Things Aren't Always What They Seem La Seconde
AN I meant for this to be a one-parter, but I'm bored. And I've got at least one scene brewing in this head of mine. So deal.
Disclaimer: *arches eyebrows* Not mine. This isn't news.
TAAWTS 2
His alarm clock was going off. Michael groggily opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh sunlight pouring in through the curtain-less windows of the sardine tin he called 'home'. His hand shot out and turned the clock off. The last time he let it ring that long... He shuddered as his feet dragged over the dark stain on the carpet-one of many. It didn't really matter anyway, he realized as he stepped into the bathroom. Hank was still passed out on the couch, in exactly the same position that he'd been in the night before. Michael headed back into his room and snatched a pair of rumpled jeans off the floor. He hadn't worn them in a couple of days...they should be fine. As he yanked them on, though, he realized why they'd been flung into the corner—there was a large bloodstain on one of the knees. He swore and kicked them off, sending them to the floor in a rumpled heap. It didn't matter, anyway, he told himself as he pulled on another pair. It wasn't like anyone ever noticed what he was wearing. The only time anyone had ever said anything was that one time that chick with the blonde hair had made some stupid comment, back in sixth grade. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up the way he liked, and headed to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat.
All he found was a box of old saltines, Tabasco sauce, and beer. He grabbed the crackers and the hot sauce, sitting down at the table. 'Most important meal of the day,' he thought ruefully, shaking the sauce onto the crackers. About halfway through his makeshift breakfast, the bum on the couch groaned and stirred, then rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Michael could hear the old man retching, then the toilet flushed and out he came, swiping at his mouth with the back of one hand and scratching his ass with the other.
"What are you still doing here, boy?" he demanded gruffly, cracking open a can of beer. Michael didn't answer; he'd learned long ago that the best thing to do was to ignore him.
"Shouldn't you be in school? Answer me, boy!"
"School hasn't started yet," he replied quietly, involuntarily shrinking away from the man towering above him.
"Well get going."
"I have half an hour."
"I said git!" He swung his arm, and connected solidly with Michael's nose. He leapt to his feet and stumbled out of the trailer, trying to stem the flow of blood. He quickly arrived at the Evanses, where Max flung open the door at his knock, Isabel right behind him.
"Michael, that's the second time this month you've given yourself a nosebleed," Isabel said, shaking her long blonde hair over one shoulder. "For such a tough guy, you bleed like a stuck pig."
"Shut up, Blondie," he said, pinching his nose. "Max..."
"Yeah. My room."
The boys hurried up the stairs and into Max's bedroom, where Max healed him, then took a step back and surveyed his clothes.
"You can't wear those today," he said. Michael glanced down. Dammit. There was blood all over the front of his shirt, and some good-sized spots on his pant legs. "Here. Borrow some of mine, and Mom'll wash those tonight." He pulled some clothes out of his closet and tossed them at him. "Aren't those the same jeans you wore all last week?"
"Not all of us can afford twenty-four pairs of designer jeans, Maxwell," Michael replied, changing into Max's clothes. They fit a bit more snugly on him than they did on Max—Michael had more muscle—but they'd do.
"Those were a gift from Nana," Max muttered. Michael scoffed.
"Guys, we're going to miss the bus!" Isabel called up the stairs, her voice impatient. Michael thundered down, followed by Max.
"What a tragedy it would be if you didn't get to sit by the rest of the hens, right, Blondie?" Michael asked, tugging fondly on Isabel's hair.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Bye, kids. Have a great day!" Diane Evans's voice followed them to the bus stop, where they made it just in time to board the old school bus. Isabel slid into a seat, inserting herself fluidly into her friends' conversation, while Michael and Max claimed an empty seat. They were silent as the bus headed to the next stop, where a familiar brunette and blonde climbed aboard, taking the only other empty seat-right behind Michael and Max.
"Look at that, Liz. SpikeBoy is wearing Romeo's clothes. Do you think all of his finally disintegrated?"
"Maria..." Liz said quietly. Michael spun around in the seat.
"Shut up, Freak. At least I'm not always sniffing those stupid vials."
"Yeah, well at least I—" Maria stood, clutching her little bag of aromatherapy vials protectively. Liz tugged on the back of her shirt.
"Maria, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give him the satisfaction," she murmured soothingly. Michael looked at her. Her hair was once again perfectly brushed and shining in the morning sun. The dark vest she was wearing made her seem even paler than usual, the dark red of her shirt bringing out her lips.
"Yeah, you would think that, Parker. Butt out."
Her eyes raised to meet his, and the way they burned into his reminded him of the night before. Silently, he held her gaze for a moment, then turned back around and slumped in the seat. Max was still turned around, eyes fixed on Liz.
"Evans, you're staring," Michael heard Maria say, and Liz laughed softly, but not unkindly. Max turned around, the tips of his ears red.
The rest of the ride was uneventful.
***
By lunchtime, Michael's stomach was about to cave in, as he rummaged in his locker for whatever would pass for a lunch. Did he remember to bring those crackers?
Of course not. He sighed and put his head in his locker, wondering if you could pass out from being this hungry.
"What's wrong?" a soft voice asked from behind him. He jumped and turned to face Liz, whose chocolate eyes were sympathetic.
"Nothing."
"You forgot your lunch?"
His shoulders slumped even more. "Yeah."
A shadow of something passed over Liz's face, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills.
"I don't want your money."
"I'm not giving it to you."
"Oh..." His stomach gave a half-hearted growl, as though it had realized that it wasn't getting anything, and had to register one final protest.
"I'm lending it to you."
"I know how that works. No thanks." Sure he was hungry, but he had to keep his dignity. Her eyes narrowed.
"Seriously. I'm expecting it back. With one percent interest per every two weeks that you don't pay me back." She thrust it into his hand, then dug through her bag, coming up with a perfectly shaped, brilliantly red apple, then held it out to him. "And, here. I don't even like these. Mom always packs one the day after Dad—" She broke off. "Well, if you want it, its yours."
Michael stared at the fruit in her hand for a second, then slowly reached out to take it. She smiled softly, then began to head away.
"Thanks..." He said. She turned back and nodded.
***
"Where'd you get that?" Max asked as Michael flopped to the ground under a tree in the courtyard. "Thought Hank didn't give you lunch money."
"He didn't. Liz lent me some money."
"Liz Parker?" Max asked enviously. "Wow."
"Don't say it like that, Maxwell. She was just being nice." He picked up the apple and looked at his half-reflection in the skin.
"Were they selling apples? I didn't see any in the line."
"No. She gave it to me too."
"Wow. What'd you do to get into her favor like that?"
"Nothing. That's just how she is. Don't worry. I'm pretty sure she likes you better than that meathead Valenti."
"Shut up," Max said, stealing a glance towards Liz, who was sitting with the blonde and that computer geek. Michael, having successfully diverted Max's attention, was now free to enjoy his lunch. Soon, nothing was left but the apple, which he couldn't bring himself to eat. It would be like...profiting from Liz's dad hitting her. He dumped it and the tray into the garbage can, then looked up. She was watching him, and nodded slightly when she saw what he'd done with the apple. Then Maria spun around to see who she was looking at and made an ugly face at him. He responded with an even uglier one of his own and headed back to the tree. Kyle had headed over to Liz and Maria, and had his arm slung possessively around her shoulder. After a while, he glanced over and caught Max looking at her, and headed over. Liz followed, obviously expecting a scuffle.
"Whatcha lookin' at, Evans?" Kyle said cockily. "Not, Liz, by any chance? 'Cause everyone *knows* we're going out."
"No. I wasn't looking at her," Max mumbled.
"Then who were you looking at? Alex? Does Maxie Boy have a crush on Alex Whitman?"
"Kyle, quit it," Liz protested strongly, tugging on his arm. "He was probably looking at... Look—his sister's standing over there. He was watching to make sure she wasn't getting into trouble. Weren't you, Max?"
Max mumbled a general affirmation.
"I don't believe that. He was either looking at you or Alex. Which one was it, Evans? Were you looking at my girl or the geek?"
"He's not a geek, and I'm not your girl, Kyle," Liz said, still tugging on his arm. "Come on."
"Not until he tells me who he was looking at."
Michael stepped in.
"What's it to you?"
"Look—the reject speaks!"
"Kyle, leave them alone!"
"Butt out, Liz. This doesn't concern you. What did the reject say?"
"I said—" Michael began, clenching his fists. "I said, what's it to you?" He stepped forward threateningly. Liz resumed tugging on Kyle's arm.
"Do you want to fight me, reject? Is that it?"
"If I have to."
"Kyle!" Liz tried one last time. "You do *not* need to get kicked out of school again!"
"This is beyond that, Liz. Go back to Maria."
"You're going to leave them alone, Kyle Valenti, or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Kyle demanded, spinning so he was face to face with Liz. Fear flashed through her eyes, and Michael, feeling oddly protective, provoked him again.
"What's wrong, Valenti? So insecure in yourself that you have to make sure no one looks at her? I can see why. I've often wondered what she's doing with a dickhead like you."
Kyle spun around again, glaring at him. "What did you call me?"
"Lordy, your hearing must be going. Must be getting hit in the head with a football all those times. I called you a dick-head. Basic English, I think."
"I could kick your ass, Guerin."
"But I'll bet you'd rather look at it, though, wouldn't you?"
Kyle stepped forward, ready to punch him. Luckily, the principal hurried out just in time.
"Boys! What's going on here? Mister Guerin, *another* fight? Your fosterfather isn't going to be happy to hear this."
"It wasn't him, ma'm," Liz burst out. "It was Kyle. He started the whole thing."
"Liz!" Kyle exclaimed.
"Mister Valenti, come with me."
"But I didn't do—She's lying!"
"I've known Liz Parker since she was in diapers, young man. She does not lie. Come with me. You're going to make a call to your father."
"But—"
The principal led him away, leaving just Liz, Max, and Michael.
"Why'd you lie?" Max mumbled.
"I didn't. Kyle started it, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but..."
"And I didn't want you guys to get in trouble." She looked at Michael, her eyes telling him that by 'you guys' she meant him.
"Oh. Thanks."
"Are you afraid of him?" Michael blurted.
"What?"
"Just wondering. You can leave now, Parker."
She dropped her eyes. "'Bye, Max." And she was gone, having returned to Maria and Alex.
***
That night, the Evanses invited Michael to go to dinner with them. He remembered the wide array of food in the trailer and accepted.
It was the middle of the dinner rush, so the restaurant should have been packed, but was oddly quiet. Liz headed over to their table with five menus and launched into the chipper waitress act. Max was unable to order—he was busy looking at Liz, so Michael ordered two cherry cokes. She smiled, nodded, and disappeared. Her father intercepted her, and they engaged in what looked like a civil conversation. Max's father followed Michael's eyes, then turned back.
"He's such a great dad," Phillip said, looking at the menu. "I don't know of any father in town who gets along with his daughter like those two. Sorry, Izzy. We have our spats, you know."
Isabel laughed and nodded. "I know. You're right."
Michael remained silent, remembering last night. Yeah, those two got along beautifully. Just fabulous. He slowly became aware of a dull burning in his hand. His powers. Isabel noticed and grabbed his hand, attempting to calm him down. It worked—the feeling faded back into the background once more, just as Liz returned with their drinks, and took their dinner orders. By the time they had gotten them and were finished, they were the last ones in the restaurant. Liz handed Phillip the bill.
"It's dead tonight, isn't it?" he asked kindly.
"Sure is. It's pretty weird, actually. A nice change, though. That'll be it for tonight?"
"It should be."
"Okay. Come on up and pay whenever you're ready." She headed back to the counter. Phillip dug out his wallet and followed.
"Michael, honey, do you want us to drive you home?" Diane asked.
"No. I can walk."
"It's not safe, hon."
"I'll be fine. I've got to pick up some stuff from the store, anyway. I'll just get it while I'm around here."
"Okay..."
Phillip returned and chucked a ten onto the table as a tip.
"Daddy, that's a ten," Isabel pointed out.
"I know. Don't you think she deserves a bit more as a tip?"
"I'll bet Max does," she teased. Max nudged her with his elbow, his ears red.
"You coming with us, Michael?"
"No. I've gotta go grocery shopping."
"Okay. See you later, son."
As the four of them left, Michael heard Diane complaining about how children shouldn't have to do something or other. He rolled his eyes and waited for them to climb into the Jeep before he headed to the door. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by Mr. Parker angrily yelling something. A few more crashes and he stormed out, stomping upstairs. Michael cautiously headed into the kitchen, where Liz was kneeling amongst shattered glass and scattered silverware. She was weeping softly—didn't notice him until he cleared his throat softly. Then she jumped to her feet, wiping hastily at her eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing. Need help?"
"No."
"Come on." He grabbed a bus tray and began piling the silverware into it. She stood above him, trembling slightly, then knelt again and began to help. "I wouldn't do that," he said softly, gesturing to her knees. "You'll get all scraped up."
"It wouldn't be the worst—" she began bitterly, but then immediately shut her mouth and rocked back onto her feet, brushing some glass dust off of her skin. He dumped the silverware into the sink of soapy water, then grabbed the broom and dustpan. She took the broom from him and began sweeping the glass into a neat pile. Michael held the dustpan, and could see that she was still shaking. The two sides of himself—the cynic and the one who just wanted to be loved began to wrestle.
*What the hell are you doing feeling sorry for Perfect Parker? If there's anyone who deserves pity, its you.
*What are you talking about? Look at her—she's a wreck.
*So she fights with her parents. I'll bet she's never had a broken bottle in her shin. Like you have. Remember that?
*Of course I remember. But look at her.
*I'm looking. All I see is a goody two shoes in a stupid uniform, holding a broom and looking at you like you're a moron. She doesn't need your help. Get out of here.
"You're not a moron," Liz mumbled softly, taking the dustpan and dumping it out.
"What?" he leapt to his feet. Had she read his mind? That was impossible!
"You said something about you being a moron. You're not."
"Oh. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Of course." She smiled. "I get by."
What Michael did next surprised even himself. He stepped forward and roughly gathered Liz into his arms for a brotherly hug. She stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away or anything. Michael mentally smacked his forehead. *Please. Just don't say anything or look at me like I'm an idiot* He begged inwardly. She seemed to understand, and moved to put the broom away. She didn't seem to be uncomfortable or anything, so for that Michael sighed in relief.
"So. See you tomorrow," he said gruffly, heading out the door.
"Bye," she replied softly, her words somehow carrying through the diner to his ears.
AN I meant for this to be a one-parter, but I'm bored. And I've got at least one scene brewing in this head of mine. So deal.
Disclaimer: *arches eyebrows* Not mine. This isn't news.
TAAWTS 2
His alarm clock was going off. Michael groggily opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh sunlight pouring in through the curtain-less windows of the sardine tin he called 'home'. His hand shot out and turned the clock off. The last time he let it ring that long... He shuddered as his feet dragged over the dark stain on the carpet-one of many. It didn't really matter anyway, he realized as he stepped into the bathroom. Hank was still passed out on the couch, in exactly the same position that he'd been in the night before. Michael headed back into his room and snatched a pair of rumpled jeans off the floor. He hadn't worn them in a couple of days...they should be fine. As he yanked them on, though, he realized why they'd been flung into the corner—there was a large bloodstain on one of the knees. He swore and kicked them off, sending them to the floor in a rumpled heap. It didn't matter, anyway, he told himself as he pulled on another pair. It wasn't like anyone ever noticed what he was wearing. The only time anyone had ever said anything was that one time that chick with the blonde hair had made some stupid comment, back in sixth grade. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up the way he liked, and headed to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat.
All he found was a box of old saltines, Tabasco sauce, and beer. He grabbed the crackers and the hot sauce, sitting down at the table. 'Most important meal of the day,' he thought ruefully, shaking the sauce onto the crackers. About halfway through his makeshift breakfast, the bum on the couch groaned and stirred, then rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Michael could hear the old man retching, then the toilet flushed and out he came, swiping at his mouth with the back of one hand and scratching his ass with the other.
"What are you still doing here, boy?" he demanded gruffly, cracking open a can of beer. Michael didn't answer; he'd learned long ago that the best thing to do was to ignore him.
"Shouldn't you be in school? Answer me, boy!"
"School hasn't started yet," he replied quietly, involuntarily shrinking away from the man towering above him.
"Well get going."
"I have half an hour."
"I said git!" He swung his arm, and connected solidly with Michael's nose. He leapt to his feet and stumbled out of the trailer, trying to stem the flow of blood. He quickly arrived at the Evanses, where Max flung open the door at his knock, Isabel right behind him.
"Michael, that's the second time this month you've given yourself a nosebleed," Isabel said, shaking her long blonde hair over one shoulder. "For such a tough guy, you bleed like a stuck pig."
"Shut up, Blondie," he said, pinching his nose. "Max..."
"Yeah. My room."
The boys hurried up the stairs and into Max's bedroom, where Max healed him, then took a step back and surveyed his clothes.
"You can't wear those today," he said. Michael glanced down. Dammit. There was blood all over the front of his shirt, and some good-sized spots on his pant legs. "Here. Borrow some of mine, and Mom'll wash those tonight." He pulled some clothes out of his closet and tossed them at him. "Aren't those the same jeans you wore all last week?"
"Not all of us can afford twenty-four pairs of designer jeans, Maxwell," Michael replied, changing into Max's clothes. They fit a bit more snugly on him than they did on Max—Michael had more muscle—but they'd do.
"Those were a gift from Nana," Max muttered. Michael scoffed.
"Guys, we're going to miss the bus!" Isabel called up the stairs, her voice impatient. Michael thundered down, followed by Max.
"What a tragedy it would be if you didn't get to sit by the rest of the hens, right, Blondie?" Michael asked, tugging fondly on Isabel's hair.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Bye, kids. Have a great day!" Diane Evans's voice followed them to the bus stop, where they made it just in time to board the old school bus. Isabel slid into a seat, inserting herself fluidly into her friends' conversation, while Michael and Max claimed an empty seat. They were silent as the bus headed to the next stop, where a familiar brunette and blonde climbed aboard, taking the only other empty seat-right behind Michael and Max.
"Look at that, Liz. SpikeBoy is wearing Romeo's clothes. Do you think all of his finally disintegrated?"
"Maria..." Liz said quietly. Michael spun around in the seat.
"Shut up, Freak. At least I'm not always sniffing those stupid vials."
"Yeah, well at least I—" Maria stood, clutching her little bag of aromatherapy vials protectively. Liz tugged on the back of her shirt.
"Maria, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give him the satisfaction," she murmured soothingly. Michael looked at her. Her hair was once again perfectly brushed and shining in the morning sun. The dark vest she was wearing made her seem even paler than usual, the dark red of her shirt bringing out her lips.
"Yeah, you would think that, Parker. Butt out."
Her eyes raised to meet his, and the way they burned into his reminded him of the night before. Silently, he held her gaze for a moment, then turned back around and slumped in the seat. Max was still turned around, eyes fixed on Liz.
"Evans, you're staring," Michael heard Maria say, and Liz laughed softly, but not unkindly. Max turned around, the tips of his ears red.
The rest of the ride was uneventful.
***
By lunchtime, Michael's stomach was about to cave in, as he rummaged in his locker for whatever would pass for a lunch. Did he remember to bring those crackers?
Of course not. He sighed and put his head in his locker, wondering if you could pass out from being this hungry.
"What's wrong?" a soft voice asked from behind him. He jumped and turned to face Liz, whose chocolate eyes were sympathetic.
"Nothing."
"You forgot your lunch?"
His shoulders slumped even more. "Yeah."
A shadow of something passed over Liz's face, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills.
"I don't want your money."
"I'm not giving it to you."
"Oh..." His stomach gave a half-hearted growl, as though it had realized that it wasn't getting anything, and had to register one final protest.
"I'm lending it to you."
"I know how that works. No thanks." Sure he was hungry, but he had to keep his dignity. Her eyes narrowed.
"Seriously. I'm expecting it back. With one percent interest per every two weeks that you don't pay me back." She thrust it into his hand, then dug through her bag, coming up with a perfectly shaped, brilliantly red apple, then held it out to him. "And, here. I don't even like these. Mom always packs one the day after Dad—" She broke off. "Well, if you want it, its yours."
Michael stared at the fruit in her hand for a second, then slowly reached out to take it. She smiled softly, then began to head away.
"Thanks..." He said. She turned back and nodded.
***
"Where'd you get that?" Max asked as Michael flopped to the ground under a tree in the courtyard. "Thought Hank didn't give you lunch money."
"He didn't. Liz lent me some money."
"Liz Parker?" Max asked enviously. "Wow."
"Don't say it like that, Maxwell. She was just being nice." He picked up the apple and looked at his half-reflection in the skin.
"Were they selling apples? I didn't see any in the line."
"No. She gave it to me too."
"Wow. What'd you do to get into her favor like that?"
"Nothing. That's just how she is. Don't worry. I'm pretty sure she likes you better than that meathead Valenti."
"Shut up," Max said, stealing a glance towards Liz, who was sitting with the blonde and that computer geek. Michael, having successfully diverted Max's attention, was now free to enjoy his lunch. Soon, nothing was left but the apple, which he couldn't bring himself to eat. It would be like...profiting from Liz's dad hitting her. He dumped it and the tray into the garbage can, then looked up. She was watching him, and nodded slightly when she saw what he'd done with the apple. Then Maria spun around to see who she was looking at and made an ugly face at him. He responded with an even uglier one of his own and headed back to the tree. Kyle had headed over to Liz and Maria, and had his arm slung possessively around her shoulder. After a while, he glanced over and caught Max looking at her, and headed over. Liz followed, obviously expecting a scuffle.
"Whatcha lookin' at, Evans?" Kyle said cockily. "Not, Liz, by any chance? 'Cause everyone *knows* we're going out."
"No. I wasn't looking at her," Max mumbled.
"Then who were you looking at? Alex? Does Maxie Boy have a crush on Alex Whitman?"
"Kyle, quit it," Liz protested strongly, tugging on his arm. "He was probably looking at... Look—his sister's standing over there. He was watching to make sure she wasn't getting into trouble. Weren't you, Max?"
Max mumbled a general affirmation.
"I don't believe that. He was either looking at you or Alex. Which one was it, Evans? Were you looking at my girl or the geek?"
"He's not a geek, and I'm not your girl, Kyle," Liz said, still tugging on his arm. "Come on."
"Not until he tells me who he was looking at."
Michael stepped in.
"What's it to you?"
"Look—the reject speaks!"
"Kyle, leave them alone!"
"Butt out, Liz. This doesn't concern you. What did the reject say?"
"I said—" Michael began, clenching his fists. "I said, what's it to you?" He stepped forward threateningly. Liz resumed tugging on Kyle's arm.
"Do you want to fight me, reject? Is that it?"
"If I have to."
"Kyle!" Liz tried one last time. "You do *not* need to get kicked out of school again!"
"This is beyond that, Liz. Go back to Maria."
"You're going to leave them alone, Kyle Valenti, or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Kyle demanded, spinning so he was face to face with Liz. Fear flashed through her eyes, and Michael, feeling oddly protective, provoked him again.
"What's wrong, Valenti? So insecure in yourself that you have to make sure no one looks at her? I can see why. I've often wondered what she's doing with a dickhead like you."
Kyle spun around again, glaring at him. "What did you call me?"
"Lordy, your hearing must be going. Must be getting hit in the head with a football all those times. I called you a dick-head. Basic English, I think."
"I could kick your ass, Guerin."
"But I'll bet you'd rather look at it, though, wouldn't you?"
Kyle stepped forward, ready to punch him. Luckily, the principal hurried out just in time.
"Boys! What's going on here? Mister Guerin, *another* fight? Your fosterfather isn't going to be happy to hear this."
"It wasn't him, ma'm," Liz burst out. "It was Kyle. He started the whole thing."
"Liz!" Kyle exclaimed.
"Mister Valenti, come with me."
"But I didn't do—She's lying!"
"I've known Liz Parker since she was in diapers, young man. She does not lie. Come with me. You're going to make a call to your father."
"But—"
The principal led him away, leaving just Liz, Max, and Michael.
"Why'd you lie?" Max mumbled.
"I didn't. Kyle started it, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but..."
"And I didn't want you guys to get in trouble." She looked at Michael, her eyes telling him that by 'you guys' she meant him.
"Oh. Thanks."
"Are you afraid of him?" Michael blurted.
"What?"
"Just wondering. You can leave now, Parker."
She dropped her eyes. "'Bye, Max." And she was gone, having returned to Maria and Alex.
***
That night, the Evanses invited Michael to go to dinner with them. He remembered the wide array of food in the trailer and accepted.
It was the middle of the dinner rush, so the restaurant should have been packed, but was oddly quiet. Liz headed over to their table with five menus and launched into the chipper waitress act. Max was unable to order—he was busy looking at Liz, so Michael ordered two cherry cokes. She smiled, nodded, and disappeared. Her father intercepted her, and they engaged in what looked like a civil conversation. Max's father followed Michael's eyes, then turned back.
"He's such a great dad," Phillip said, looking at the menu. "I don't know of any father in town who gets along with his daughter like those two. Sorry, Izzy. We have our spats, you know."
Isabel laughed and nodded. "I know. You're right."
Michael remained silent, remembering last night. Yeah, those two got along beautifully. Just fabulous. He slowly became aware of a dull burning in his hand. His powers. Isabel noticed and grabbed his hand, attempting to calm him down. It worked—the feeling faded back into the background once more, just as Liz returned with their drinks, and took their dinner orders. By the time they had gotten them and were finished, they were the last ones in the restaurant. Liz handed Phillip the bill.
"It's dead tonight, isn't it?" he asked kindly.
"Sure is. It's pretty weird, actually. A nice change, though. That'll be it for tonight?"
"It should be."
"Okay. Come on up and pay whenever you're ready." She headed back to the counter. Phillip dug out his wallet and followed.
"Michael, honey, do you want us to drive you home?" Diane asked.
"No. I can walk."
"It's not safe, hon."
"I'll be fine. I've got to pick up some stuff from the store, anyway. I'll just get it while I'm around here."
"Okay..."
Phillip returned and chucked a ten onto the table as a tip.
"Daddy, that's a ten," Isabel pointed out.
"I know. Don't you think she deserves a bit more as a tip?"
"I'll bet Max does," she teased. Max nudged her with his elbow, his ears red.
"You coming with us, Michael?"
"No. I've gotta go grocery shopping."
"Okay. See you later, son."
As the four of them left, Michael heard Diane complaining about how children shouldn't have to do something or other. He rolled his eyes and waited for them to climb into the Jeep before he headed to the door. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by Mr. Parker angrily yelling something. A few more crashes and he stormed out, stomping upstairs. Michael cautiously headed into the kitchen, where Liz was kneeling amongst shattered glass and scattered silverware. She was weeping softly—didn't notice him until he cleared his throat softly. Then she jumped to her feet, wiping hastily at her eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing. Need help?"
"No."
"Come on." He grabbed a bus tray and began piling the silverware into it. She stood above him, trembling slightly, then knelt again and began to help. "I wouldn't do that," he said softly, gesturing to her knees. "You'll get all scraped up."
"It wouldn't be the worst—" she began bitterly, but then immediately shut her mouth and rocked back onto her feet, brushing some glass dust off of her skin. He dumped the silverware into the sink of soapy water, then grabbed the broom and dustpan. She took the broom from him and began sweeping the glass into a neat pile. Michael held the dustpan, and could see that she was still shaking. The two sides of himself—the cynic and the one who just wanted to be loved began to wrestle.
*What the hell are you doing feeling sorry for Perfect Parker? If there's anyone who deserves pity, its you.
*What are you talking about? Look at her—she's a wreck.
*So she fights with her parents. I'll bet she's never had a broken bottle in her shin. Like you have. Remember that?
*Of course I remember. But look at her.
*I'm looking. All I see is a goody two shoes in a stupid uniform, holding a broom and looking at you like you're a moron. She doesn't need your help. Get out of here.
"You're not a moron," Liz mumbled softly, taking the dustpan and dumping it out.
"What?" he leapt to his feet. Had she read his mind? That was impossible!
"You said something about you being a moron. You're not."
"Oh. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Of course." She smiled. "I get by."
What Michael did next surprised even himself. He stepped forward and roughly gathered Liz into his arms for a brotherly hug. She stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away or anything. Michael mentally smacked his forehead. *Please. Just don't say anything or look at me like I'm an idiot* He begged inwardly. She seemed to understand, and moved to put the broom away. She didn't seem to be uncomfortable or anything, so for that Michael sighed in relief.
"So. See you tomorrow," he said gruffly, heading out the door.
"Bye," she replied softly, her words somehow carrying through the diner to his ears.