Some people have nerves of steel...lately, Lily Loud had nerves of ancient parchment. She and Lincoln had been together for over a month and keeping their relationship hidden from their family was a constant source of stomach-churning stress. He said that if Mom and Dad found out, they'd probably kick him out of the house. She trusted him completely to keep the secret on his end, it was her she was worried about - it was really hard to see the boy you love sitting on the couch and not curl up with him, or to pass him in the dining room without stopping to give him a kiss. She was terrified of slipping up and doing or saying something wrong, so she made double sure not to look at him too long during dinner and to second guess everything she said lest she blurt something out that wasn't meant to be blurted out.
The weight, in other words, rested entirely on her shoulders, and she didn't do well with prolonged stress. A-Man-Duh and her goons at school? That was nothing because when the day was done, she could go home. Keeping hers and Lincoln's relationship under wraps wasn't a part time job, it was full time - a never ending shift requiring constant vigilance. A few days after she and Lincoln started, they were lying on his bed kissing when Mom knocked on the door. Lincoln? Have you seen Lily? Lily's heart blasted into her throat and she jumped a foot. A week or so after that, she came out of his room one morning just as Lucy stepped into the hall; panic exploded in Lily's gut and she slammed the door so hard it woke the whole house - she had to hide under Lincoln's bed when Mom came in to reprimand him. Pressed between the box spring and the floor, staring out at her mother's feet and breathing shallowly through her nose so as not to make any noise, Lily winced at the nervous roll of her stomach, the pain so intense she had to bite her lower lip to keep from moaning.
Every day was like walking a tight rope...and if there was one thing Lily Loud was known for, it was having bad balance. Seriously, she had a bunch of ear infections when she was little and it messed up her equilibrium.
School didn't help things either. Everyday, no matter how much she scurried (telling herself that she was not scurrying), A-Man-Duh caught her somewhere and did something - last Monday, she walked by Lily in the lunch room and squirted her with a ketchup packet, then on Friday she was content to simply rip Lily's clothes, hair, and teeth apart. You look like Sandy from Spongebob..here she waved her hand in front of her face...and smell like her too. Close your legs. Everyone at the table erupted in laughter, and Lily blushed furiously.
When she wasn't thinking about potentially screwing up and getting Lincoln thrown out of the house, she entertained fantasies of beating A-Man-Duh in her stupid face until she lost consciousness. These thoughts, and how appealing they were becoming, disturbed her, and every time she had one, she came out of it shaky and sick. Lying awake at night, struggling to sleep in her own bed - away from Lincoln - she vividly imagined herself actually letting go and punching A-Man-Duh...the fear and pain in the other girl's eyes no longer dissuading her, but urging her on instead.
On Friday, she was so preoccupied with A-Man-Duh and Lincoln that she somehow managed to flub a math test so bad the teacher wanted to see her after school. All that day, she went through the motions of life with a heavy stomach full of dark anticipation. During last period study hall, she returned to the scene of the crime and sat in an uncomfortable straight back chair across from the teacher, a fay guy with glasses and a bad combover named Mr. Jacobi. He wiped an ever present sweat slick from his forehead and regarded her with beady little eyes lost in the folds of his face. Miss Loud, I am flabbergasted at these errors. Utterly flabbergasted.
Lily knew what that word meant, of course, and could even spell it, but she wasn't sure she'd ever actually heard it spoken aloud. She bowed her head in contrition and drew a deep breath, her cheeks blazing with shame. You are one of my better students. What happened?
She really wished she had a Twix so she could chew it over and buy herself a minute or two. What should she say? She was too focused on her sexual relationship with her brother and on the girl tormenting her every time she turned around? Nope, neither one of those would work: She had to keep the most pure and perfect love she'd ever known to herself like a dirty little secret and telling on A-Man-Duh never lead anywhere. If she was lucky, the bully would be called to the office, given a teensy-weensy little love tap on the wrist, then sent back to class, resolved to pick on her even harder.
This calls for a lie. My...uh...my what? Come on, he's looking at you funny, stop stumbling and LIE TO YOUR TEACHER! My grandmother's dying, she blurted.
Mr. Jacobi's features remained stoic for a second, then softened in sympathy. Lily's heart twinged with remorse and she darted her eyes to her lap. That was a pretty messed up thing to lie about; she didn't mean to, though, it just slipped. It was either him or me, what else should I have done?
Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that, he said, I understand how that might spoil your concentration. How about I let you retake the test next week?
*Pleasantly surprised gasp* Really? That was perfect. She wasn't expecting a chance to rectify her grade, but was so grateful for it she could have hugged him...if she could fit her arms around all of his fat, that is. Smiling giddily, she practically skipped home, then spent much of the weekend studying. Lincoln helped, of course; she sat on his lap at his desk and, hugging her from behind, he read the textbook over her shoulder, occasionally remarking on an equation if he noticed her struggling, kissing her cheek and the side of her neck (which made it really hard to concentrate), and brushing his fingers through her hair. She liked when he did that because it felt so good...until he hit a knot.
That hurts, she hissed through her teeth once, her hand jerking and sending the tip of her pencil skitting across the practice test.
Sorry, he said and hugged her tightly. She smiled, leaned her head back into the crook of his neck, and turned her face to his, the tips of their noses skimming. His breath puffed hotly against her lips, and she deeply inhaled it; his hand rubbed her stomach in a lazy circle, and she bent her arm back, her fingers grazing over his scalp. They stared into each other's eyes, and every atom in Lily's body stirred like embers in a warm wind.
There was no place on earth she liked being more than in her big brothers's lap, with his arms around her, his lips tenderly kissing her skin, and his big, beautiful brown eyes sparkling with love and happiness. The latter especially pleased her - since that first night they had sex, she hadn't gimpsed the profound sadness she saw there, and that was the one true bright stop in her life right now.
I love you, she said.
I love you, too, he smiled. Their lips met and their tongues made slow, passionate love to one another, his hands drifting to the spot between her thighs and sending a shower of sparks into her middle She spread her legs and kissed him deeply, giving herself completely over to feeling and letting it guide her as it had before.
They wound up on the bed, their naked bodies trembling together as Lincoln thrusted slowly and smoothly into her; she wrapped her legs around his hip and braced her heels against his flexing butt, each of his forward strokes knocking her into ecstasy and ripping breathy moans from her lips. Bowing his head, he increased his speed, and Lily watched his face through narrowed eyes, admiring and drinking in the blush across his nose, the way he lightly bit his lower lip, how his eyes rolled back into his head. She cupped his cheek in one hand, and they locked gazes as their mutual end crested over them like a wave - his dick swelled and her muscles clamped down, their bodies working in tandem. She threw her hips flush with his and arched her back with a silent cry that turned into a long, satisfied pur when his blistering seed filled her, some overflowing and oozing out around his pumping shaft and some spilling deep into her stomach, where it sloshed and spread its toe curling warmth through her convulsing frame.
Lincoln brushed her hair away from her face and kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. She loved having sex with him, but the afterglow was her favorite part - her body warm and tingly, her mind drowsy, and happiness lying over her like a warm blanket. Lincoln pulled her to him and their chests smooshed tackily; she threw one leg over his hip and snuggled against him like a kitten to its mother.
Her life could be stressful sometimes, but having Lincoln was well worth it.
It gets better every time, she said, voice thick with sleepiness. She ran her toes up his leg and he shivered.
Stop, that tickles.
She raised her eyebrows. Does it? she did it again and giggled when he jumped.
Moments like these were worth everything else, but sometimes they just weren't enough. Romantic love, Lily learned quickly, was like a brush fire, growing the longer it burned. At the end of every day, she rushed home from school, excitement clutching her chest, and when she got home, she threw her coat and books into the corner, raced up the stairs, and went right to Lincoln. They couldn't be together every second of every day, though, especially when he worked, and he did a lot of more that since he talked to his boss and picked up extra hours. On those endless evenings when he wasn't home, Lily was lost - too resive to focus on a book or her homework, she wound up wandering around the house like a sailless schooner drifting aimlessly through the sea. Her sisters were too wrapped up in their own lives to notice, but her Mom and Dad did. What's wrong with you, honey? Mom asked one evening. You're pacing.
Nothing, Lily instantly responded. She tried, and failed, to watch TV with her parents, but couldn't sit still. She wouldn't characterize what she was doing as pacing, though. Then she stopped and really thought about it: Walking from the dining room into the living room and back again several times in a row does kinda constitute pacing, Lil. You need to tighten up or you're going to get you and Lincoln caught, then what?
She didn't even want to think about that.
On Monday, she retook her test and passed, but she still didn't do as well as normal: Instead of her typical A - she got a C+. That was fine with her, though. Until she got home to find her mother waiting by the door, her arms crossed sternly over her chest. Lily's heart bounced and in an instant she knew she was in trouble.
Oh, God, did she find out about her and Lincoln? In a flash, she went back over everything she'd said and done the past couple days, searching frantically for a Classic Lily Slip-Up (™), but couldn't, and in the three microseconds before Mom spoke, steely claws of anxiety shreded her stomach to ribbons. Your teacher called.
Lily didn't know whether to quake or breathe a sigh of relief, so she did both.
Your grandmother died? Mom asked with an incredulous eyebrow raise, and Lily's midsection panged sharply. Uh-oh.
She flashed a guilty grin through her teeth and hitched nervous laughter. Yeah, uh, about that…
Mom glared. I'm waiting.
Great, now I have to lie again, and every lie just adds to the stress...the stress that was even now chewing at the lining of her stomach with jagged teeth, like a Langolier from that movie Lucy let her watch.
Sighing, she hung her head. I didn't study, she said, which wasn't exactly a lie but wasn't really the whole story either. She didn't study - she honestly tried, but she had so much on her mind that it was hard to focus, then add always wanting to be with Lincoln into the mix and you have a recipe for an F.
Why not? Mom demanded.
What should she say to that? Like with Mr. Jacobi, she couldn't mention the Lilycoln thing (that was her ship name for them, lol) and bringing up the Lilyduh thing (okay, that didn't work quite as well) would only make things worse. What lie could she use? My other grandmother died? She imagined busting that out, and Mom's features softening (oh, I'm sorry to hear that, sweetie) and she almost laughed. Then it hit her. I found this game online and I've been playing it, like, a lot, so studying kind of...fell by the way.
Oh, it did, did it? Mom asked.
One confiscated laptop later, Lily sat across the dining room table from her mother and did her homework in dour silence. Lincoln passed through a few minutes before, and Lily ached to be with him so badly her stomach spun. She paused to contemplate being in his arms, then snapped back to reality when Mom cleared her throat. No woolgathering.
This ritual was repeated nightly for a week - on days that she couldn't be home to keep an eye on Lily, Mom tasked either Lincoln or Lola with it. Lincoln worked most days, so Lily did lots of bonding with her older sister, and by bonding, she meant doing her homework while Lola sat across from her texting, making disgusted sounds in the back of her throat, and constantly asking Are you almost done? I have a life and you're really messing it up right now. On Thursday, she pawned Lily off on Lana because she, Lola, was going out with her boyfriend. Lucky her. Lana wasn't quite as hostile, but Lily could tell she didn't want to stand guard anymore than her twin did: She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, squirmed in her chair, and looked around as if for a means of escape. Gee, I'm such a burden, huh?
She said that sardonically, but she actually did feel like a burden, and that, like everything else, added to the stress. By the beginning of December, her stomach was a writhing pit of burning nausea, and on the third, she was sitting in the cafeteria, staring distastefully down at her food, when A-Man-Duh came strutting by. Lily tensed and steeled herself. "Oh, hi, Lil," the older girl said with phony sweetness. "I like your shirt."
Lily looked down at the front of her sweater - she was half asleep and battling a stomachache when she put it on, and couldn't even remember what color it was.
Red. She liked red - it was bold and brave, kind of unlike her.
A-Man-Duh never outright complimented her, there was always a follow up insult, and sure enough, it came: A-Man-Duh leaned over and whispered into Lily's ear, her breath hot against her flesh and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "I didn't know they made shirts with the tag on the outside."
Lily blinked in surprise and A-Man-Duh drew back with a nasty laugh. Lily grabbed the fabric covering her shoulder and pulled, her heart sinking when she realized her shirt was on inside out...and had been all day.
Crossing her arms, A-Man-Duh smiled smugly. A few kids at the table behind Lily snickered, and her face turned red with shame. "Very stylish of you, Lil," A-Man-Duh said, "you're a real trendsetter. Why, after this, I'm sure all the special ed kids will be copying you."
Lily's stomach turned suddenly, and hot bile welled up in her throat. Eyes widening in alarm, she slapped her hand to her mouth, jumped to her feet, and rushed to the girls' room, the cruel, mocking laughter of her classmates following her the whole way. In the bathroom, she crashed into one of the stalls, the door slamming against the wall with a sharp whip-crack, dropped to her knees, and let loose a thin, steaming spray of vomit; it splattered the toilet bowl and the muscles in her chest clamped hard, squeezing a moan from her throat. She gripped the rim with clawed fingers and gave wretched loudly, the cry of her misery ringing off the tile walls and resounding like the kneading wail of a lost soul. Another volley hit the water, and her midsection heaved violently, tears springing to her eyes and pain winding around her like a steel cord.
When it was over, she bowed her head and panted for air; her stomach, for the first time in days, was calmer, but not exactly calm; stress induced sickness slithered through her depths, ready to bubble up at the slightest provocation. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, getting a trail of silvery puke on her sleeve, and wrinkled her nose at the hot reek of intestines. Her gord rose again, but she fought it back, and when she was sure she wouldn't hurl again, she got up, took her shirt off, and turned it right side out.
She went through the rest of the day with her head hung in humiliation. In the hall, catcalls of Inside out and shirt tag Lily found her ears, but she didn't stop or even look to see who made them. In her next class, she stared scoldingly down at the desk, her face and the back of her neck burning with humiliation. Every snicker she heard, every giggle, was like a punch in the stomach, whether it was directed at her or not, and fifteen minutes before the bell, she felt like she was going to be sick again, the sloshing in her guts accompanied now by a heavy, greasy icky lassitude that made sitting up straight almost impossible. She started to raise her hand, but hesitantly lowered it again - the last thing she wanted to do was call attention to herself. A-Man-Duh already did plenty of that for her, and the thought of every eye turning to her, every mouth turning mockingly up, made her stomach hurt even worse.
At the end of the day, she made a B-line for the main doors without bothering to get her coat from her locker; the dusky late afternoon was breezy and cold, but that wasn't important, avoiding another scene with A-Man-Duh was.
Hugging herself and hunching over against a bone-chilling gust, her hands absently rubbing her arms and her teeth chattering noisily, she forced her mind onto happy thoughts - Lincoln. She went back to the glowing warmth that settled over her after they made love, and focused on that instead of the biting wind cutting through her. Lincoln was probably at work so he wouldn't be able to cuddle her when she got home, and for some reason, that grim knowledge pushed her over the edge; shuffling to a stop and holding herself tight, she broke down crying, her lips quivering pitably and hot tears streaking down her cheeks. Everything locked in her chest, from the stress of hiding her relationship with Lincoln to how Amanda made her feel - like a weak, timid, cowardly pushover - burst loose and poured out in a woebegone flood. She was cold, tired, hurt, sad, afraid, and she just wanted her big brother to hold her and whisper words of love and reassurance in her ear. Was that really so much to ask?
Another gust of wind blew over her and her already hard nipples ached monstrously. She held herself harder and started for home, still sobbing, hoping against hope that Lincoln would magically have the day off and be waiting for her by the door. If he was, she'd run to him, throw herself into the safety of his powerful arms, and cover his face in thankful kisses...thankful because he never made fun of her, never sighed and rolled his eyes like she was a burden, and because he loved her even though she was a timid little runt with knotted hair. His love was the most beautiful thing she'd ever been given, and she was so grateful for it that she cried even harder.
Almost an hour after leaving school, she finally got home, her face wet and icy and her teeth clacking. Lucy sat on the couch and stared at the TV, where zombies converged on a small band of dirty, gun-toting survivors, and didn't look up when Lily pulled the door closed behind her, didn't even acknowledge that she existed - not that she or the others ever did. Lily, to them, was practically a ghost, separated from them by an uncrossable chasm of years. They would never see her intelligence or her maturity, only her age.
That used to make her really sad, and in a way it still did, but their interests were not hers anyway; she had things in common with each of her sisters (a love of reading ala Lucy, an affinity for the outdoors and animals like Lana) but those shared similarities were islands in a teeming ocean of difference. She was not vain and shallow like Lola, nor was she a genius like Lisa (only bright); Lana was rough and carefree while Lily was gentle and had more cares than she admittedly should; Lucy was flat whereas Lily was expressive; Lisa was cold and disdained human affection while Lily kind of maybe craved it. Her sisters were as different from her as they were from each other, and while it hurt to say it, not being close with them was really no great loss.
Especially since she had Lincoln, who was like her...so much so that it's almost as if they were the only real siblings. They didn't look too much alike the way Lola and Lana did, but where it counted, they were like two halves of a whole: Passionate and artistic freethinkers who felt deeply, sometimes too deeply, and who weren't exactly the most brave or confident. He understood her in a way that no one else ever would, and that was why she loved him.
Sighing, she dragged herself up the stairs and went into her room, where she locked the door and flung herself onto the bed, her arms going out on either side in an unconscious parody of Christ at Calvary, her bottom lip sticking out and her brow sullenly creased. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and sighed: It was almost four, and Lincoln wouldn't be home until after ten. That's, like, forever in heart years.
A spike of pain jammed into her stomach, and she hissed, one hand fluttering to her center. Okay, you can stop now, we're at home, A-Man-Duh is too busy kicking puppies and punching orphans to worry about us, and everything is AOK. We just have to wait a little while to see Lincoln, that's all.
Another spasm wracked her, and letting out a protracted ahhhh, she arched her back. Please stop! I can't take anymore of this!
Only the pain didn't stop. It lessened considerably, but it reamind with her through the rest of the evening, like hot rocks in the pit of her stomach; every time she moved, they grated together and a flicker of agony crossed her face. At dinner, she pushed her food across the plate with her fork and breathed heavily through her mouth to keep from smelling it- if she did, she'd probably upchuck again. Are you feeling alright? Mom asked from beside her.
Lily hesitated only briefly before shaking her head. My stomach hurts, she said, her voice sounding frail and small to her ears, like a baby bird with a broken wing.
You're pale, Mom said, and pressed her palm to Lily's forehead. She frowned. And clammy. Why don't you go lie down?
Yeah, lying down sounded good. She got up, took her plate into the kitchen, and scraped the remains of her dinner into the trash, then climbed the stairs, her hand trailing the bannister. Near the top, her stomach turned and hot acid rushed up from her depths. Oh, no, not again.
Holding her hand to her mouth, she hurried to the bathroom, knelt befoe the toilet without stopping to turn on the light, and bowed her head just as it spewed out, thin, scalding bile mixed with saliva. Her abdominal muscles clenched and the edges of her vision went gray. She dry heaved and moaned, then dry heaved again.
When she was finished, she got up and shuffled into her bedroom, where soft, ashen twilight held secret court. She crossed to the bed, where she stretched out on her side, drew her knees up, and desperately clutched a pink Lots'O'Huggin bear to her chest, pretending it was Lincoln. Though soft and redolent of strawberries, Lotso was not Lincoln. If Lincoln were here, he would hold her, run his fingers through her hair, and massage her scalp until her eyelids fluttered and a long ribbon of drool coursed down her chin. Her burning, nauseous stomach, her bully, and everything else bad in the world would cease to exist; for however long his arms were around her, the tempest would still and peace and joy would dwell within her breast.
Lincoln would make it all okay.
Just like he always did.
She tried to wait up for him, yearning to see his face, hear his voice, and kiss his lips before she slept, but drifted off and didn't wake again until the next morning when he mother came in to check on her. I'm keeping you home today, Mom declared, her arms crossed nervously over her chest. And I'm going to make an appointment for you to see Dr. Farris.
Dr. Farris, an old black man with hair on either side of his head but not in the middle, was the family physician, and had been since Mom was pregnant with Lori. It's nerves, Lily said, I'm not sick, just...stressed.
Mom's brow furrowed incredulously. Stress? What kind of stress could you be under? You're eleven.
You'd be surprised, Mom; you'd be surprised.
Just...school stuff, Lily shrugged.
Mom favored her distrustfully. I'm still making you an appointment. You don't look stressed, you look ill. I've raised ten children.
Lily opened her mouth to protest further, but what was the point? Mom would just whip out the I raised ten kids card as though that equaled a Ph.D in pediatrics. If you want to be technical, Lori raised most of the kids while Mom and Dad worked. Just sayin'.
After Mom left, Lily tried to fall back asleep, but restless excitement at the prospect of seeing Lincoln filled her, and she got wearily to her feet, arms out for balance and her eyes going to her stomach. She felt a little achy but overall good...hungry even.
Because Lincoln worked so late, then drew commissions when he got home, he was still asleep when she crept out of her room. She stared longingly down the hall at his closed door and debated with herself whether to wake him up or not, then decided not to. As much as she really wanted to see him, he worked hard and needed his rest.
Downstairs, she padded across the cool kitchen floor on bare feet, got a package of instant oatmeal from the pantry, and mixed it in a bowl with water before sticking it into the microwave. While she waited, she gazed out the sliding glass door; golden December sunshine bathed the backyard and a no doubt arctic wind rustled the barren treetops. Now that she was better (mostly), she was kind of glad to be off - staying home meant she wouldn't have to deal with A-Man-Duh's crap. Chalk that up as a win. Boo-yah.
The microwave dinged, and she took her bowl out, the ceramic burning her fingertips as she carried it into the dining room, a chant of ow, ow, ow, ow falling through her teeth. She set it down at an empty spot, sat, and dipped her spoon in. It was strange how quiet the house was with everyone except for her, Mom, and Lincoln here. Dad, Lucy, Lola, Lana, and Lisa didn't make a copious amount of noise, but there was always sound in the evening: The TV, the toilet flushing, footsteps, Lola yelling at Lana, Lucy's emo music playing in her room. Now, in the middle of the morning, there was nada.
Lily was halfway done with breakfast when Mom came in to tell her that she talked to Dr. Farris, and was squeezed in to see him at noon. As soon as you're finished, go right back to bed.
B-But...I feel fine.
She did, indeed, but she was more concerned with seeing Lincoln than she was with her physical health. She couldn't see him if Mom imposed sick bay quarantine.
No buts.
Sigh.
Darn it.
Sometimes being a kid really blew.
She finished her oatmeal, took the bowl into the kitchen, then went back upstairs, dawdling on the way in hopes of seeing Lincoln, but his door stood closed and forbidding just as it had before. She lingered at the head of the steps, then went to her room, where she dropped onto the bed and sighed heavily. With nothing else to do, she retrieved her tablet and started to draw, random lines at first, then a city skyline because that's what said random lines seemed to form. She did that sometimes; it was an exercise Lincoln taught her. Let the drawing make itself. More often than not, the drawing made itself into a confused mass of ink, but occasionally she got something good out of it.
Later, though how much later she didn't know, she heard footsteps in the hall, and her heart leapt. Lincoln? She tossed the tablet aside, jumped to her feet, and rushed to the door, a big, goofy smile cresting on her lips. She turned the handle and leaned out just as Lincoln passed, clad in a pair of tight red briefs and nothing else the fabric stuck tight to his bulge, and Lily's eyes went instantly to it. Ummm, good morning~
"Hi," she piped, and Lincoln jumped.
"Lily?" he asked, tasting her name as though it were strange and just a little off-putting. Well, jeez, glad to see you too, Linc. "What are you doing here?"
"Mom kept me home because my stomach hurts. Or hurt. It doesn't anymore." As she spoke, Lily ran her eyes up and down her brother's toned body, her teeth unconsciously scraping her lower lip. Warm, tingling sensation stirred between her legs and her heartbeat picked up.
Lincoln's brow knitted in concern. "You okay?"
She nodded vigorously. "I am now," she said, then flushed when she realized that she probably should have made sure Mom wasn't around to hear that - it might sound kind of flirtatious, but only because it was. She looked left and right, saw nothing but clear coast, and turned back to Lincoln with a smile. "I really missed you. I tried to wait up but that didn't happen." She shot another look about, then pressed her body to his; he draped his arms over her shoulders and she circled hers around his waist. Owing to her height, his firm package squished against her chest, and her heart raced even faster. She rested her head against his taut stomach and breathed deeply of his comforting scent - if she could bottle this stuff and inhale it through the day like a junkie, she totally would.
"I missed you too," Lincoln said. He looked around, then gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "Are you on quarantine?"
Lily tightened her grip and hugged him so hard his back cracked. "I think so," she said, "I'm going to the doctor later."
"Oh," he said with a note of disappointment. "I was hoping we could hang out before I went to work."
Lily sighed. She was too, but when someone in the Loud house was that nebulous thing called sick (their symptoms notwithstanding), Mom made them stay in bed. The quarantine was not put in place to spare the others from infection (realistically, in a family as big as theirs, diseases spread like prairie fires), but because fluid and bedrest are, she believed, all purpose curatives. Stomach bug? Stay in bed and don't get out. Flu? Stay in bed and don't get out. Gunshot to the face? Stay in bed and for the love of God, don't get out. Drawing with Lincoln, cuddling with Lincoln, and being held by Lincoln was the best medicine for any ailment, but alas, she was denied it *swoon* "Me too," she said.
Lincoln started to reply, but footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Lily's heart rocketed into her throat. She ripped away from his embrace and he stumbled back a step, eyes wide with alarm.
"Gotta go," Lily said. Before Lincoln could reply, she drew back into her room and closed the door as quickly and quietly as she could, then jumped back into bed. She was just pulling the covers over herself when the door opened and Mom stuck her head in. "Start getting ready," she said.
"Alright," Lily said. How could she wiggle out of this so she could spend time with Lincoln?
Oh, I know.
I'll pretend I'm sick.
Hahaha.
