June, 2020: Warning: Unedited. Low quality.

COUNTING STARS

Chapter 13: Vacationer

Friday, November 3rd

I arise to the shrill screech of my alarm clock. Groggily smacking the off switch, I force myself to sit up, knees hanging over the side of the bed. Stretching, I survey the dorm. A mess of tousled blankets, Sheik's bed is vacant, as well as the couch in the middle of the room.

Sheik had left. Dark too.

With a yawn, I stand up, swaying slightly, then proceed to get ready for school, finding motivation in the fact that it is Friday, the last school day of the week. Not only that, but it's also the last school day before my vacation.

With Zelda.

. . . And Malon and Sheik, of course.

But mostly I'm excited about Zelda. What—can you blame me?

"Link, put that damn book down," grunts Mikau, snatching it from my grasp. "'Chronicles of Demise'—people are gonna think you're some culty emo dude."

I glare at him before taking the book right back. "I told you it was for my uncle."

"But look at yourself. You've been reading this all day! You're working yourself to death with this case, dude."

To that I just shake my head and keep reading.

"Has this even helped you yet?" he asks skeptically. "Like, how does this apply to you in any way?"

"Hey—Kohen. Gaiden. Volume down a little, please," orders Ms. Spirit from the front of the classroom, narrowing her golden eyes at us.

We nod compliantly. I turn to Mikau and answer him in a low voice, "I'm only halfway through, but I learned a lot."

"Like what?"

"Well—the legends say Demise reincarnates himself. When he does this, bad things start to happen all around." I'm sure to keep my answers as cryptic and simple as possible.

He squints, curiosity piqued. "Bad things. . . like. . . like those monsters?" Navy eyes of his grow wide. "So do you—do you think Demise has come back?"

After a brief hesitation, I nod slowly.

I guess he was bound to find out eventually—as are my other friends—though I definitely prefer the alternative. Their perception of this world is an illusion too fragile to break.

It was silent between us for the rest of class.

'Time had seemed to stop; the air was deathly still.

Hellish beings lurked about; their intentions solely to kill.

Servants of the Demon King, these monsters commanded fright.

The seven years the hero slept had turned the kingdom to night.

The people cried out in agony, beckoning him to aid. . .

But the hero would not wake until ready to wield the Blade.

The seven years the hero slept had proved to be the rise. . .

Of the servants of the Demon King, and their master, named Demise.'

That was oddly upbeat for such dark subject matter. Flipping past the section of ancient poems, I arrive at a page headlined: The Descendants. Thankfully it's less lyrical.

'The Hero and Princess of Destiny reincarnate every hundred years or so, when their world needs them most—and with them, so does a descendant of Demise.

Usually bearing similar resemblance to Demise in terms of stature and facial features, the descendant has an appearance that is not one to forget: tall, vibrant hair, broad shoulders and muscular build.'

. . . Where does that seem familiar?

'He possesses an unquenchable thirst for power—so much so that even after obtaining a third of the holy relic, he lusts for the remaining two.'

I hadn't known Demise's descendant obtained a piece of the Triforce before. I gulp uneasily.

'His unwavering desire either results in his own perishing, or world domination.'

"Link!"

I slap the book shut and look up. I'm relieved upon noticing that it's Dark rather than Mikau catching me reading this again.

"What are you doing?" he inquires, plopping down next to me at the library table I sit at.

"Reading this book," I reply, showing him the cover.

"Oh yeah. That's the one you got on Halloween."

I nod. "Why are you here?"

He shrugs. "I was looking for you."

I look at him, awaiting further explanation. None comes; he just stands there with glazing eyes. Finally, I address him: ". . . Why?"

"I dunno. Bored."

I roll my eyes and open my book back up.

"Learning 'bout Ganondouche?" he inquires with an amused smirk, taking a seat beside me.

"That's the plan."

'In nearly every legend, this man obtains a fraction of the holy relic. . .'

"Why are you reading about the basics of the descendant?" he asks. I tune him out.

'. . . and commands an awesome power only the Goddesses can match. . .'

He taps my shoulder. "You already know who that is."

'. . . The Triforce of Power.'

I shut the book abruptly. "Dark—I was trying to read. And no, I don't."

He scoffs. "The descendant of Demise?" My eyebrows raise expectantly as Dark scoffs condescendingly. "It's Ganondorf. Duh."

"So you never thought to mention that?"

"It was pretty damn obvious. His gang is called the Men of Demise, SherLink Holmes."

I shake my head, exasperated, and continue stuffing my clothes and other necessities into a suitcase.

"You know, this really is a nice dorm."

Ignoring him, I set the book I was just reading on my desk, opting to leave it and my issues behind for a weekend.

But. . . I'm leaving my issues up to—

"Link, you're not yourself today."

I squint. "Really?"

He nods. "Yeah. I noticed the improvement right away."

. . .Dark. I'm leaving my issues up to Dark.

He smirks at my frustrated glare, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches me pack. "You're not as chatty. That's what it is."

"Me?" I scoff. "You never shut up. I wish you had an off switch."

"I do. Pretty sure it's near the crotch. No, wait—" He raises a finger, pausing. "—That's the on switch." His smirk opens to reveal a devilish grin.

I roll my eyes and huff, standing up and lifting my suitcase. "I'm leaving. Good luck this weekend."

As I shoulder past him, he says, "You too."

I don't even try to figure out what he was wishing me luck for. I exit the dorm and head down the hall.

"Wait, Link!" hollers Dark.

Piqued, I clench my teeth and ignore him, deciding against waiting for the elevator and instead opt for the stairs.

"Hey! You forgot this!"

This time, stopping just before the staircase, I turn around and glare at him expectantly. Without giving me a chance to see, he lobs something into the air. Eyes widening in dread, I notice it's my FiPhone—and he threw it a little too high.

Quickly I drop my suitcase and leap up, reaching for my phone and saving it from its impending destruction.

"You're welcome!"

But upon my unfortunate landing I lose my footing, and before I know it I'm tumbling backwards down the stairs, clunking my head on each step until I slide down at the end of the flight. Looking up at the ceiling, I blink the spots out of my eyes and wheeze out a pained cough.

"Oh, gods," Dark frantically shrieks. "Link! Say something so I know you're not hurt!"

Coughing, I groan in pain. "I'm really hurt."

"Phew," he sighs. "Thank gods."

"Link, you look like a zombie."

I grunt. "That's the nicest thing I've heard all day."

With a grin, Sheik says, "Seems like you need a vacation."

I nod, straining a smile.

We stroll down the paved trail bordered on either side by richly-colored autumn trees, the breeze pulling their leaves from thin branches. I pull my blue jacket tighter around me, feeling winter's early bite at my skin. Sheik does the same. "Don't worry," he says, "Lakeside will be much warmer."

"Good," I respond, "or I might catch a cold."

As we walk, I take a moment to observe my surroundings. Radio broadcasts, TV reports, voices all subside, replaced by the chirping of nesting birds, a breeze's quiet passage through a pile of leaves, an animal's slow scamper through the grass. The nonhuman world is emerging, a world I have scarcely experienced since moving here, another hidden city. . . Is my uncle now a citizen here?

"Hey—" Sheik snaps his fingers to get my attention. "—you alright? Kinda spaced out there."

I nod without looking at him, keep walking without talking to him. Sheik realizes what's happening with me; he's grown accustomed to me zoning off every now and then for brief moments. I'm not sure he knows why, though. But it isn't very hard to figure out.

The winding pathway comes to a halt after leading us off campus, breaking off into half of the pair of sidewalks bordering the road. Parked along the curb is Sheik's blue '91 Camaro—which I'm just now learning he owns—with Zelda and Malon waiting inside.

"Just stuff it in the trunk," he tells me, pointing to my suitcase.

"Alright. Just promise you won't be doing that with Malon all weekend."

He flashes a grin. "Well played."

Zelda, in the back, waves to me through the open window. "Hey, Link!"

Instantly her smile brightens my day. "Hey, Zel," I respond with a grin of my own.

Sheik nudges me and whispers, "As long as you promise me you won't be doing that with her all weekend."

I shove him.

Malon sits in the passenger seat, directly in front of Zelda. She lifts her hand up barely in a meager attempt at a wave. "'Sup, Link?"

"Not too much, Red."

"'Red'. . . Now that's new." Malon smirks.

I chuckle and follow Sheik as he circles the Camaro, then get into the seat behind Sheik's as he prepares to drive. I run my hands along the smooth leather seats before strapping the belt over my shoulder. As I do so, I receive a peculiar look from Zelda.

"What?"

"You're wearing a seat belt," she comments with a light giggle.

Confused, I nod slowly. ". . .Yeah."

My confusion only spurs her amusement. "I haven't seen one of those used in awhile. You really are an Ordonian."

"Most Ordonians travel by horse or by rusty-old pickup truck." I pause, remembering Fado's rickety vehicle. "Pretty sure I'm not that Ordonian."

"I sure hope so."

Grinning, I lean toward her, reaching my hand out.

She freezes. Her face flashes pink. "W-what are you doing?"

As my smirking face gets closer to hers, I slowly and deliberately lace my fingers around the seat belt, without her noticing. She stares into my eyes, mouth slightly agape in confusion, eyebrows raised, blushing. She thinks I'm about to make out with her. But then, quickly, I pull away and strap the belt over her before she has time to react.

"There!" I shout triumphantly.

"Hey!" she protests, flustered.

"Sorry, Zelda, but I don't want you flying out of the windshield."

"We're in the back seat!"

I shrug. "You could still get injured. I'm doing you a favor." I nudge her arm lightly. "'Cause I care about you." That came out before I could stop myself.

The pink returns to Zelda's face, but she tries playing it off by stubbornly looking away. "Fine, you win."

"Ahem," interrupts Sheik, scarlet eyes meeting mine through the rear-view mirror. "You two finished?"

I give him Talo's trademarked two-finger salute. "Ready when you are, Zeke."

"You hang around Dark too much."

"I'd have to agree."

My eyes groggily blink awake; I must've fallen asleep. Sheik's still driving as the sun sets, painting the sky in a rich, citrus hue. Beside him, head lolling back, Malon is dozing off. Behind her, next to me—or, against me—Zelda is sound asleep.

Her head rests softly on my shoulder, blonde hair cascading down my blue jacket, head steadily, peacefully rising and falling with her breathing. As I observe, I cannot fight the smile forming at my lips, but somehow manage to fight the urge to bring them to hers. . . Mostly because that would be incredibly awkward positioning and would require a lot of neck bending.

Yeah, that's why, sarcastically chastises my judgmental inner voice.

Sheik turns briefly to look at me, then refocuses on the road. "Oh, good. You're awake."

I nod subtly, trying not to wake Zelda. "I'm just glad that you're awake."

He grins, clapping his hands against the wheel. "Don't worry—I've only been driving about two hours. We're just now entering Lakeside."

"I slept that long?"

"I don't blame you. It seemed like you had a long week."

"No kidding."

Sheik guides the Camaro off the interstate and banks off into a two-lane road that winds through farmlands, complete with grazing cows.

"Lon Lon," Sheik comments idly. "Malon's family's farm." He gazes lovingly at his dozing girlfriend. "We'll stop by sometime during our trip. She will want to."

I nod my reply, observing the vast landscape out the side window.

Sheik continues for another good five or so miles, determined to get home before sundown, to surprise his mother when she gets home from work, he previously explained. Meanwhile I contentedly lean my head against Zelda's, resting my eyes for the remainder of the trip. In her sleep she guides her hand to mine, resting the soft pale skin against it. And in truth, I don't want this trip to end.

Hoooooooooonk!

But life doesn't work that way, I guess.

"Wake up, everyone!" shouts Sheik giddily, a playful grin set on his face. "We're here!"

Zelda groggily blinks her eyes awake, feels around with her hands due to her blurred vision, and runs her smooth skin against mine. She yawns, before realizing where she was situated.

She snaps her head up from my shoulder, and frantically looks at me, only to be met with a humored smirk. Her face burns red, and before she can say anything, I laugh.

"Morning, princess." I've never called her that before, I realize. It just seems fitting though.

In the front seat, Malon stretches her arms and yawns, before looking back at the two of us. "Hey, guys. Done cuddling?"

Now both of our faces flash red, and I furrow my brow in confusion.

"I fell asleep after you two," she explains before I can ask.

Sheik excitedly exits the Camaro, shutting the door and moving to the back of the car to the trunk. As he opens it, Zelda and I get out through each door quickly, nervously. Malon follows not too far behind.

We are parked in a driveway, paved in the middle of a large but simple yard, decorated with richly-colored maple trees. Before us lies Sheik's childhood home: a humble structure composed of off-white walls with brick trim. A walkway bordered by perfectly-trimmed hedges leads from where we stand to the short staircase to the entrance, a wooden door with a glass cutout complete with an intricate design of the Sheikah emblem.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Sheik announces in a cliché manner, grinning like a child again. He tosses us our bags. "Come on."

We trek up the walkway and to the door, waiting impatiently for Sheik to dig out the key from his pocket. A minute later, we enter the house.

Once inside, the door shuts behind us, and Sheik flips on the light. A respectable but not-at-all-gaudy chandelier overhead comes to life, illuminating the entry room. Kicking his shoes off haphazardly, Sheik saunters forward through the archway and plops down on a couch in what must be the living room, feeling right at home. We follow suit, albeit more neatly, and look around.

The living room is unexpectedly extravagant, what with his family's upper-middle-class income and, frankly, his personality. He doesn't seem like the type of person to cherish the designer couch he currently lounges on, the ornate end table standing prominently before him, or the collection of fine pottery on display in a glass case beside a well-groomed potted plant. In contrast to the luxury of the living room's contents, the room itself appears ironically small.

Malon, Zelda, and I stand awkwardly in the archway with bags in hands, unaware where to leave them. We must have appeared confused by our surroundings and found it difficult to associate them with Sheik, because when he glances at our faces he smirks bemusedly. "What?" he inquires rhetorically. "Didn't expect the classy side of me?"

With a smile, Malon replies, "Not even I did."

"Well good," he nods, "'cause my mom decided to splurge on decorations after her divorce payed out. Instead of, you know, saving up for her son's college." He laughs, flashing a grin. "Gotta love 'er."

"So where's all the Sheik stuff?" Zelda asks, smiling back.

"Upstairs. Come on."

We follow him out of the living room into a hallway leading to a carpeted staircase, scale it, and emerge at the second floor. The room we arrive in embodies the very concept of cool. An all-red leather couch sits on one end of the room, mirrored on the other side by a sixty-or-so inch flat-screen television; standing before the couch is a sleek black table with overturned Solo cups. Hanging on the wall above the couch is a welded-steel framework of the Sheikah eye.

"This," he announces, arms outstretched, "is the Sheik stuff." He flops onto the couch, digging into the cushions for the remote. He yanks it out eventually, flips on the television, and looks at our expectant faces.

I lift my bag for emphasis.

"Oh, right. The rooms are that way," Sheik says, sticking his thumb to the right toward two doors on a wall plastered with sports posters. "The guest bedroom is on the right, mine is on the left. Malon, you and I can share." He winks.

She blushes, nods with a smile, and goes into his bedroom.

"You're leaving us to room with each other, then?" Zelda asks, eyebrows narrowing.

"I figured it wouldn't be a problem, since it wasn't a problem in your dorm, Miss Harkinian."

We enter the guest bedroom with apprehension, tossing our bags by the closet door. A large window spills natural light into the room from the right wall. An end table sits beside a queen-sized bed. Simple, but quaint.

Zelda sighs; I look over at her. "I can sleep on the floor if this bothers you."

She shakes her head. "No, I really can't ask you to do that. I can cope."

"Am I that much of a nuisance?"

". . .N-no, I—"

"That's what it sounds like," I say with a shrug.

"No," she fires back, almost too quickly. "I like being around you. I just hate admitting it to them because they make fun of me."

"So then they do stuff like this."

"Right."

We quietly exit the bedroom, where Sheik and Malon are waiting. "You guys want some food?" Sheik asks. "I sure do."

He leads us back downstairs, through the gaudy living room, and into the kitchen. It's decently sized, composed of an eating table and four chairs, a refrigerator, microwave, oven, sink, and dishwasher. Pretty standard, which is expected.

"Now, what to eat. . .?" He fumbles around for some food in the fridge, before pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. He turns to us. "Up for breakfast?"

We nod. As he prepares the makeshift meal, Zelda turns to me. "Hey, um. . . How's Dark?"

I shrug. "I don't know; he's not used to being without me. I'm just hoping he won't destroy my dorm."

"No, I mean—" She looks over her shoulder to make sure Malon isn't listening. "—in the city."

"The city? I'm sure he can handle it," I reason. "I mean, what all can happen in a weekend?"

"Do you have his number?"

I nod, then take her indirect advice to call him. I wait as the tone sounds a good five-or-so times, but he doesn't answer. With a huff, I return my phone to my pocket. "No luck," I tell Zelda.

"Maybe he's out with Tidbit."

I grin. "Maybe. Hopefully."

Ten minutes later the food is all prepared. Sheik dishes up, covering half his plate with eggs, and four strips of bacon.

"Are you sure you want that many eggs?" Zelda asks him. "That's a whole lot of cholesterol."

Sheik scoffs. "Please. Cholesterol is the last thing I'm worried about killing me. One, murdered by Mr. Masca. Two—" He stuffs a piece of bacon in his mouth. "—Mauled by my mom's cat. Three—" He walks to the table, leaning down to kiss Malon. "—heart attack during sex." Sheik winks, and Malon grins back.

We hear the sound of keys turning the lock, the door opening, and footsteps in the entry room.

Sheik: "And speaking of things that might kill me. . ."

Ms. Stryker walks into the living room, an anticipating grin on her benevolent face as she meets his eyes. "Sheik, you're home!" She rushes over to hug her son, who returns the hug lovingly. "Ooh, and your friends are here too!"

There is an odd familiarity about her that I just cannot place. Her scarlet eyes hover over each one of us. She has blonde hair cropped just above the shoulders, an aged-but-not-old face, and she wears a white blouse just above a long blue skirt. It's no question where Sheik gets his looks from.

"Hello, Sheik's friends! Well," she pauses, "I know Malon of course. But you two are. . .?"

"I'm Link," I say. "Nice to meet you. You have a wonderful son by the way." I was being only half-sarcastic right there.

Ms. Stryker smiles widely. "I know. But Sheik can never find out about him." We laugh.

She then moves on to Zelda, stops in front of her, then her smile falters a bit. Zelda nervously greets her: "H-hi, I'm Zelda." She reaches a hand out politely. Mrs. Stryker takes the handshake, still staring at Zelda for a good amount of time.

"Mom, you good?" asks Sheik, perplexed.

She then snaps out of it, smiles at Zelda, and finally speaks: "It's good to meet you all! Feel free to stay as long as you'd like. I'm going to bed now, though."

Sheik blinks. "It's eight-thirty—"

"Good night, everyone!"

With that, she adjourns to her bedroom, leaving us awkwardly standing there, making eye contact with one another in ultimate confusion.

"She scares me," Zelda says, rolling over to lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I could've done for her to look at me like that."

I sigh, wrapping an arm around her, boldly pulling her closer. Out of comfort, of course. "Maybe you remind her of someone," I reason.

She pulls the sheets further up over her chest, nestling her head into my shoulder as we lay. "Maybe."

Eventually we hear the unmistakable sound of bed springs from the other side of the wall. Zelda and I awkwardly make eye contact, and I roll my eyes in exasperation. "I was hoping they wouldn't do this," I grumble, shaking my head.

Zelda nods. "Agreed—which is why I didn't want to third wheel this weekend." She smiles at me. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," I reply with a smile back.

The moment lingers, but is fleeting nonetheless. Zelda lies her head back down on my shoulder, promptly ending our brief moment. In a while, we fall asleep to the peaceful, lulling noises of what sounds like two monkeys going at it with one another.

Ah, nature.

Saturday, November 4th

Upon our awakening and subsequent dining of breakfast, Sheik had floated the idea of visiting the Lakeside Museum, located a few miles south. We accepted, wanting to experience just about everything this town has to offer.

So here we are now, entering the building after having previously purchased four tickets outdoors. Once inside, I take in the detail: marble walls, ceilings, columns, and flooring, the latter of which adorned with red velvet carpets.

"Excuse me," says a voice to our left. "I'm gonna need to see your tickets."

I turn. Standing there in a blue suit and tie with a spray-tanned face, gelled-up fauxhawk hairstyle, and a cheesy smirk, the museum docent holds an arm outstretched. On his chest is a badge that reads, "Chaz," in fine, dark cursive. He looks to be around twenty-two.

I compliantly pull out my ticket, and attempt to give it to the guy, but he doesn't take it. "No, I'm sorry," Chaz says, "I only need to see theirs." He raises his dark eyebrows in a gesture toward Zelda and Malon.

Malon furrows her brow. "Why's that?"

Chaz grins, revealing blindingly-white teeth, and answers, "Well, with those pretty faces and bodies that nice, you two have just got to be wild. . . And I can't trust the wild ones. So, tickets?"

Sheik and I make eye contact, and Malon and Zelda do the same.

"Are you hitting on us?" Zelda asks, putting a stubborn hand on her hip.

Sheik waves a hand in front of Chaz's face. "Dude—that's my girlfriend." He glares scarlet eyes at him.

"Who? Blondie? Honestly you two look related—"

"Me," Malon interjects, wrapping an arm around Sheik's waist.

"Oh. What about you then?"

"Hmm?"

"You got a boyfriend?"

Zelda bites her lip. "Y-yeah!" She scurries over to me, meets my eyes awkwardly, and throws her arm around my waist. Playing along, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. "He's my boyfriend," she says.

I am internally giddy right now.

"So I guess we'll be going," Zelda announces.

Chaz frowns, sighing, tossing dirty looks at both me and Sheik. "That's too bad, you know." He looks back at Zelda, almost longingly. "You look like a model."

"And you look like a mannequin who just came to life," I shoot back. "Quit hitting on them."

We leave, eventually arriving at a line where someone who is actually supposed to take your tickets does so. As we wait, Sheik and Malon turn to the two of us. "He's not here, you know," Sheik says. "You can let go."

Zelda and I share a look, then realize we've been holding each other this whole time. Awkwardly, frantically, we release.

Malon smirks. "Can't keep your hands off each other, huh?" We both shoot her a glare.

"Right this way," beckons the lady at the head of the line. We reach her, give her our tickets, and are allowed admission into the Lakeside Museum of Hylian History.

While exploring Malon dragged Zelda off to an unknown location, probably to browse the gift shop, leaving me and Sheik wandering aimlessly about the building.

Until we arrive at the Zora exhibit.

Sheik's lip quirks upward mischievously, and he turns to look at me with an excited twinkle in his eye. "Watch this." Giddily, he hops over the velvet rope partition.

My eyes widen. "What are you doing?!"

"Lighten up, Link," he calls over his shoulder, stopping before a giant pair of cymbals resting atop a podium. He clears his throat, lifts the brass instruments, pauses, then smacks them together.

CRASH!

Every attendee's eyes dart toward Sheik and me. He stands there, placing the cymbals back on their podium, looking proud of himself. I, meanwhile, am flushed, my hands jammed into my pockets and shoulders tense in apprehension.

Of all people, Chaz comes over to us. He stops, thrusts a finger toward the cymbals, and glares at my friend. "Sir, that instrument happens to be a nine-hundred-year-old relic, which hasn't been sounded since Master Piryus of Zora hit it back in 1593."

Sheik blinks at him. "Your girlfriend is a nine-hundred-year-old relic which hasn't been sounded since Master Piryus of Zora hit it back in 1593." He reaches over to give me a high-five, which I return with similar enthusiasm.

Chaz narrows his eyes, seething from the roast he just endured. "I don't have a girlfriend."

Sheik shares a look with me. ". . .I can't begin to imagine why."

Pointing an accusative finger at the both of us, he says, "One more disturbance, of any degree, and security will have to deal with you."

As Chaz struts away with an air of pretentiousness, Sheik turns to flash me a mischievous grin. "Link?"

I groan in apprehension, not taking a liking to his newly-inspired and eager countenance. "What. . ."

"Let's weak havoc, shall we?"

We do just that, as Malon and Zelda obliviously browse the gift shop. I had been reluctant at first, but seeing Sheik jump atop the shoulders of a bulbin statue made it look fun. Very fun. In fact, I jump right on top of the bulbin statue right next to his. As the pair of us sit there, eyeing one another with a collectively mischievous mood, I feel a sudden urge of excitement. The feeling you get when you have fun doing something wrong, and it's so fun that you don't care if it's wrong.

That's our mindset as we hop down from the bulbins' shoulders, having marked it down in our mental checklist of things to "wreak havoc" upon, giddily darting to our next target.

The loftwings. These large replicated birds are connected to mechanisms that spin them in a circle while simultaneously elevating and lowering. Sheik immediately hops onto the back of a green loftwing replica, and it surprisingly holds his weight, and Sheik hollers with joy as he soars the fifteen-or-so feet into the sky.

I grin, then follow his lead onto a crimson-colored loftwing. Looking down upon the ground at the peak of the replica bird's ascent, I notice out the corner of my eye another museum docent coming to patrol the sky exhibit.

"Yo, Sheik!"

"What's up?—we are!" He turns his head to shoot me a grin. "Get it?"

"Security's coming."

"Shoot. Let's ditch these pterodactyls." He hops off once at a safe distance to the ground, and I do the same.

"Hey!" shouts the docent from behind us.

"Come on, bro," Sheik says with a laugh, grabbing my arm as we break off into a run.

We book it out the sky exhibit, then turn a sharp corner into the twilight exhibit, ducking and hiding behind a large Sheikah stone as the docent races past us. Sheik peeks over the stone. "Coast is clear. Let's keep going."

We do that, eventually meeting up with Zelda and Malon in the gift shop, bored after having messed with everything in the twilight exhibit. "Where have you two been?" Malon asks, putting her hands on her hips and glowering at us.

"We heard security is looking for a pair of teenage guys who are causing trouble," says Zelda. She squints suspiciously. "Would you know anything about that?"

Sheik scoffs. "Pfft, no. We. . . were in the island exhibit. The whole time." I nod to this statement in agreement.

We're met with narrowed eyes. "Likely."

A hand grips my shoulder firmly; I turn around to be met with Chaz's orange face. "Looks like we have a problem, don't we?"

I smirk. "The fact that I'm with your dream girl?" I send Zelda a grin.

Chaz's expression of bravado falters as he replies, "How do you even get a girl like that anyway? She's so out of your league."

"Maybe. But you're in the little league."

"Wow. Good one," Chaz grunts sarcastically. "Did you write that in your little diary of jokes?"

"My only diary is the book of world records."

"World record: 'Biggest Tool'—this guy." He points a finger to my chest.

Zelda tosses an arm around my waste, leaning her head on my shoulder. "You aren't wrong," she says, smirking and raising her eyebrows suggestively.

It takes him awhile to get it, but when he does, Chaz cringes. "Ugh!—I don't want to picture that!"

Malon, Sheik, Zelda and I laugh as Chaz turns to look at the door. Three security guards enter the gift shop, and the young docent turns to send me a smug look. The biggest guard restrains me, the next biggest one taking Sheik. Out of compassion I choose not to fight back.

"Looks like your boyfriend's coming with us, sweetheart," Chaz says with a grin to Zelda, winking at her.

Zelda takes two steps toward him, then slaps him square in the face. Malon busts out laughing.

"Ow!" he yelps, touching the pads of his fingers to his red cheek. "What the hell?—guards, take them too."

The last guard gets Malon and Zelda, each of whom restrained by one arm. With a spring in his step, Chaz leads the way to the museum curator's office.

"Name?"

"Zelda."

"Full name, please."

"Zelda Harkinian."

The curator types the aforementioned name into his computer. "Can't believe you slapped my son."

I snort. "That's your son?"

The ironically-professional-looking man turns to face me, nodding, not a look of amusement expressed by his countenance. "Yes."

"Your son's a bitch," Sheik says bluntly.

"Now we know why he has this job," comments Malon.

With a sneer, I say, "You really should thank her for slapping that spray-tanned douchebag. Zel—show him your hand. It's orange."

"Okay, I've heard quite enough," the curator grumbles. He looks at his computer, then back at Zelda. "Looks like you've got a history of troublemaking in my museum."

"Looks like you've got a history of broken condoms," Sheik retorts gruffly, pointing to a framed picture of the curator and his son.

"How do I have a history here?" Zelda asks, brushing past Sheik's crude remark.

"It says here that at the age of five, a little blonde girl by the name of Zelda Harkinian knocked down the loftwing contraption."

"What?!" everyone exclaims, flashing her incredulous looks.

Zelda looks from me to Sheik to Malon, wide-eyed, before saying, "I don't even remember that!"

"No way," Malon says. "That was—gods—twelve years ago. I was here, too! I used to come here every weekend, and I remember seeing it get knocked down, but I didn't know it was you!"

"That's pretty awesome," Sheik comments with a smirk.

"How did she even knock it down, anyway?" I ask the curator. "It seemed pretty sturdy—"

"—When you were riding on top of it? Yeah, we've made some changes to the contraption."

Malon and Zelda send glares our way, knowing we lied about our whereabouts. "This is why we're in here?!" Malon demands.

"Because you two rode the loftwings like little kids?!" Zelda shakes her head in disdain.

"At least we didn't knock it down," I say.

"I still don't think I did that."

"Well, you did. According to the file, you broke off the horn of a paper mache wooly mammoth, then flung said horn in an upward trajectory, knocking down the brown loftwing, causing the whole contraption to spiral out of balance and tip over. Your mother even signed you out, right here: Autumn Stryker."

Zelda freezes. ". . . What did you just say?"

The curator repeats, "Your mother signed you out."

Silence. Out the corner of my eye I notice Sheik and Malon tense up; Sheik especially. I haven't yet caught on to the situation.

"M-my mother died when I was very young," Zelda explains to the curator in a small voice.

Sheik puts his phone to his ear, mumbling as Zelda and the man converse. "Are you in town? Yeah? Good—come to the museum. We're in the curator's office."

The curator sighs. "I don't know what to tell you. The box next to 'Mother' was checked when asked of her relationship to you."

I look over at Sheik, who stares at the ground, eyes wider than ever in complete dismay. I finally, finally catch on to his and Malon's behavior, and my jaw drops in shock.

"What did you say the name of Zelda's mother was again?" I ask the curator.

"It was. . . Autumn Stryker."

Now it's Zelda's eyes that widen drastically.

"Uh, Sheik," I begin slowly, nervously. ". . .That's your mom's name, right?"

"Are you the mother of this young lady?" the curator asks Ms. Stryker, gesturing toward Zelda.

The woman tenses up, eyeing Zelda sorrowfully. "Z-Zelda, dear," she begins, addressing the young girl's dismayed expression, "I. . . have some things to tell you."

Zelda doesn't reply; her face remains the same throughout Ms. Stryker's speech. Taking a pained breath, the woman steadies herself, then begins.

"A long time ago, I was married to a man named Gaepora. Some time after I found out I was pregnant with his child, we got a divorce—during court I lost custody of our child, who was not even born yet, because I was unemployed and financially unstable. I had our daughter in September, then was heartbroken when she was taken away from me. But she would be happy with Gaepora and the woman he met who would replace me as my daughter's mother.

"I was so distraught afterwards that I got reacquainted with the lawyer, Philip, who represented me in court. We, um. . . We got carried away, and I ended up getting pregnant again, very soon after my first child was born. In June I had a baby boy, named him Sheik, and Philip and I were engaged.

"When Sheik was twelve, I got my second divorce. Luckily the fifty percent of Philip's money provided me with enough financial stability to support Sheik while working a decent job on the side.

"Zelda, as you now know. . . you were my first child. It wasn't me, your biological mother, who died when you were so young. That was your stepmother. Gaepora's wife." Ms. Stryker inhales then exhales slowly. "Zelda, I'm your mother."

I look at Zelda, who stares blankly at the floor. I look over at Sheik, whose hands cover his face in complete disbelief. Quite surprised myself, I take a very deep breath. I tap his knee lightly, then whisper to him the only thing that comes to mind at this very instant.

"Dude, you called your half-sister hot."