had collected.
"This is my model spaceship—my puzzles, my DS—oh, and here's Bun-Bun, I'm sure you remember him." Lincoln reached over to the bed and presented Bun-Bun, a small stuffed bunny with a red polo shirt on it. He held it out to me, and I took it in my hands. Bun-Bun was quite small, he could quite literally sit atop the palm of my hand, and that says a lot, since my hands are smaller than most people's hands are at my age. The bunny reminded me of a gray-purple bear I had kept with me for years, one whom I simply called Teddy. Teddy always looked dirty and dusty, but I still had loved her as a sentimental object. I tipped my glasses up and brushed my fingers against the bunny's shirt, its floppy limbs dangling between the gaps of my fingers like ivy. I held Bun-Bun close, like the way I used to hold Teddy when I was a little three year old.
"Uhh . . . Bun-Bun?"
My eyes opened and I quickly gave the bunny back to Lincoln. I couldn't blame him for having Bun-Bun still, since I still had my fair share of valued toys, even as a high school student.
"I know this room's pretty small, but it's my own space, and I love it," said Lincoln, standing and spreading his arms. "Do you have any siblings, too?"
I nodded and held up eight fingers.
"Woah, that's a lot, but less than I have, I wish I could relate. Do you ever talk to them?"
"Mhmm," I answered, without opening my lips.
"You're not talking to us much, though. Is there anything wrong?"
I shook my head no. The Louds were all so friendly, so lovable, but I just couldn't speak around them, I don't know why. Maybe it was because they were new people, and I was in a new setting where I needed directions or guidance to actually navigate.
"So, uhh—Annabelle, that's your name—what do you like to do? What stuff do you like?"
I looked around the room for a brief moment, and I found some crumpled up notebook paper right under Lincoln's bed. I pulled it out and tried my best to get it straightened out, then I made a gesture across it, resembling pencil movements.
"You . . . Like to write?"
I nodded, then pretended to draw a picture of a heart with my finger.
"And draw?"
"Mhmm."
"You know, you can just talk," Lincoln frowned, setting a hand on my shoulder.
Panic.
My sweat glands opened, and I felt a coldness sweep over my body, but at the same time I felt like I was overheating. A headache pulsed in my forehead.
"Umm."
Lincoln took his hand off of me. The weird feeling subsided. "You okay?"
I pursed my lips, nodding.
"Lincoln, quick! I need a sparring partner and Luna said no!"
Lincoln sprang up into the air, startled. "Lynn, no! I'm showing Annebelle my room!"
Lynn Jr. busted into Lincoln's room by kicking the door straight open. She extended her leg and struck Lincoln in the chest, and he grunted and fell to the ground. "Lynn!" he snapped, standing up and flinging his fists behind him.
"No time, Lincoln, need a sparring partner." Lynn struck him again, this time in the gut.
"But—why—" Lincoln sank to the floor, clutching his stomach and groaning.
I could not stand seeing Lincoln being beat up.
Just before Lynn was about to punch him, I threw my arms around him and pulled him away. I knew exactly how Lincoln felt—my older sisters always picked on me and were even downright physically overbearing. Something sparked in me that moment, something that made me want to protect Lincoln, and be his knight in shining glasses. Lynn was shorter than me, and only a little bit taller than her brother, but she looked rather threatening.
"Don't . . . Don't hurt him," I mumbled, tightening my grip on Lincoln. It kind of hurt me to see him writhe in pain, after all he'd done for me so far.
Lynn stared at her feet, as if they had suddenly become more interesting than the situation itself. Then, she finally said "Oh," and walked out of the room.
Lincoln and I stood there in silence for at least twenty seconds. After those seconds were up, he stared up at me in awe, in wonder, almost admiration—the way a princess stares at her hero, the way a child stares at someone he looks up to and reveres so boundlessly.
"Is that—You did—What the—"
He fell silent.
"No one ever convinces Lynn to stop being so aggressive," he finished, blank. "Thank you."
I suppose being a negotiating middle child really was a gift.
"You're . . . Welcome," I said, releasing him and stepping back. "It wasn't anything. I have to do that all the time at home."
"Wow. Even I can't do that. Hey, being a peaceful middle child pays off, huh?"
Indeed, I am a middle child. Only two of my siblings share both the same parents as me, and I was the second born. Of course, I preferred to not get mixed up in the shenanigans of my younger sister, or attempt to meet the unrealistically high standards of my older sister. But after my parents divorced and brought in step-siblings and half-siblings into the mix, I was the closest to being the middle of nine children. All my siblings didn't meet each other—my parents lived at separate houses and the half-siblings and step-siblings never even saw each other. However, over at my mother and stepfather's place, I had been the very middle child, and often acted like the stereotypical middle child as well. Perhaps it was a gift, but it was also a blessing. I am the most asocial of all my siblings, after all.
So, yes, being a middle child did pay off in the end, I guess.
Lincoln looked like he was deep in thought. "Why do I have a feeling you'd be best friends with Luan and Leni?" he mused, tapping his chin, which was sprouting with tiny, hardly visible white hairs.
"Perky, happy-person-paired-with-quiet-person dynamic," I said mindlessly.
Lincoln brightened. "Aha! I got you to talk! Oh yeah!" He made some bizarre little rhythm movement with his arms that involved throwing them in the air. "Why do you not talk much?"
There was no way I was ready to tell him the real reason yet.
"I don't know," I lied.
"What? There has to be some reason."
"I . . . I don't know." I sighed and rubbed my elbow. Lincoln reached up and patted my shoulder tentatively.
"It's okay, I understand. Shy, huh?"
So, I left it at that. I won't deny that I am very timid, but who could blame me after being mysteriously sent far from home with no explanation?
"Come on, I think if anyone can bring you out of your shell, it would be Luan," Lincoln said cheerily, bringing me out of his room and swinging his arm around my waist gently. "You met her—the one who loves to tell jokes. Oh, she can be a bit annoying, but she's cool. Come on, it's okay. I'll tell her not to throw a pie at you."
The way he spoke so casually about a pie being thrown at me kind of set me off. Was being pranked cruelly a normal thing for him? Well, I could kind of relate. My step sister always took advantage of my gullible nature for her own amusement. But she didn't do it in a well meaning way, unlike Luan. Luan seemed to mean well with her cheesy dad jokes and thoughtless puns. My step sister—oh, goodness, was she ill-intentioned.
"But you might also want to watch out for her shaving your eyebrows off, Lori's always a victim of that one. And don't fall for signs directing you to the bathroom, that's targeted at Leni—broken music instruments for Luna, dysfunctional sports equipment for Lynn—"
"I think I—got it," I said with the brightest smile I could put on. Not that I didn't like Lincoln; I truly did enjoy him talking to me, and I appreciated his advice, just, I had no idea how to take it in or react right. Should I smile? Accept the advice casually? Rudely say I don't need help?
Verbal directions are difficult for me to take.
"Their room's this way, if you don't remember." Lincoln led me like a tour guide to Luna and Luan's room, where Luna was writing song lyrics (with a bit of struggle) and Luan was setting up a microphone on a false comedy show stage. She was holding a wooden dummy with a blue outfit and a yellow hat, and it had a queer, somewhat offsetting countenance.
"How do you save a forest, Mr. Coconuts?" Luan asked, directed at her dummy. She put her teeth together and subtly put her lips aside for her ventriloquism.
"I don't know, wooden you like to know!" Mr. Coconuts exclaimed, flailing his little arms.
Luan unleashed her perky, giddy, charming little giggle. "Good one, Mr. Coconuts."
"Uhh, hi, girls," Lincoln greeted, poking his head through the doorway.
"Hey, little bro," said Luna, looking up from her lyrics. "What's up?"
"Wouldn't you like to know Annabelle a little better?" He attentively brought me into their view.
"Ooh! Another comedy volunteer!" Luan skipped over to the doorway and grabbed my hand, yanking me into her bedroom. She set me up on her comedy stage with a bright spotlight, adjusting the microphone, which made an ear-jarring sound.
"Luan? Uhh—"
"Lincoln, it'll be fine," Luan reassured her brother, clinging to the door. "I have to prepare for a comedy routine. See you in a bit!"
"But—!"
Luan cut him off by slamming the door, then she went up to the stage with me. Luna peered back up again, frowning.
"Who would wanna join your comedy routine?" she remarked, eyes narrowed a little. "Not everybody's cut out for comedy or being on a stage."
"Pshh." Luan scoffed and looked back to me, but I had already stepped off the stage and I was heading for the door. "Wait!"
I stopped and turned back. There was no way I was prepared to stand on a stage in front of two girls I hardly knew. Stage fright had also been a big problem I struggled against, and still is. Luan and Luna were likely just fine on a stage, with their boisterous natures and extroverted hobbies.
"Don't you wanna be part of my comedy routine?" Luan asked, frowning a little.
"No . . . Thanks," I spoke. "I have stage fright."
"Oh, that's okay, little dudette," said Luna carefully. "You know, I had to deal with stage fright when I first started playing music. It's tough to get through, I know." She glared back at Luan. "And some people shouldn't push little stage-frighties out of their comfort zones too hard."
"Oh, come on, I wasn't pushing that hard!"
I pulled the bottom of my nightgown lower and I waved back to the girls as politely as possible, leaving. "Bye, bye!" I heard Luan say just before I shut the door.
So now now what—
"Hello, mortal."
"Gah!"
Lucy had popped up and scared me. Perhaps it was her dark, greasy dome of black hair that creeped me out, or the fact that she never revealed her eyes. Upon realizing her presence, a dark organ sound rung out of nowhere, which I discarded, since I was distracted by my rise in adrenaline. I had winced when Lucy appeared, and then she looked mildly regretful.
"Oh, sorry. I know our mom told me not to scare you," she said, her cold, emotionless voice never once leaving. "I've written a poem, can you judge?"
I instantly grew happy. This is strange, but I really adore poetry. It's a beautiful art form, though it's slowly dying out. I was glad that at least one person still appreciated it.
"Uhh, sure, I love poetry," I answered, putting my hands close to my heart, bending my knees. "What is it?"
Lucy reached into her back pocket, reemerging with a slip of paper. She cleared her throat and began: "Miss, I thought you were strange, when you seemingly came here remiss, now it's a big change." She looked up at me (or so to speak, her bangs still covered her eyes), waiting for my approval.
"Was—that poem for me?" I asked.
"Yes."
I tapped my chin thoughtfully, smiling a little. It flattered me that Lucy had written a poem about my new arrival to her household, I wasn't used to be written about, or even talked about. "It was beautiful," I grinned, hugging Lucy mindlessly. Then I recognized what I was doing, and pulled away. "Oh. . . Sorry."
"It's okay. I'm glad you liked the poem." For the first time, Lucy's lips curled to something that resembled a smile, and walked off. I stood right there in that hallway, reevaluating my first impression of Lucy. She probably wasn't such a bad girl, maybe she was actually very nice; after all, she wrote a poem for me.
So I proceeded down the hall, but I had only taken a few steps when I felt two masses against my hips. The twins, Lola and Lana, were smiling brightly, each one at my sides. Judging by the way things had been going, I supposed that they wanted to pull me into their activities.
"Do you like tea?" Lola asked in a forced polite tone. "We're having a tea party in my room, with all my dollies. Care to attend?"
Lana glared at Lola. "No, we were going to play with Hops!"
"Ugh, no real girl would want to play with frogs." Lola scoffed toward Lana and dragged me into their bedroom. She sat me down in a tiny chair that could quite possibly break under my weight, then grasped the handle of a teapot and poured steaming tea into a porcelain cup. She slid the saucer over, dropping in a couple of sugar cubes.
"Drink up, it's best when it's hot," insisted Lola, pouring her own tea. "Oh, and make sure to lift your pinkie when you drink, it shows etiquette."
Unbeknownst to me, I'd already lifted my pinkie when I had started sipping my tea. Sometimes, I lift my pinkie without even realizing it when I am drinking from a cup.
"Now, let's have a little table talk, shall we?" Lola panned to the side, where Lana stood crossing her arms, but she disregarded Lana and proceeded. "Any particular interests you have, Lady . . . Hmm, Annabellington!"
The new name sounded odd, but I accepted it as my pretend title. Lola stood from her chair and glided to a shelf stocked with glittering tiaras, scanning through. She finally selected one, a tiara littered in glitter and fake diamonds, before approaching me again and placing it upon my head. "Very lovely," she admired, bending her elbow and placing it on the palm of her other gloved hand. "Lana, what do you think?"
Lana slumped down in a chair next to me, pouting. "She's not ugly, but the tiara is, like all tiaras. Lola, can we please play with—"
"Shh shh shh." Lola pressed a finger to Lana's mouth, subduing her once again. "It's tea time." She suddenly wore a wide, sinister grin, exposing the gap in her teeth. "And nobody disturbs tea time."
I flinched in discomfort, almost spilling a drop of tea on my nightgown. I was beginning to think of many sordid things Lola could have been capable of: murder, perhaps? Blackmail? Putting pineapple on pizza?
Lana rolled her eyes. "If we're gonna have a tea party and I'm not able to do anything, can I at least bring one small animal to the table?" She leaned backward, barely keeping herself from falling by sticking the tips of her feet under the brim of the table.
"Fine," Lola sighed. "Just make sure it doesn't pee on anything. This tablecloth is expensive, you know."
"Great!" Lana crawled to her bed, where she pulled out a small, limp green lizard. "This is Izzy," she introduced, plopping back down in her chair. "One of my best friends. You want some cookies, Izzy?" Lana looked down at her lizard. Izzy was just limp in her hands, flicking her tongue every few seconds or so. Lana looked to me. "You wanna hold her? She won't bite."
I held my hands out, tilting my head lightly, and Lana gently pressed Izzy into my palm. She was thin, but had a long tail and a green, slender, scaly body. I quite enjoyed holding her, she crawled up my forearm, up to my shoulder, through my hair, pushing long brown strands out of her way like stage curtains. I tried to hold in a spine shiver when she swept her tail across the back of my neck. Izzy popped back out around my other shoulder, scaling down my right arm and making her way back to Lana's hand.
"Nice," she said, placing Izzy on her shoulder.
"Yes, very cute, Lana, but we have tea to sip," Lola brought up, pouring me another cup of tea after I'd finished my first. I dropped two white sugar cubes into the tea, ensuring it was a little extra sweet.
"Mmm, you like your tea sweetened, don't you," Lola commented. She leaned close. "Lemme tell you a secret: I absolutely cannot live without mint-flavored tea. It's to die for."
I had actually never tried mint tea before that point, but I took her word for it anyway.
"I like mud tea!" Lana exclaimed, oddly enthusiastic for her filthy preference. "It's the best kind of tea."
Lola gagged while she had the brim of her cup to her lips, and set it down. "You're pretty quiet, aren't you?" she said to me, dabbing her upper lip with a handkerchief.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, I decided to speak again. "Umm, I guess."
Lana and Lola cheered simultaneously, standing and throwing their fists in the air. "She does talk! Yes, oh yes, oh yes!"
"Y-Yeah. I'm just gonna—"
While they were left being unnecessarily overjoyed at the fact that I had spoken, I left the room and went to the stairs diagonal to it. I scaled my palm across the varnished black railing, jumping the last two stairs and faltering before sitting on the sofa—
"And I was literally so mad at her, like, she tried to steal my boo-boo bear from m—"
Lori stalked into the living room from the stairs and jolted on seeing my presence. She had her cell phone pressed to her ear, and I could hear a girl on the other end of the line trying to recapture her attention frantically.
"I have to go, Whitney," she said, before pressing the red hangup button on her phone screen. Lori approached me slowly, smiling. "Hey."
"Uh—Hi," I murmured, shifting a little.
Lori took a seat next to me, almost looking sympathetic. "You okay? Do you want me to . . . Try and call your parents?"
The mention of my parents struck me. My eyes were bulging with water, the wetness seeping out and flecking the curves of my eyelashes. I turned my head to Lori.
"I don't remember their numbers."
Lori hugged me briefly. "I'm sorry. It'll literally be okay. Wanna come up to my room and know some girl advice?"
I pursed my lips. "What's girl advice?"
"You know, just general advice for . . . Well. Being a girl. It's hard to explain."
Lori grabbed ahold of my hand and brought me upstairs to her room, where Leni was perched on her bed, painting her toenails. I thought it to be useless to paint your toenails unless you wear sandals or flip flops all the time. Leni also had several eyeshadow brushes laid out in front of her, sponges meant for applying coverup, and blush brushes.
"Hi, Lori," she greeted calmly, finishing a turquoise coat of polish on her pinkie toe. "And hi, Anita."
"Her name is Annabelle," Lori corrected.
"Oh, right." Leni went back to stroking her toenails with the brush, the rich scent of polish once again filling the room. She looked up at me after a second or two, seeming to be carefully discerning my face—my wide, clueless eyes, then my cheeks, then my thin pink lips. "Hmm, you know, you would look really good with natural makeup colors."
"W—W—" I struggled to collect my words—My knees were bending, my back was hunched a little, and I was rubbing the back of my little hand.
I felt a firm hand on my shoulder just as sweat was damming up at my pores to be let out. Lori pat it gently, backhandedly encouraging me to speak.
"Really?" I'd worn makeup before this point, but just coverup and pink lip gloss. Nothing unnatural or anything considered overboard, just so that you could barely tell I was wearing makeup at all. Something told me that Leni wanted to drag me into one of those makeup and plastic surgery montages seen in movies or TV shows about social hierarchies and acceptance.
"Mhmm." Leni finished a final flick of her polish brush and put it away, wiggling the toes of her right feet. "A lot of people hate makeup, but I don't know why."
"Vanity," I said plainly. "They think it's vain."
Leni shrugged. Well, I wasn't too surprised with her response, she seemed to be nonchalantly bubbly about everything. It reminded me of a certain demeanor I often portrayed in public, around people I knew. A demeanor I knew, one that everyone knew and liked.
"Here, girl advice time!" Lori squealed, defying the laws of physics by picking me up and setting me on her bed with my legs dangling. "Have you ever had a crush before?"
"Only two," I answered, "I'm in the middle of one right now, but I'm too quiet for him to know . . ."
"Yeah, I got that." Lori's reply was drab. "Honestly, you don't seem like the kind of person who would really have crushes—but, I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Who's the dream boat, hmm?"
"I—Not anyone you know."
Lori had a looked at me queerly. "So, uh, what's his name?"
I responded ever so quietly that only she could hear, and just barely. She happily accepted my answer and tried to prod me into revealing his qualities, but not a word that came out of my mouth was a description of
the boy. Eventually, I said, "He's smart," and left it at that.
The older blonde sighed thoughtfully. "He sounds dreamy. But I have a boyfriend"—her voice raised to soprano—"my precious Bobby Boo-Boo Bear."
I snickered and covered my mouth upon hearing the awkward nickname for Lori's boyfriend. I thought him to be a little bit unfortunate for the sappy, yet endearing nickname.
"W-What?" Lori asked, glaring at my red, laughter-concealing face. "Ohh. It's the nickname, isn't it?"
"Mhmm."
"I see."
I lowered my hands from my lips and prepared to speak more than just a few monosyllabic words at a time. "I'm sorry I've been so quiet. I really don't know how I ended up all the way in Michigan from South Carolina. It makes me feel relieved, somehow, but also really . . . I don't know, upset? And with how far away I am from home, I don't think I'd be able to contact my relatives."
Finally! I was connecting to someone! Connecting with . . . A teenager! It was almost surreal and miraculous that I was forming a relationship with someone who was more than several months older than me. And, best of all, she wasn't blatantly insulting me or ordering that I change myself in any respect. This might have been a normal scenario for most people, but for me, it was like a miracle, since connecting to others was so difficult without
wearing a bubbly persona.
I smiled to myself, but Lori quickly snapped me out of my odd trance by tapping me. "You okay?" she said.
I nodded, because at this point, head movements seemed to be my only way of communicating. Lori must have thought me quite dumb—not the stupid kind of dumb, but the barely able to speak kind of dumb. Though I considered myself to be both.
"I just really don't know how I got here. I almost never am out of my house or away from home except for school."
"Why don't you come out of your house? It's amazing outside!" Leni exclaimed, putting the top back on a nail polish bottle. "Well, Lucy does that too. She doesn't come out of the house much either."
Then something seemed to click. Both of us were introverts who could hardly function in new social situations.
"I'm . . . asocial," I said stupidly.
Leni looked rather confused. "A . . . Social?"
"Yeah—Uh, like antisocial, but the correct term. Asocial, you know?"
I gave up trying to explain when I saw Leni was still puzzled.
"Come on, girl advice time!" Lori squealed, as she and Leni let out incoherent soprano squeaks of excitement. I sat on Lori's bed, confused, until Lori began constructing a tent out of her bed covers and yanked me under with Leni.
"Say, why don't you talk so much?" Lori said, oddly enthusiastic enough to know. "Literally everyone in this House is making noise all the time, and you're just over here so . . . Mute."
I silently cleared my throat as if preparing to give an impactful speech. "I have a lot of siblings as well. Eight, to be exact," I began. "And being a middle child has done me no good service, except for handing me the appropriate negotiation skills needed for . . . Stuff. And also, I don't get much attention. But that's the main reason I sort of drifted away from being social. I never go out with my family, I always stay in my room and hope nobody comes in to bother me except the two younger ones who share the room with me."
"So wait," Leni interrupted, "you don't spend time with family because they don't pay much attention to you?"
"Basically. And I've never had much of an interest in socializing or speech. In fact, I knew sign language when I was two. I never spoke, I just used sign language." I stopped, but the two blondes stared at me as though they wanted to know more.
"Is that all?" Lori said.
"Well, and the fact that I'm . . . I have . . . Never mind."
"What is it?" Leni pressed.
"I'm not ready to share yet. Maybe if we get to know each other better, when you won't judge me quite as much."
"Oh, okay," Lori sighed, a little solemnly. To me, it was weird that two older girls wanted to know more about me, a random glasses-wearing, dumb brunette who was selectively mute over half the time due to a disorder.
Lori and Leni let me go, and for the first time, I smiled a bright, genuine smile, I felt truly happy. The Loud family accepted me like I was one of them, a family member, a friend, a human being with thoughts and a past and feelings—a soul, someone who didn't have some mental problem and just preferred not to communicate verbally. It almost gave me the urge to talk like a human.
Feeling way too overjoyed for it to be considered normal, I went downstairs, knowing I'd just made friends I would remember for life.
