Content warning for bullying, emotional trauma, and child neglect.
"Do you know the new kid? Seventh-grader."
The locker hallway fills in with laughter and indistinct chatter. Kids on a high social ladder find the commotion tolerable before class sections begin. The opposite is true for kids hoping to breeze through the years undetected. Head held high; Jay musters the courage to loiter the halls early in search of his potential new friend, Erin. Unaware of any classmates' watchful eyes.
"That could be anyone."
Two sixth-grade students huddle by the lockers. The girl pries down the hallway at the incoming seventh-grader in question.
"I forget his name, but he's cute. And I invited him to my birthday party. I need him to notice me."
"Uh, okay?" Ryan peers over his shoulder to locate the person in question. "We're both starting this year. A new kid could be anyone. I'm just glad you're my friend. Maybe this person could be too."
"Ryan, he's going to be my boyfriend," the sixth-grade schoolgirl rolls her neck, making a face at him, "Ack! You don't understand. Like, I must start this year with a boyfriend," she pokes her finger in his chest, "But, if you can make him your friend. That means more chances he runs into me. Watch. No guys can resist helping a girl."
Jay's mornings have a habit of ritual. His way to peruse through the halls as an unsuspected new kid. The tunnel vision he masks on today prevents him from seeing it derail from the tracks. Nor the ploy for attention a schoolgirl orchestrates on him.
The girl drops her textbooks from her hands, feigning clumsiness. Her books spill from her hands as soon as Jay walks by, close enough in view. He fails to notice the distraction and proceeds down the hallway, glancing at the students turning the corner.
She scoffs, "Did you see how rude..." The girl glares in his direction. "He walked right past me," she snips, her disgust brewing.
"Duh. I'll help you," Ryan comforts her, picking up her books. "And Jay? You..."
"Hey, Maisie." An older boy speeds over in an effort to help with her textbooks. Maisie waves him off, leaving Ryan to pick them up.
"It's okay," Maisie smiles soon falters, "...That boy, the new kid, Jay. He shoved the books out of my hands when I told him I didn't want to be his girlfriend." Her face frowns more, "He said I was too pretty to want to date a dumb guy like you instead of him. Some meathead that could never have a smart conversation with me."
She dabs her fingers to her eye, drying her fake tears, "Like if I wanted you to notice me, I should live up to my blonde hairdo. He-He knocked the books out of my hands and ran off."
"Maisie," Ryan attempts to correct her, holding her books. He can only watch as the older kid charges towards Jay.
...
He was humiliated. If he were to preface the day, his assumptions would not include forcing himself into a trash cart.
It is the better alternative than getting beat up by the kid who was after him. Temporarily spared of a fistfight did not subdue his terror. It did not stop the pleas of being jerked against the lockers and commanded into it an industrial-sized garbage bin. Everyone in the vicinity watched on, laughing, and pointing at him. The first student many are seeing subjected to his kind of treatment. Now, his fears of bullying at this new school are all too real.
His sullen look adds to the silent pain he is experiencing with his confidence. The physical pain feels much worse. He was thrown in the gallon-sized bin after the bully verbally harassed him to climb in first. The bully made sure he could not get out, closing it with the padlock. Sustaining several bruises and internal scares, he is not sure he wants to count them all.
Sighing, Jay pounds his feet and fist against the bin to elicit any help. The few students he hears near him simply trudge along, his bully menacingly gazing at the passersby directly across from him.
Jay will have to wait for the homeroom bell before the older kid gives up. He starts to cramp, his position constricting his ability to move. He rocks the garbage bin, exerting all his strength to tip it. With no luck, Jay decides to shout for help. His voice gets covered by the first sound of the bell.
"You help him out of there, Toad; you'll be next."
"Shut up. Go find Maisie or go to class," Ryan spouts, his meager rebuttal holding empty weight.
"Yes, both of you, to class," the school administrator addresses them - her first walk around monitoring their hallway. "Chad?"
"I'm tying my shoe."
"Ryan?"
"I need to get something from my locker."
"Help! I'm stuck."
The added voice interrupts the administrator to question both Chad and Ryan of the details. Determining what to reconcile, she leads Chad out and mentions she will find the custodian. Left behind, Ryan helps Jay at the bin.
"Do you know the combination for the lock?"
"No! If I did, I'd give you the combo to get me out. Tha-That guy made me get in and with trash in here. Everyone saw," Jay complains dejectedly.
"Yeah-," Ryan breathes, pausing, "It's me, Ryan. If you remember-"
"Yes, I remember. Please, just help me out of here."
"Okay, um," Ryan inches closer to the bin, testing the lock dial. "Maybe... I got it. I'll listen for any clicks. Uh, it will let me know if I get a number right or not.
Jay huffs, finding that solution to be the lengthiest one. He punches and kicks the bin harder without success. His feet start to go numb, cramping up the longer he remains trapped inside. "I'll wait. I've been in here a while anyway."
"Not as long as you think. It'll work, so we aren't late for homeroom," Ryan fiddles with the dial, guessing the first number.
"Who do you have for homeroom? Who's in your class?" Jay asks, the reminder of Ryan knowing Erin fresh in his mind.
"The custodian is with me," the administrator rushes over to the garbage bin. "Go on to class, Ryan. Jay, I'm getting you out, then we are going to my office. I need to hear from you what happened."
The detour to the nurse's office salvages his dignity. It allows him to delay looking his classmates in the face. The embarrassment radiates off his body, a new disposition he believes will keep marking him as a target. In the meantime, the nurse's office is his safest area.
"You have a lot of bruising. I even anticipate you will feel some muscle pain and dizziness. I recommend returning home for the day. I'll give a call to your parents," the school nurse finalizes, sitting on her rolling stool.
"I don't want to go home. I'm fine. I'm feeling okay. None of it hurts," Jay sputters, sliding off the bed.
The nurse hums at him, reading for his honesty. He would rather stay at school. His dad cannot find out. The risk of his dad picking him up and catching wind about today's incident will be a never-ending conversation about how much of a wimp he is. The fifty-fifty chance will exacerbate his present suffering.
He persuades the nurse to allow him to rest in the office. While she updates her notes and phones up to the main office, Jay busies himself scoping out the posters on the wall. Then he notices the bulletin board decorated with personal drawings, and he steps down to inspect it. The nurse glances his way and motions him to sit back on the bed. Jay reaches for his backpack - missing the chance to place it in his locker - and digs out his notebook and pencil case, inspired to draw for her board.
"Jay, you need to be resting. Put that away."
Grumbling, he zips up his backpack with his items inside and lounges on the bed. His gaze follows a path in the ceiling tiles until boredom succumbs him to sleep. The knock on the door causes him to stir lightly. Rolling on his slide, he blocks out the noise.
"Hi, Nurse Faye."
"Hello there," Nurse Faye takes their hall pass slip.
"I'm not feeling well. I think I have a fever."
"Erin. Dear, you complain of a cold weekly. I'm starting to think you aren't sick," Faye inquires, attempting to uncover what the little girl could be facing.
"Yea, I have a fever. Uh, it's my head. It hurts, and I'm coughing. I'm coughing too," Erin glances around the office, pinpointing an aid that can help describe her symptoms. "What should I take for it?"
"With the constant fevers and symptoms, it's better for your parents to take you to the doctor. I'll get their information and call-"
"No!" Erin starts for the door. "I'm okay. I'll drink some water like you told me the last time," she sighs, dropping her gaze to the ground.
"Hold on," Nurse Faye offers, her sympathy rising. "Let me take your temperature to be sure," she sticks the tool under her tongue. Another knock interrupts her, and she moves for the door - a school administrator waves her outside.
Erin uses the time as a distraction and her opportunity to preview the room. She quickly stashes available supplies in reach: first aid bandages, compresses, and applicators. Filling her pockets, Erin notices a kid sleeping on the recovery bed. She tiptoes over to see who they are.
"Erin?" Nurse Faye signals her, "Let's check that temperature and make a request-"
She whirls around, pulling out the thermometer, "No fever." She slams it on the desk, making her way out, "Thanks!"
The weekend finally arrives, bringing a load of relief to Jay's psyche. Chad's suspension serves as a warning for the entire school. The principal ensured each grade level was aware that harassing behavior would not be tolerated.
His brother surprised Jay the most. Will found out through hallway gossip, and he stalked the halls waiting to run into Chad. The older boy, a classmate in his grade. Will was furious, and he threatened to beat him up if he saw him messing with his brother. The ruckus caused the principal to devise an assembly to discuss the code of conduct. It was a dreadful week, an unsettling one for him. A week unlike the one Jay dreamt, mundane and full of regained control.
Jay masqueraded through it, nonetheless. He treated the incident as something in the past. Forgetting the situation ever happened is the reason he did not submerge into the abyss. The added benefit, counteracting the darkness, is that it is old news for many of his classmates.
Now, his focus shifts to the upcoming birthday party. He is excited to go, ecstatic. Jay assumed Maisie rejected his invitation because of the week's fiasco, but she guaranteed she wanted him to attend. Deciding on his outfit, Jay requests his mom's advice.
"I'm unsure of what to wear," Jay rummages through his closet and dresser.
"You got your weekend clothes. It's the weekend," Vivian smiles proudly.
"A birthday party. Mommy, it's a party. I-I need to dress cool. Help my standing."
"I think you're pretty cool."
"Ah, Mom," he scratches his head, indexing in his mind which outfit to wear. "At least the shirt has to be cool. Pants are just pants, right?"
"Right," Vivian chuckles.
"Then my hair. I, I-"
"Woah. Clothes. Hair. What's next? Cologne?" Vivian squats down, "I presume it's a middle school party. You're just there to have fun, sweetheart. I'm sure social status is not a big deal at these things. Cake, presents, maybe a few games outside?"
"The girl whose party it is ... she has money. The party is going to be huge."
"Money or not, a party for eleven-year-olds, I-"
"She's turning twelve, and she invited older kids too."
"Invited older kids? Hmm."
"Yeah, a lot of people. I wanna make an impression."
Vivian ruffles his hair, standing up, "Alright, let's find something nice for you to wear to this party. Maybe your chauffeur can find a cool outfit to wear too?"
His mom dropped him off, a gift in hand. Once he made it inside, Jay hightailed for a familiar hiding spot. Any equivalent to fend off engaging in the crowd of kids in the large kitchen.
Using the bathroom as his defensive shield, Jay grips the gift. His fingers stretch the wrapping paper as he taps his foot incessantly. He stares at the door, dazing off to the intrusive thoughts of the week. They are impossible to escape, and the fear renders him motionless. He would rather be in the midst of an alien invasion than a middle school party.
Jay glances to the mirror, hardly recognizing his reflection. The jitters, the scared eyes, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest are the reactions of a boy who is terrified that he may go through a rough time attending this party. Theories replay over and over in his head. How is he to know what happens? He is no fortune teller; no guidance can prepare him.
"There's no crying at Maisie's birthday. Look at this place!" A kid pounds on the bathroom door, "Hurry up. I got to use it."
He startles against the sink. His grip on the gift tears the wrapping down the middle. Clearing his throat, Jay flushes the toilet and washes his hands. Glancing at himself once more, he cracks a smile. His mom would want him to enjoy the party. He wants to enjoy the party. It won't be as frightening as he makes it seem.
Jay opens the door to pardon himself for the time he spent inside, and he recognizes the person waiting. "Hey."
"Hey," Ryan returns.
Both stand fumblingly in the bathroom walkway before Jay steps aside.
"I didn't know you were gonna be here," Ryan lies, stepping away. He knows who invited him, but he wants to be friends with Jay. He should start somewhere.
"I got invited," Jay shrugs, returning to the kitchen and distancing from Ryan.
"Your shirt is cool," Ryan stutters, "I like it."
Peering down at his striped shirt and to Ryan's patchwork sweater, Jay grouches, "Thanks," and walks away. If Ryan thinks his shirt is cool, then he picked the wrong outfit to wear.
...
The start of the party begins swimmingly. The size of the house alone is a maze. Each room has a theme with an assigned use. He bounces through, room to room, deciding which one to pick. That is how Jay found himself looping the house in a thrilling surge of energy. Meeting a few other kids to play with, they assemble a team to commence a round of spud outside.
He feels rejuvenated. The party feels like a giant playground, everyone's only care is to have fun. Some kids are in the large outdoor swimming pool, the adults are grilling, and girls huddle on the bench swing. The entire scene is picturesque, ideal survivable conditions. Jay calls time out on the game, scanning out to the sliding door where kids are heading inside.
Maisie whispered in the ears of a selected few and whisks in their direction. Whispering in a couple more ears, she approaches Jay.
"A group of us are meeting in the basement. You should come," Maisie speaks softly, "and only the people who heard me say it."
Dirt tracks in behind the footsteps entering the front door, and with no welcoming committee, Erin is clueless on where to go. She retreats to the doormat and rubs her shoes clean.
Strutting down the hallway, Erin concludes she should locate a parent. They can tell her where the party is. The house is immaculate. Very bright, polished, orderly, and more expensive-looking than any building she had the chance to visit. Even if she magically grew ten feet tall, she still would not reach the ceiling.
Scrutinizing the foyer, Erin wonders why a kid living here goes to King's Cross Academy. She scrunches her face, appalled. Did more kids have houses this big? When she finds the kitchen and the expansive great room, her assumptions exceed the Richter scale. She could run a mile on the floor this size. Yes, it is an exaggeration. But what is she doing here? Why was she here, doing any of this?
She spent an hour debating whether to show up. Now, she wishes she hadn't. She told Suzanne to pick her up at the party's end time. Never memorizing the shelter's phone number, she is stuck. Another hour or two would not be a bother to walk home. Home. The shelter. Erin sighs, her deep breath repositioning her decision, and she turns to leave.
"Erin!" Ryan rushes to her, "You came," Ryan beams in a cheerful fashion. Momentarily speechless, Erin diverts her eyes from him and moves to head out.
"I wasn't sure you'd come. I'm glad you're here."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you're my friend," Ryan smiles, "I really really like your outfit."
Erin fumbles for a response, giving a second look at her outfit. Her over-worn jeans, too large to fit her, are held up with a large belt. Her sleeveless ruffle neck top has jagged edges, the shirt too small she needed to cut them off.
"It's-It's so cool. The ripped jeans, the grunge look," Ryan continues to check out her clothes, "It's so cute. You dress really nice. You must read all the magazines too."
She chuckles abashedly, pulling on her skin, thinking she is picking at her shirt. Her expression contorts, steeling when Ryan updates her on the party. The number of rooms, the activities outside, and the time food and cake will be ready.
"I'm going downstairs to the basement," Ryan hurries back, "Come on. I don't want to be alone with the games they want us to play."
...
A humongous house. A humongous house. The bitter words Erin labels the mental balance scale fixated in her head that competes against her predicament. Speeding to the basement, Erin takes a gander at the infinite number of rooms. She wonders how much time they spent enjoying the house. Was happiness in the size of a home or closeness of a family? That is the question she adds to tip the scale. The answer is relative anyway, depending on the person and life circumstances.
"Who is she?"
Erin blinks out of her haze. The steps downstairs lead to a corridor of more entertainment rooms, ending at the den space. The interior design in the room is superb, the paintings and artifacts are well commissioned. The windows bring in enough light to encase the den in a private ambiance. The basement is the place to be - full of board games, a large tv, fireplace, huge couches, bean bags, and recliners.
"This is Erin," Ryan introduces her to Maisie.
"Why is she down here? I didn't invite her or to my party."
Erin's eyes flicker to Ryan, interrogating him for a reason. Her life encapsulates a reel of uncomfortable situations, and extending the footage for a mean girl's gain is the opposite of how she wants to kick off the weekend.
"I invited her. She's my new friend. What's a party without a lot of people?" Ryan grabs Erin's hand, zipping to a couch, Maisie stalking behind them.
"She's not playing the games with us," Maisie huffs, her composure close to steaming.
"Sure... I'm not playing either. We're going to stay here and talk," Ryan confesses, finding the games Maisie has planned void of fun. Party games are moronic and intentionally laced with peer pressure. None of which he wants others challenging him to do.
The basements games start pretty straightforward, with no hiccups. The twelve-year-old birthday girl tested the water by incorporating heads up seven up and freeze dance.
Once the mix of boys and girls was comfortable in the games' flow, Maisie selects telephone next. In their group of thirteen, they begin passing the hidden message. Each turn derives laughter from the group at the silliness of the game. The conditions change as the turn moves to Maisie. The whisper to the person beside her receives a strange look.
Chuckles ignite as the secret message begins to travel around the circle. When Jay hears the statement, a shiver shoots through his body. Eyes are on him, watching his reaction to what he heard. The comment bears no repeating, but it is the game they are playing. The sentence jumbled in passing, he tells himself. Jay whispers the phrase, following the rules although changing the words. "Maisie likes to wear pants and shoes." The last two kids are as confused as he was. Shouted aloud, the group remains silent.
Maisie glares at the girl next to her to repeat it once more. The message travels to Jay, and he immediately repeats it, changing the words. He glimpses at Maisie and waits for the reveal. The evil expression on her face is menacing.
"We're playing a new game," she moves up from the floor. She splits the girls and boys into separate groups. "I'm mixing things up. The game is Seven Minutes in Heaven. I know we've all played this," she poses, grabbing two soda bottles, "Spin these. Whoever it lands on goes in the closet together. If they don't want to go in the closet, we do a truth or dare." Maisie claims her seat, calling the game to begin.
"That is the game I don't want to play," Ryan fills in, chatting up Erin. He surveys the game, watching it play without a hitch
"Why? It's just games." Erin lounges on the couch, kicking her feet out. The comfy sectional is her favorite of the options in the den.
"Older kids play this one. The game tells you to do whatever you want for seven minutes. Kissing sometimes too. What if you don't want to?"
"Hm," Erin answers, her hazel eyes glaze, fading in color. "...Whatever you want? Maybe I should play." Her eyes continue to storm full of color, flashing back to an associated memory.
Her mind clears, and she adds, "I guess when you're ready, you say, 'yes' or 'no'." Erin removes her backpack, setting it on the carpet. "You didn't want to play because of that?
"Yeah, and the truth or dare part. Maisie likes that the most. Always asking mean-"
"Ew, no. I'm not going in the closet with him!" Ryan and Erin are interrupted by Maisie's insult. Erin scampers off the couch, sneaking her way over.
"He's going to want to kiss me. He probably never kissed anyone before. Chad even said he tried-"
"I'll do it," Erin welcomes herself to the group.
"What!" Maisie barks, the menacing scowl reappears to her face.
"I'll play your turn. You can dare me. Like your rules said. If you don't want to do it." Maisie sends her an affronted look, ignoring her.
"No, you're not." Maisie crosses her arms, excluding the uninvited guest. Erin peeks at the boy's group, seeing the spin landed on a boy she recognizes.
"You said, if we don't want to go in together, then we could do truth or dare," Jay coughs out, "I don't want to go in with you. I dare you to let her take your turn."
With all eyes on her, shocked and questioning, Maisie accepts purely on obligation, "Fine."
"What's your name?" Erin asks first, hearing the door close behind her. The boy files in, moving sluggishly in the closet, engrossed by the purple and red lava lamps.
She shares in the intrigue, entranced by the colors of the gizmo and the blobs floating in the liquid. The more she watches it, the more interesting it becomes. It reminds her of the preserved specimen in her science lab class. Maybe these are some projects; it's hard to tell. Her partner in the closet reads her mind and explains in elaborate detail what the light device is. And the speed he describes it traps her farther in the cycling hypnosis of the slimy fire bubbles.
With her eyebrow raised in confusion and lips parted, Erin looks to him. Many clarifying questions are on her mind to ask, but she recalls what they are doing. "What's your name?"
The inflection in her voice lures him out of his lava lamp stupor. "Jay," he smiles, clearing his throat.
"Jay," Erin sounds it out, adapting to having a name for the face. "I'm Erin."
"I-I know your name," he says gently, his features lifting in joy at finally being introduced to one other.
Her puzzled eyes bore into his, "How do you know my name already?"
"I heard it before. My mom says I'm observant...," Jay blinks rapidly, straightening his posture awkwardly.
"Oh, okay." A silence hangs between them as they step away from each other. Erin takes a moment to admire how his freckles contrast the tinted dim lighting before quickly ducking her head. Finding interest in her shoes, she rolls up and down on the back of her feet.
"But, um," Erin darts her head up at his interjection, her long layered waves sticking to her face. "Thanks for going in the closet with me. I thought she was going to go crazy."
"Yea," she nods, sincerity in her tone, "People are mean. Games are s'posed to be fun."
"Games also have losers." Jay stammers, biting his lip. He is no self-proclaimed loser, but he feels like one. His week and his now deteriorating image at the party blaring examples.
The best surprise of the afternoon, the one that tops any gift the birthday girl could unwrap, is Erin showing up. He was so absorbed in the thrill of the entertainment; he failed to consider she would wound up here. She came to his rescue, flying in at the exact moment. Her stance was grounded, and her eyes were fierce as the conviction in her words – his angel.
Her eyes continue to mesmerize him, and in the confined space, those eyes are all he sees. The glow of the lamps, an array of purple and red, highlight her irises, matching the beauty of a sunset. "Um," Jay nervously fills in, holding his arm, "This game, you are just in the closet for seven minutes. We don't have to do anything."
"Oh," she says flatly, glancing anywhere else in the room. "What do we do now?"
"We can wait until they open the door," Jay suggests, following her to the front of the closet. "Do you want to do something?"
"We can kiss if you want," she offers, her expression unreadable, "Have you kissed someone before?"
"Mm-hmm," Jay squeaks out, drawing out Erin's dimples in response. "Does my mom count?"
"Nope," she rasps, shaking her head. "It doesn't."
His stance falters, "Then, no. I haven't." He rubs the back of his neck, his confession ringing true to Maisie's insult. "Have you... kissed anyone?"
"Me," she clasps her hands to her shirt, bunching it in her grip, breaking eye contact. Jay senses straightaway her worries about being the one to share next. "Most kisses I get aren't ones I want. Doesn't count." The statement sounds upsetting, and he knows something is underlying in her words. Before he probes for more, Erin puts her attention back on him, "So... I say, first kisses count when it's from someone you like-like. I kinda wanna have one of those, one day."
Her lips tug to a corner, hopeful that her sentiment one day materializes. Jay relishes the time he gets to spend with her. He is really happy to see her.
"Is it okay... if we do kiss in here?" Jay utters in an innocent childish wonder. His reasoning behind wanting to kiss her is not from the older kids or the basis of the game. He is genuinely interested in kissing someone else.
"Yea!" Erin cheers brightly, agreeing forwardly. She winces, correcting herself, "Uh... I mean, yes."
"Okay," he hesitates, giggling shyly at the prospect of kissing a girl, a girl he likes. His boyish grin - absent the whole party - finally emerges as they both wait for the first person to move, arms glued to their sides.
Taking a deep breath, Jay walks up to her. He raises his hand to brush the hair from her cheek, subtly trailing his hand to tuck the strands behind her ear. The ticklish feeling on her skin causes Erin to flinch, withdrawing her face from his hand. "What are you doing?" A fearful bout of suspicion stresses her question.
Jay retracts his hand, fisting his hands to his chest in apology. "I-I was moving your hair away so I can see your face. Uh..." he wavers his gaze from her. "I've seen it in movies. The guys do it. And it's hard to see in the dark," he mumbles, embarrassed for messing up.
"You're kissing my mouth, not my face," Erin inches towards him, her curious look veiled by her sarcastic tone.
"You-You're right," he blushes, raising his hand again. Afraid to make a move, he glues his arms to his sides, judging they finished.
Erin sighs. "Jay, you kiss like this." She dives into his space, pressing her lips to his. His eyes fly open, surprise and shock evident that a kiss is happening. Jay tightens his mouth, bracing for her lips. He stares at her closed eyes and follows her movement. A flutter dances in his belly, and he tentatively puckers his lips to hers.
Erin parts her lips, lingering delicately on his skin, and the ticklish feeling returns as a warm spark of electricity. Just as the corners of her lip curve, caressing his, she instantly realizes she forced herself on him and pulls out. It is her turn to be fretful of her actions, "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She backs away from him, "You weren't ready... you-"
"I am," Jay hurries out, stepping towards her to calm her down. "It's okay, I am. I promise," He nods, signaling to her that he is sure.
The swift pull of the door breaks their connection, the entering light ending their turn.
"Does she know him? They are playing together!" Maisie whines. Seven minutes in heaven blew up in her face, fun ensuing from more rounds of it after someone suggested merging the groups. She exhausted her efforts to go after her pawn and announced everyone could do free play in the basement.
"I-I don't know," Ryan ponders, quirking his head. He hardly knows him. Jay asked about her once, but Erin never mentioned him. Maisie embarrassed Jay. Twice. Their possibility to be together is bleak.
Maisie rolls her eyes, glancing over to where Erin and Ryan sat. "Is that hers?" She points to the backpack.
"Uh, yeah. I think."
"My birthday present is probably in there. My invitation said to bring one. If you invited her, she knows that." Maisie grabs it and abandons the group to rifle through the backpack, getting a last look at the pair.
...
The Candy Land board lays out on the floor as their activity of choice. At a moderate level with minimal instructions, it is the best one to play. Jay took her request for an easy game in kind. Erin struggles to describe her difficulties with complex reading and counting; the years in and out of school make studying the lesser evil than homelessness.
While he sets up the game, shuffling the cards, his gaze shifts to her. He watches Erin roll the blue colored marker in her hand. Her downcast gaze worries him. Her eyes shift hastily, meeting his before he voices his concern, thus bringing out his toothy grin to speak for him.
Erin sets down her piece and stares at him, waiting for his complementary shade of blue to give her directions.
"Are you good at this game?" Jay mumbles.
"I don't have this game," Erin covers discreetly, checking over to the couch.
"Oh. You'll get the hang of it. I'm good at explaining the rules-"
"Where's my backpack?"
She leaves Jay in the den to search for the backpack. Heart racing and breathing shallow, the panic of misplacing it fills Erin with intense fear. Why did she put it down? She charges down the corridor peaking in the rooms, finding each empty. Venturing up the stairs, she hears two hushed voices and doubles back.
"Ew! What are these? None of this stuff looks like a present for me. Like why did she bring all of this? She camping?"
Erin presses her back against the wall, inching to the entryway. Nausea in her stomach cripples her stance, and her sweaty palms slide on the marble.
"She's your friend Ryan. Say something."
His silence drags out, and Maisie continues, "This is gross. She is gross. How are you friends with her? Look at what she is wearing to my party. Her outfit is gross. She looks gross, right?"
Erin intakes a sharp breath, waiting for his response.
"Maisie... you should have seen how she was the first day I met her," Ryan pauses, "Like, she even wears the same clothes when she's at my house on the weekends. She's gross. I'm just her friend because she has no friends."
"No friends, gross and sleazy. She probably kissed every kid she was in the closet with."
Erin meanders into the entryway, pretending she wound up lost in the hallway. "Oh! You found it," she rushes over, pulling it from their grasp. "I was looking for my backpack. I dropped it on the way inside." She loops her backpack over her shoulders, "Where's the bathroom?"
...
Who did she think she was, thinking they would welcome her to a party like this one? She did not care to be a part of the circus anymore, the trickery, the harsh words. She is no caged animal or freak for entertainment.
Erin licks her wounds in the safest place she found, another closet. Well, she hopes it's a closet. Unbothered where she ended up, the need for light was an afterthought.
The knob jiggles, forcing her to crouch lower to the ground. The absence of light blurs her vision when it turns on.
"Erin?"
She relaxes hearing his voice. Peeking out in front of the coat, she lays her eyes on him. "How'd you know I was in here?"
"It's where I'd hide too," His admittance dampens the mood to a distressing exchange. Jay closes their gap from the opened door. "Big closet," he fills in the silence, unnecessarily pointing out the obvious.
The spell cast on them downstairs dissolves. Jay's nervousness overtakes him, and he proceeds to talk, "The whole house is ginormous, um, huge. I haven't been in a mansion before. Have you? The closet is big for no reason. They could fit a bed in this closet."
She agrees with that comment. The house with countless amounts of things - that what everything is, things to own - is a subject she refuses to join in and fawn over. Anger consumes her examining the closet used to store the winter items. Remaining in the house for even a couple more minutes will invalidate her existence.
The pestering sounds of Jay talking result in her combusting. "Can we just sit here?" Her raspy pitch slightly hikes up, cutting off his intentions to speak. Her deep breaths calm her as the rudeness of her scream reflects on her face, and the bizarre remembrance of the chosen words delivers her apology.
"Yeah, of course. I-"
"Excuse me." Jay yelps, hearing the person enter.
Erin scurries quietly, merging her shape with the lined shoes and coats. Jay steps in front of her, his surprised face enough of a distraction for the bemused adult.
"I was searching for my jacket. I handed it to someone on the way in, and I want it back," Jay rambles on the fly.
"When you are retiring for the day, tell Mrs. Ortega your parents have arrived for you. She'll call me to fetch your jacket and belongings from the cloakroom. Now," the housekeeper motions for him, "come along. It's time for Maisie's cake, the gifts to follow."
Jay walks in stride with the housekeeper to the kitchen, keeping his focus straight ahead not to give away Erin's presence.
The bile in her throat causes her discomfort. If she were within reach of the cake, she would gladly profuse her vomit on it. Erin senses Jay and Ryan eyeballing her from opposite sides of the kitchen island, encouraging her to get closer to the action. She wants nothing to do with the cake or the birthday presents. Why did someone with a house this big need gifts?
Her chest constricts, and the quick puffs out of her nose inform her she needs to disappear. She barrels off, the hysterical feeling far too much to tolerate in the mix of the other kids.
Erin winds up on the next floor scoping out the hallway, and the solitude relieves her temperament. Gold, silver, and crystal litter the hallway. The sitting room off to the side showcases an overlook of the lake. Her feet guide her to the bay windows, and she stops short, bumping into someone.
"Child, what are you doing on this floor? The party is on the main level." Startled, Erin retreats.
Recognizing their diction, she connects it to the housekeeper from earlier. "I'm changing my clothes. Maisie said to use her bedroom. I was trying to find it."
"Why yes! The darling noted she was changing outfits throughout the party. Her room is the first one on the left, this way," the housekeeper guides her in the direction she came.
Erin adds more pain to her spirit by exploring the mansion excessively as she does. The bedroom goes without description. The obscene wealth is a monstrosity. Why is Maisie attending their school? Erin battles the same question. However, she isn't a student at their school, at least not really. It's conditional for two months. Once Bunny hops back into their lives, she will get enrolled in a new school district.
Deciding to wait in the front yard, Erin turns around for the door. Echoes of a conversation near the bedroom alert her of people approaching. "Oh, man," she clicks her teeth, devising a plan. The closet is not ideal this time. For a room as big as this, there are no spots to make herself unseen.
"Open," Erin fidgets with the latch before trunk chest opens, "Aha!" She clears space and piles inside. The lid hovers above her, requiring it to be closed manually. Trembling, she reaches her hand up and pats it. No budge. The door opens, revealing Maisie and her mother immersed in a discussion. Erin grabs the front of the lid, jerking it down with her fingers, closing it as they meet at the closet.
"I had Phillip arrange with the enrollment office to examine the test scores and transcripts of the kids who you invited," Mrs. Ortega plops herself on the trunk at the foot of the bed, awaiting Maisie's outfit selection. "The sixth-grade class at King's Cross Academy is mediocre. Easiest buy in Chicago. We offer them a hefty donation, and they'll be foaming at the mouth."
Mrs. Ortega nods approvingly at Maisie's dress, "We'll get them to change their benchmarks, and you'll have the highest scores and GPA to graduate come high school. None of those kids will see an A. With all of that said, we should keep you in the sixth grade."
Erin deduces the bribery they are after. The rich benefit from gaming the system. It reeks strongly of control and the power to suppress. She tastes the disgust in her mouth.
"One of the seventh graders is a close second to you. You shouldn't lift more than-"
"Mother, I'm not worried. I'm queen bee at that school. I'll keep them all in line."
"Good girl."
"Maisie," Mrs. Ortega raps the door, stepping in. "She is looking for an Erin," she rolls her hand to point to Suzanne. "By chance, have you seen her?"
"No," Maisie spits, bouncing off her bed. "Speaking of, I'm sure she won't be an issue of mine either."
"I dropped her off here. I'm back for her, at time. The party ended, right?" Suzanne ducks in, determining she is out of place.
"Are you her mother?"
The sudden thud in the room spooks them. The three cross the room, hearing muffled noises. Maisie creeps to the trunk chest, and Erin pops out, pushing the top open. Maisie's shriek resounds in the bedroom, fully waking Erin.
"What is she doing in my room!" Maisie stomps, pointing an accusatory finger at her.
"Explain," Mrs. Ortega requests of both Erin and Suzanne.
"I feel asleep," Erin lazily says, climbing out of the trunk and heading for the exit.
"Not sufficient enough," Mrs. Ortega declares, demanding more information.
Exhaling, Suzanne stops her, "Erin, wait outside. Be right there." Erin gives them all one last glare, venturing out to the hallway.
"I, I have no answers for her actions. I'll speak to her-"
"I ought to confiscate that raggedy bag she has. She good as well could have been stealing. Who is she? She wasn't on my daughter's guest list," she berates in Suzanne's face, "nor a name on the class roster."
"Please, give some compassion. Erin is experiencing a difficult time. She's with the church, at our shelter. Her mother is missing, and her father is uninvolved," Suzanne confesses because they will surely find out despite anonymity.
"In summary, street trash. I fail to believe she gained admission to King's Cross Academy on merit alone."
"I'm not buying the school for grades," Erin barges in, spewing fire. "I'm there because I'm in sixth grade. Her," Erin points, targeting Mrs. Ortega. "They want her to be the only one passing. If she's smart, she'd be at a better school or-or another grade. So, find out how much she knows. Probably nothing.
"On the contrary, dear. You're nothing."
Erin lunges forward, reaching to grab the woman, shouting at her. Suzanne races to clutch on Erin's shirt, pulling her back. Her shouts continue, the hoarseness in her tone breaking as she defends herself.
"Get her out of our sight."
AN: Hi everyone! Thank you for your patience on this chapter upload. These past months have been a busy time for me. Then, I got inspired to do my one shot. I can't multi-task, so I completely forgot how I wanted this chapter to go as I wrote the other story; expect the seven minutes and heaven scene – I planned that early.
I think creating an outline will keep me on track. I write slow, and I'm still learning techniques in writing.
This chapter is a tad dialogue heavy because it sets up a few other scenes throughout the story. I really hope you enjoyed reading this update. I have pieces of the next one written, just finishing the last few scenes.
Side note, I have another one shot idea. Baby Linstead. It will be after I complete this story. Pinky promise.
As always, thank you for the support, likes, follows, and comments.
Stay safe!