GGGGgggggrrrrrrrrr!

"Oh, shut up!" I give my stomach light slap. I finished my "pity crying" thirty minutes ago; the toll for my hard-core blubbering and whimpering is that now I'm starving.

The pizza came ten minutes ago and the smell is driving me mad!

Ggggrrr...

This is the eleventh time my stomach has growled at me.

Grr...

Twelve. Twelve times.

I'm trying to make it shut up, but it won't listen to me.

Grrrrrrrr...

"Oh, stop complaining," I whisper. Propping myself on my elbows, I look at my stomach with a small glare. "You're hungry, so what? Did your heart break today?" I close my eyes at my slip-up. I promised myself that I would not mention that, at least not for a while. Of course, that's always easier said than done.

I still haven't decided what I'm going to do if or when he comes back. Or…if he asks me to come back. For now, I decided to move on the best I can.

"So don't come complaining to me; there's a lot worse than starvation." I poke my stomach, as if proving a point. "A lot worse..." I give a sad smile and caress the lower half of my stomach, feeling the teeniest bump. "Hello, there," I coo. "I'm your mother..."

I freeze. Oh my God...I've officially lost it! First I punish my stomach for growling, then I coo at it. Lovely, Ames, just lovely!

Grrrr...

I sigh, flopping back onto the bed. I've been staring at the roof for the past ten minutes, listening to the muffled voices behind the door. I can't hear exact words, only a combination of mixed voices; some are deep, some are pitchy, some are high. There is one voice that had caught my attention from the beginning. It sounded very musical. I don't know how to explain it, but that voice is much more distinct than the others, and that's because of his beautiful (musical) tone. If it's possible for a voice to sound beautiful, almost musical even, it's his. It's deep and even, soothing.

It's heavenly.

Grrr.

"Ugh! Alright, alright." I mumble, surrendering. "I'll call Allison." I gently throw myself off the bed, leaning down toward the duffel bag that was placed at my feet. I dig through it, shoving clothes aside in the process, searching for my damned phone.

I've noticed that I've been cussing more than usual. I wonder if it's because of these new raging hormones?

Oh, what more is to come?

Where is it? I ask myself. I dug through the whole bag and couldn't find it, I even pulled out a few articles of clothing. I sit down beside the bed. Where did I leave it last?

Let's see...I had it at work...then I used it as Allison was driving me home...threw it down on the couch...

I gasp.

Dammit!

It's still at Jack's house. I forgot to pick it up on my way out. I let my head fall back on the side of the bed. Ohh...I need my phone. But I don't want to go back to Jack's.

But I need to get it. I will need it eventually. All my appointments are on there, my contacts, everything...

I guess I'll need to ask Allison to help me retrieve it at some point. The only important appointment that I have to remember is the Obstetrician appointment. Luckily that one is deeply engraved in my brain.

Grr...

Don't remind me, stomach...

Oh man...how am I going to get food? Maybe I can sneak out? No! I promised Allison I would stay in here. Maybe I could get her attention somehow, like make a small noise or something like that. I look around the room, trying to find an object that could hopefully catch her attention. Allison has a lot of weird things in her house, so it shouldn't be that hard.

One time, I found this head-almost like a voodoo doll head-in her bedroom. It was made of clay and had peacock feathers poking out like a crown. I asked her what it was and how she could sleep in her bedroom with that thing staring at her all night. She told me it was art made in Africa and represented good luck.

I told her I thought it represented someone who has psychopathic tastes in art.

She didn't find that funny.

I open the closet, hoping to maybe find an instrument of some kind. I get down on my hands and knees, searching the darkest corner. "Aha!" I cry. I reach in and pull out this tiny trumpet. This should do. I wipe the mouthpiece with the bottom of my shirt, cleaning it the best I can. Raising it to my lips, I take a deep breath and blow.

PHHHTT!

A mushroom cloud of dust explodes from the opening. I back away, scrunching my face. I cough a few times, blinking heavily. "Oh, Allison. Clean this sucker up, will ya?" Once my coughing calms down a bit, I decide to try again. I repeat the same action. This time the sound of a duck comes out...loud enough for the ears of those who are two feet away only.

Great. Now what? She obviously won't be able to hear that...maybe if the door is open...

A grin appears on my face.

Time to be Ms. Mission Impossible!

Did I mention how bored I was?

I crawl on my hands and knees to the door. Being careful to not make a sound, I open the door slowly, eventually opening it all the way. I check to make sure no one is in the hallway, which is as dark as night, except for the lights that are illuminating the living room and kitchen. There, I see silhouettes of bodies and I can hear talking, this time much more distinct.

Almost giggling with excitement, I raise the horn to my lips. I'm about to blow when I see something move in my peripheral vision.

A red light immediately begins to flash in my head.

Abort! Abort! Stein's beens spotted! Repeat: Stein has been spotted!

Slowly I turn my head to the right. My eyes widen at the sight before me. A little girl, with blond, braided pigtails is standing a few feet away me. Why I didn't see her before is a mystery to me. She looks to be about six years old. The weirdest thing about her is that she has a mask covering her eyes. I wonder how she can see through that thing without any eye slits. The material of the cloth must be like the mirrors you see in cop films. You know, the ones where the cops can see the suspect but the suspect can't see the cop. I mean how else is she suppose to see? She must be able to see me, even though I can't see her eyes at all.

But why a mask? Then it comes to me. The Church meeting. Allison said these people had physical deformities; she must be one of the members.

I hear a small whimper come from the girl. I look at her more closely. She's shaking. Allison did say they don't do well with strangers.

I need to fix this up.

Laughing slightly to myself, I lean back onto my legs. I look at her with a kind expression, hoping she understands that I won't hurt her. "Hi," I whisper to her. She takes a step back, shivering more.

"It's okay." I continue to talk softly, using a light voice. "I won't hurt you." I put the horn back into my room before lifting my hands next to my face, showing her that I am now empty-handed. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"That's what they all say." The voice is choked, almost sounding like she's about to cry. "And they never keep it."

I give her a half smile, slumping down into my position. "You know, I hate those kind of people."

"For all I know you could be lying to me. You could actually be like one of those people." The poor girl is still shaking.

"I could be," I state, acknowledging her fear. "But I know I'm not."

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I'm staying with a friend for a little while."

"Allison is a friend of yours?"

I nod. "Yep."

"Why do you need a place to stay?"

Because I'm pregnant and my ex-boyfriend a lying, cheating bastard. No way is that appropriate to say to a little girl...no matter how true it is. "I guess you can say I'm kind of homeless at the moment."

The girl's stance becomes less protective and her shakes turn into shivers. "Are you a bum?"

I chuckle. "No, I'm not a bum."

"Then why do you have dirt on your face?"

This girl has a very delicate voice, I observe. And she is very curious.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You have a big brown spot on on your left cheek," she explains.

My bruise! I completely forgot. Observant little girl. "Oh." I lift a hand to my cheek, wincing. "I ran into a pole."

The girl's jaw falls open. "Your dumb enough to run into a pole? Are you blind?"

I smile at the girl's blunt comment. "I guess I am. To some extent anyway." There was a hidden meaning in both of those statements. If the girl was old enough, she would be able to catch the difference in my tone. Luckily she isn't.

Grrrr!

I place a hand over my stomach, my eyes growing wide. "Whoa."

The little girl gives a small chuckle. "Are you hungry?"

I nod. "Yep. I was trying to get my friend's attention in a discreet way-" Cause you know, how discreet is a duck sound in the house? "-since she didn't want me to come out of my room. And because I don't really want to leave my room."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sad," I say simply. "And when I'm sad, I feel better in small, enclosed spaces."

I was expecting the girl to ask another question, but she surprises me when she doesn't say anything. Instead she looks down to the ground. Did I say something wrong? I hope not, otherwise Allison is going to KILL me! Suddenly, I see a blur run past me. Oh great! I scared her off. Muttering a small curse, I go back into my bedroom. I close the door quietly, placing the small trumpet on the bed before slumping to the floor.

Grrr?

I swear that sounded like a question. "No, stomach. Your going to have to wait a while."

A timid knock thumps at my door. "Miss?"

It's the girl's voice. I walk to the door and open it. The girl takes a step back. She looks up at me, biting her lower lip; a normal nervous reaction.

"Yes?"

The girl simply holds up a plate with two pizza slices on it.

I can feel my eyes brighten at the warm gesture. "Is this for me?"

She nods. I smile at her. "Thank you." I carefully extend my hand and grab the plate, careful not to touch her. I don't want her to shake anymore than she already is; the girl is shaking like a leaf. This must be a big step for her. I inhale the pizza. "Mmm! I'm going to enjoy these wholeheartedly," I tell her, letting her know I appreciate her consideration.

Her lip twitches once, twice, before turning into a small smile.

"My name is Amy. Amy Stein." I'm silent after that, leaving the next step up to her.

Her hands fumble with one another, her knuckles cracking. "Lola. Lola Benz."

My heart leaps in triumph. I did it! I gained some other trust! "It's nice to meet you, Lola." With that said, I back into my room, leaving the door open. It's an invitation for her to come in and she knows it, she isn't a dumb girl. Lola looks around the room, uncertain whether she should enter or not. Slowly, she places a foot through the door, then the other. She looks at me and I nod. Lola, hesitantly, continues to come in. Once she's in all the way, I gently close the door. Hearing the click, she looks back at me, a whimper escaping her mouth.

"I'll leave it unlocked." I assure her. "See?' I open the door, close it, then back away quickly, showing her that I had no time to press the lock. She still stands there, her shoulders hunched, her hands wringing one another. Going to the opposite side of the bed, I sit down on the floor, immediately devouring my pizza. And it is soooo good! Warm, fresh, cheesy. Heaven.

I swallow, gazing up at Lola. "You can sit down on the bed, you know. If you want."

Lola looks at me with what appears to be wonder. "I have permission to sit on your bed?"

I nod.

"But it's your room."

"But your my guest."

Lola cocks her head to the side. "Guest?"

I take a small bite of pizza, my stomach feeling a little queasy. "You don't know what a 'guest' is?"

She shrugs.

"A 'guest' is when someone invites another person to their house. The 'guest' is usually suppose to be treated with respect and kindness," I explain.

"'Respect and kindness'?" Lola repeats softly to herself.

I nod. "Uh-huh. So make yourself comfortable."

Lola backs up to the bed and jumps on it, her legs hanging off the side.

I finish my first slice, ignoring the queasy feeling gathering in my stomach. After ten minutes, I finish the other slice. We haven't spoken to each other, but that's fine, because I can tell by Lola's actions that she's more relaxed. Her legs are now swinging to and fro from the side of the bed and she started to examine the small trumpet.

I lay the plate down next me, licking my lips. "Ahh! Thanks you," I tell her. "That was well enjoyed." A burp pops out before I can hold it. I clamp a hand over my mouth, shocked. Lola and I, with the same expression, gaze at one another. Then we break into a fit of giggles together.

Clutching my stomach and bending over, I try to muffle the sounds of our laughter. "Sh...shh!" I whisper. "We don't want to disturb them."

Our laughter slowly begins to dwindle off. Suddenly she asks, what I think is, the ultimate question: "Aren't you going to ask me about the mask?"

I lift my head up to look at her. "No. Unless you want me to."

Lola looks around the room. "So I guess that Allison told you about us."

"Only a little. She said you guys were different. Which is fine with me." I take a moment to carefully put my thoughts together. "I like different. 'Different' is unique and you need unique in the world to keep it interesting; otherwise, your living in a world of conformity and perfection. And those two concepts are overrated!"

"You don't like perfection?" Lola is surprised by that.

"In myself, yes. I always want to look my best, to be the best. But that isn't necessarily so," I point out to her. "But in others, as long as if they have a good personality and are fun to be with, I could care less what they look like."

Lola nods, going back to examine the trumpet.

"That's why it's good to have a variety of friends."

Lola's head snaps back up. "Friends?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you...enjoy me?" she asks hesitantly.

I nod. "I do."

"So then...are we friends?" She squeaks out the last word.

I look at her thoughtfully. "Yes, I think we are."

Lola gives me the brightest smile yet. I smile back at her. "A friend," I hear her whisper, admiration pouring through her voice.

"Do you know what instrument that is?"

She shakes her head.

"It's a trumpet." Groaning, I pick myself up and plop down next to her. For a moment, I thought she would move away, but she doesn't. I take it from her grasp. "You see you blow through here-" I point to the mouth piece "-and blow as hard as you can. But there's a certain way you have to blow. It's very hard."

"What is it?" She gazes at the trumpet eagerly.

"Like this." I put the tip of my tongue between my lips and blow, creating a fart-like sound.

Lola giggles. "Your lying!"

I laugh. "No, I'm not. Try it."

Lola sticks her whole tongue out and repeats the noise, hers was slightly bigger than mine. Lola and I get into another fit of giggles. She does it again, creating more giggles between the two of us.

I don't know when I became this childish. I think I hang around way too many kids during the day. Which is why I say this next: "Want to hear the biggest one yet?"

Lola nods eagerly. So, forgetting about keeping the noise down, I take a deep breath, bring the trumpet to my mouth and blow with all my might. The sound is horrendous and hugely similar to that of a fart!

Lola and I start shrieking with laughter. We fall back on the bed, twisting and turning with the force of our laughter. Lola's hands are across her stomach and I'm crying. We are so loud we don't hear the door slam open. We do, however, hear the ferocious voice.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?"

I gasp. The voice is that one distinct one; the musical one.

Our laughing stops immediately. I sit up quickly, observing my new surroundings. In front of me stands a really tall, spindly man with a mask covering the right side of his face. Behind him, sneaks out Allison, who looks at us and gasps. Behind her are four other people, all masked.

The musical-voice man is glaring at me, almost giving me an accusing look. I just stare at him. That's when I notice something strange about his eyes: one, the left one, is a bright blue color while the other is all black. Even the white of his eye is black. It looks like a puddle of ink.

He's glaring at me. It looks like he wants to kill me. I gulp.

"I won't say it again," he growls. "Answer me: what is going on?!"