Author's Note: It's almost Friday! Here's the next chapter, where we learn a little more about what Sara's like as a person and see some Eddie, mostly from afar for now. I hope you enjoy :)
Sara slouches further in her seat, using a single fingertip to flip open the cover of her marble notebook as she waits for Ms. O'Donnell to finish calling roll. Her deep, lilting voice carries loudly from the front of the classroom to the back right corner where Sara sits. Sara drags her pencil across the blank notebook page, doodling tiny birds until O'Donnell finally clears her throat. "All right. Now that attendance has been taken, let's discuss your summer reading novel, which I am sure you all have read and are thoroughly ready to discuss. Take out your copies of The Pearl to prepare for our first assessment of the year—"
Sara raises an eyebrow, darting a glance up at her teacher as she crosses to her desk, her heels clicking against the tile as she bends to retrieve the book and a piece of paper, which are placed neatly next to a flat calendar on the mahogany top. The crystal chain on her glasses sways as she straightens, clicking back over to the podium to the right of the green chalkboard, upon which 'Ms. O'Donnell: English Literature and Composition' is written in painstaking, slanted script. O'Donnell glances up over the rim of her glasses, keeping her head pointed down towards her paper as she instructs, "I am going to ask you each some questions, and I'd like you to do your best to answer them. Please stand as you give your answer."
Sara's quirked eyebrow tightens into a slight disbelieving frown as she watches the woman, who then says, "We'll go in reverse alphabetical order — just to shake things up a bit." O'Donnell chuckles to herself for a moment before she calls her first name, Avery Vaughn, asking her a comprehension question about the text, being careful to articulate clearly. She's really gonna make us stand up to answer the question? As if in reply, Avery's chair grinds against the floor tiles as she pushes back, standing smoothly and running her palms down her skirt as she answers the question.
"Very good," Ms. O'Donnell smiles, her lips stretched tight as she looks back down at the podium, continuing to call the names on her list and ask a question for each, listening for the answer and giving some comment before moving on. Sara tunes out and goes back to doodling, weaving some curly blonde heads wearing glasses in with the birds until her ears perk at a gap of silence in the continuous stream of names, questions, and answers.
O'Donnell pauses for a moment, her lilting tone flattening slightly as she says, "Edward Munson." At the clear shift, Sara glances up, looking across to the left back corner of the room where Eddie sits, his long legs extended beneath the small desk, sticking out far enough to reach underneath the chair of the person in front of him. His bare arms are crossed across his chest, and his head lolls back loosely, his eyes closed peacefully. Is he sleeping? Sara's lip twitches as O'Donnell calls Eddie's name again, a bit of impatience leaking into her voice; Eddie cracks open one eye, looking at O'Donnell through his half-lowered lashes.
"Present," he says, and hushed snickers fill the room until O'Donnell sighs sharply, quickly jumping in.
"We've already completed attendance, Edward. Stand to answer your question."
He levels her with a blank stare for a moment before sliding his feet back towards him, the rip at the knees of his jeans stretching as he stands, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
O'Donnell clears her throat before asking, "What does Kino's canoe represent?"
Sara and the rest of the class watch as the silence stretches on, students shifting awkwardly at their desks as Eddie just stands there, his expression remaining blank. Sara's gaze darts back to the front of the room as O'Donnell eyes him shrewdly for a moment before sniffing, "Right, then. I thought, perhaps, as this is your third time taking this class, you may have absorbed something from the last two discussions we've had about this book. But clearly…" O'Donnell trails off as her eyes flick him up and down critically before she calls the next name with no further elaboration.
Eddie steps back towards his seat as O'Donnell moves on without acknowledging him further, folding himself back into the chair. Sara's eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms underneath her breasts, feeling a brief flicker of irritation. Kind of rude of her to call him out publicly like that, she thinks, sucking her tongue against her top teeth as O'Donnell, unphased, calls her next name: "Andy Johnson."
Andy stands quickly, and Sara stares at the back of his green and white letterman jacket as O'Donnell asks, "What does Kino say he would do with his riches?" Andy shifts on his feet for a moment before answering, his voice a bit unsure,
"Uh, I think— I think he says he wants to… get some new clothes?"
"Why does he want to get new clothes?" O'Donnell prompts, her voice encouraging, and Andy stammers,
"Uh, because of, um." He stops talking, his hand scratching at the back of his head uncomfortably.
O'Donnell pauses for a moment before smiling a bit, saying calmly, "That's okay, Andy. It's so he can marry Juana in the church. What color clothing does he want to get?"
"White," Andy answers quickly, sounding relieved as O'Donnell nods warmly, prompting him to sit back down. Sara snorts under her breath, the corner of her lips tugging up. Andy will clearly be another repeat customer of mine this year.
She continues doodling again until she hears her own name called. O'Donnell's voice is neutral as she says, "Sara Campbell."
Sara looks up, pushing up from her desk to stand beside it, leaning one hand on the chair at her side. Before she reads the question, O'Donnell flicks her up and down with her eyes like she had Eddie, frowning as she does. "Ms. Campbell," she says, her voice carrying clearly across the room, "That top is… rather short."
Sara looks down at herself— at the Doc Martens sticking from the bottom of her green high-waisted tartan pants, at her yellow t-shirt, the words The Cramps floating over the sketchy jet-black hair of the figure emblazoned on it, his jagged teeth shining white against the strokes of his face. At the bottom, where the words 'Bad music for bad people' is written, the hemline is jagged where she'd cut it, cropping off the bottom of the shirt. Sara looks up, tilting her head as she responds evenly, "It doesn't violate the dress code, Ms. O'Donnell." She raises her arms above her head, demonstrating that thanks to her high-waisted pants, none of her pale skin shows at the movement. She lowers her arms back down, cognizant of everyone's eyes on her as O'Donnell says nothing, pausing as she considers what to do. Finally, O'Donnell turns her eyes down, scanning the paper before directing, "Describe the character versus character conflict that develops in chapter four."
Sara crosses her arms as she says, "Which one?"
"Which chapter?" Four, dear," Ms. O'Donnell says patiently, but Sara shakes her head, replying,
"No, which conflict? The one between Kino and Juana, or the one between Kino and the pearl buyers? Although," Sara cocks her head, looking to the side as she muses, "I suppose you could consider the conflict with the pearl buyers more of a character versus society conflict, so—" She looks forward again, explaining, "Kino and Juana are at odds because of their different views of the pearl. Kino somewhat recklessly focuses on how it can be useful to them, the way it can change their lives for the better, whereas Juana is more doubtful. She sees the dangers of the pearl more clearly and begs Kino to get rid of it. Of course, like a typical man," Sara smirks, tugging up her eyebrow as she finishes, "he doesn't listen."
O'Donnell blinks a bit before nodding, clearly not expecting Sara to have answered the question so thoroughly. "Good," she says, a tint of surprise coloring her tone as Sara sits back down, gazing evenly forward. She feels the class' eyes drop away from her slowly as O'Donnell moves to the next name on her list.
By the time O'Donnell finishes with her questions and has collected the brief survey she'd handed out to the class afterward, Sara is eyeing the clock over the closed classroom door, her knee bouncing with impatience as she waits for the bell to ring. Six more minutes. She lays her chin in the cradle of her arms against her desk, assuming that O'Donnell will be wrapping things up soon; however, O'Donnell rises from her desk and crosses to the front of it, leaning back against it. "Alright, everyone. Our first class together has almost come to a close, so I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know about your very first writing assignment of the year!"
Sara feels the air in the room change as the students suppress a groan, not wanting to make a bad impression on the first day of class, though she can feel their energy sink at O'Donnell's words. Sara smirks as O'Donnell explains the guidelines for the assignment: that they'd need to write a lengthy paragraph about what they think the novel's theme is, incorporating direct evidence from the text. "You must write with clear penmanship and avoid spelling and grammar errors," O'Donnell finishes. "This will be my first impression of your writing, so make it a good one." She glances up at the clock as Sara had earlier, her blonde curls bouncing at the action. "Since we have the time, let's exchange some ideas now. What theme do you think is shown in The Pearl?"
Sara glances around as no one moves a muscle, the students' arms stuck to their sides at the idea of volunteering to answer a question on the first day. O'Donnell's eyes scan the room, finally settling on that varsity letterman jacket again with a smile. "Andy. Why don't you give it a try?"
Andy's spine straightens as he's called on; there's a brief pause while he thinks, and then Sara hears him say, "Well, I think the theme is, like… be careful what you wish for. Since Kino wished for the pearl, and it ended up kind of, like, ruining his life in the end." O'Donnell nods eagerly, her face lighting in a smile at his answer. But Sara frowns sharply, pushing up straight in her chair and raising her hand, drawing O'Donnell's gaze.
"Yes, Sara, do you want to add on?" She looks at her expectantly.
"Sorry, Andy, but that's really not what this story is about." O'Donnell frowns, opening her mouth as if to speak, but Sara continues without pausing, passion leaking into her voice. "To say that the story is about Kino's 'failure' in wanting something he shouldn't have completely ignores the impact that society's expectations had on him and his family. If you really think about it, all the bad things that happen to Kino, Juana, and Coyotito aren't because of the pearl — they're because of the greed of Kino's neighbors, the pearl buyers' system… the colonization of their native community." Sara crosses her arms, leaning back as she finishes, "You can't talk about theme in The Pearl without acknowledging how messed up the town is, how greedy the townspeople are, and how they treat Kino and his family."
O'Donnell blinks at Sara for a second time before nodding slowly, her eyebrows raised. "You're absolutely right about that, Ms. Campbell." The bell rings, and the students start grabbing their belongings, stuffing them into their bags as O'Donnell calls over the sudden din, "We'll talk more about that during tomorrow's class." Sara drops her notebook into her messenger bag, pulling it over her head as she pushes her chair in, heading for the door.
"Good work today, Ms. Campbell." Ms. O'Donnell's lilt carries over the voices of the other students, and Sara looks back, flashing her a quick smile before striding through the doorway.
The girl's locker room at Hawkins High School leaves much to be desired. The tile is worn and cracked, and half the lockers are, in some way or another, partially broken. So when Sara enters the room, her eyes catching on the back of Jennifer's black hair, she finds her friend violently shaking her assigned locker, her fingers trying to pry open the clasp, the door caught against the bottom corner of the frame.
Sara sidles up next to her, saying dryly, "Need some help?"
Jennifer startles, clutching her chest as she turns quickly; when her eyes meet Sara's, she sags. " Jesus… don't sneak up on me after trigonometry class. It's only the first day and already it's so stressful that I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of your voice."
"Am I really that scary?" Sara grins as she grabs Jennifer's arm, ignoring her huff and leading her to another row of lockers, where Sam is currently pulling open her own locker, calmly settling her bag inside. Her eyes slide to her approaching friends, and she exchanges a smile with them as Sara deposits Jennifer on the wooden bench behind where Sam is standing. "Just put your bag in with mine," Sara offers, pulling open a locker a few doors down from Sam's and hauling out a small canvas tote to make room. Jenn pulls off her pink backpack, passing it to Sara, who pushes it into the small space. She notes that Jennifer is already changed for gym, wearing a loose pastel purple top and leggings. Sara pulls her clothes out of her tote— a worn, oversized t-shirt, the gray fabric faded and soft, plus some tiny running shorts and a pair of dirty white sneakers. She bends to pull off her Doc Martens, kicking them quickly underneath the bench.
"So, how are your classes so far?" Sam asks, pulling her shirt over her head and threading her gym shirt over her arms, swapping the two quickly.
"Eh," Sara says, shrugging as she pulls off her own tee, dropping it casually onto the bench as someone approaches from her left. She turns, meeting the eyes of an unfamiliar girl who tucks her mousy blonde hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. "Um, are you Sara?"
"Yeah," Sara says, unbuttoning and pushing down her tartan pants, stepping out of them as the girl darts her gaze down before glancing away. Sara stands there in her underwear, crossing her arms under her powder blue bra. "What's up?"
The girl swallows, rubbing her arm with one hand. "Well, I'm also in O'Donnell's English class, just a different block. And Andy told me about how you, like, provide…" She trails off, lips twisting, clearly unsure how to phrase her request.
"Ah," Sara says knowingly, pulling her shorts from the bench and stepping into them. A smirk tugs at her lips as she settles the waistband against her hips. "Are you referring to my homework services?"
The girl bobs her head in a nod, and Sara pulls the gray shirt over her head, grabbing her long, tawny hair and tugging it through the neck opening as she talks. "I do English, History, Biology… pretty much anything," she says matter-of-factly. "I'm assuming you're interested?" The girl's blonde head nods again, and Sara sits heavily on the bench, pulling on her sneakers and tying them, not looking up as her tone turns business-like. "My rates are two bucks per page of homework, three per page for essays. You'll get your assignment during school the day before it's due, no sooner. Come find me at lunch to do the exchange. You must have cash in hand, no 'I owe you's." Having finished tying her shoes, Sara leans her elbows on her knees, pinning the girl with a practiced stare. "You'll need to rewrite the entire assignment yourself and hand in a copy in your own handwriting. Under no circumstances are you gonna hand in my original. Trash it when you're done. And last but not least..." Sara pauses, her gaze flattening, watching as the girl squirms a bit under the heaviness of it. "Do not share my work. With anyone. " After a moment, Sara leans back, saying flippantly, "If they want it, they can pay for it." She narrows her eyes, her voice hard again to punctuate her point. "You step a toe out of line even once— you're done. Understand?"
The girl's head bobs quickly again, her expression earnest. She reminds Sara of one of those plastic desk dogs.
"Alright then," Sara grins. "Give me the details."
It isn't long afterward that Sara, Sam, and Jenn step into the afternoon September heat, shading their eyes against the bright sun as they adjust to life outside the fluorescent walls of the school. To the left, the silver bleachers gleam, towering over the yellow-painted track, which circles around a grassy clearing. Sara sees the other students gathered within that clearing, so the three girls move to stand at the back of the crowd. At the front, their gym teacher, a short, broad man with close-cropped hair, addresses the group, his voice droning as he explains the expectations for the day. At his final barking directive, the students begin to spread out; Sara steps back to make some space, planting her feet on the bouncy track as she stretches her shoulders, pulling her left arm to the side, then her right. She dips to touch her toes, wrapping her fingers around the back of her calves. Turning her head, she sees Jennifer do the same, her feathered hair flopping over her face as she does.
Jenn catches Sara's gaze through her hair. "I can't believe it's the first day of school, and you already have a customer. Is that a new record?"
A corner of Sara's mouth tugs up into a smile as she straightens, pushing her hands against her hips, then stretching her neck to either side. "Well, O'Donnell lobbed me a softball when she called on Andy to answer a question about theme."
Sam snorts, and the three watch as the boys file off the field, heading for the bleachers. "Girls are up first," their teacher announces, and the three move further onto the track, clumping with their female classmates around the starting line. "Give it all you got," he says seriously as he holds the timer up in the air, his clipboard clutched in his other arm. Dramatically, he pushes down the dial on the side of the timer, shouting,
"Go!"
The girls start jogging in a group, some lagging behind immediately, others pulling ahead to the front. Sara stays in the middle of the pack, and her breath begins to huff almost immediately as her sneakers thump against the track. I fucking hate running, she thinks sourly, looking towards the bleachers, already ready for the experience to be over.
"Let's go! Hustle, ladies!" They hear their teacher's voice call harshly across the field behind them, and Sam mutters,
"I don't know what he expects… it's not like we're trying to join the track team here."
"All gym teachers are just way too intense," Sara replies, glancing at Sam; her friend's short-cropped bangs are ruffling against her forehead in the breeze, the bleached section in front crossing towards the left side of her head, where the hair is its natural dark brown. They exchange a quick smile as Jenn groans noisily beside them, her arms pumping with effort as she tries to keep up.
"This fucking sucks!" Jenn whines, and Sara's lips twist in sympathy at the sheen of sweat already on her brow.
"Almost over," she pants, attempting to console her friend even as she silently agrees.
By the time the trio approaches the finish line, their breaths come in gasps and pants as the girls in front of them start to slow. Sara's pace falls off as she approaches the group, walking the last few feet, feeling Sam come up beside her. After a moment, Jenn joins, slumping forward to stand between them. Sara takes a deep breath to slow her beating heart and glances behind her, seeing the other girls in their class that have trailed behind start to join the clump.
"Alright," their teacher says, his voice now more subdued after the lackluster performance of his students. "Fellas are up next. Ladies, take a breather."
There is a collective sigh as the girls begin to wander towards the bleachers, chatting lightly as they pass the boys who weave in the crowd, heading in the opposite direction.
And this is how Sara comes almost face to face with Marcus.
His mouth tightens as he dodges to the left, averting his gaze as he passes her, their arms barely brushing. Sara's brow twitches as he walks by, and she sucks her teeth as she steps up onto the bleachers, climbing two rows before sitting heavily on the bench, Sam on one side of her and Jenn on the other. She can feel Jenn eye her as she looks toward the group of boys gathering on the track; she can anticipate the question as it forms in Jenn's mind, knowing both of her friends must have seen the interaction— or, more specifically, the lack thereof.
Sure enough, it isn't long before Sara hears Jenn ask casually, "So… how are things with Marcus?"
Sara darts a look at her friend; her brown eyes are clear and open, ready to receive her answer, but Sara turns forward again for a moment, leaning her chin on her hands before replying.
Throughout the summer, Sara, Sam, and Jenn had spent many nights whispering and giggling about Marcus, the boy Sara'd been— seeing? Dating? She wasn't really sure, as they'd never really labeled things. It wasn't so much that she was upset that their dalliance was over; it wasn't like she'd been in love with him or anything. She'd just liked him alright. Not even all that much, if she was honest, now that things were over. Sure, he did have some good qualities: he was funny and laid-back, not demanding any more of her time than she wanted to give. And he had nice arms, Sara thinks, smirking slightly before the expression falls as she watches him, his golden hair ruffling behind him as he starts to run the track. He'd been more of a diversion, an added layer of heat to accent the sweltering summer of fun before Sara's senior year of high school.
And when Marcus had asked her to come over the day before school started, Sara had stopped by his house around noon, leaning her blue bike against the brick siding, knowing immediately as the door swung open to reveal his face that the shoe was about to drop. She'd listened as he sat on the opposite side of the couch, explaining that he saw things between them more as a summer fling, that he wasn't really feeling it anymore now that school was starting. Funny, she'd thought to herself sardonically. You were certainly 'feeling it' when your dick was down my throat. But she didn't say that; she'd just shrugged, saying impassively, "No problem. See you around." And she'd gotten up immediately, her footsteps sure and resolute, shutting the front door with a decisive click behind her.
Now, with her friend's question hanging in the air, Sara feels a prickle in her chest— not of sadness, but more a sting of rejection at the reminder of Marcus' words. To dismiss the feeling, she quickly cocks her head, rolling her eyes as she says flippantly, "Oh, that's dead in the water. No big loss. Honestly, he was kind of a jerk sometimes." Sara glances around to see if anyone is listening before leaning forward, gesturing for Sam and Jenn to come in closer so she can murmur, "And it was so awkward. Every time we hooked up, he would be like," Sara pitches her voice down goofily to imitate him, saying under her breath, "'Oh yeah, baby, gag on my cock.' Which didn't really make any sense since…" She holds up her pinkie, pursing her lips and looking away pointedly. Jenn cackles while Sam buries her head in her lap, her laughter muffled in her arms. Sara grins, their amusement smothering the prickling sting in her chest, feeling no remorse at having revealed this intimate detail to her best friends.
Sam pulls her head up, snorting as she leans back on her hands, bracing her elbows and turning her head to look directly into Sara's eyes. "Well, fuck him, then," she says unwaveringly.
Sara smiles, her eyes warming as Jenn exclaims from her other side, "Yeah! Screw that guy! This year, we're starting fresh." She leans in, poking her own chest, saying, "This is the year that I am finally gonna convince my parents to let me date—"
She pulls her finger away, poking it against Sam's arm, continuing, "Our good friend Sam over here is finally gonna get a cuddly boyfriend—"
And finally, she pokes Sara's bare knee, saying with an air of surety, "And Sara is finally gonna meet a halfway-decent guy for a change."
Sam nods slowly, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a smile as Sara laughs lightly, leaning her chin on her hands and settling her elbows in her lap as she says, "I really hope you're right, Jenn."
The girls fall silent, each turning their gazes to the track, lost in their thoughts while they watch the boys continue to circle the field. Sara's eyes catch on one figure, and she frowns lightly at the sight of him.
While the rest of the group is facing the same direction, this one is facing backward. His long, pale legs are loose as he circles around another boy; his mouth is pulled up into a grin as he talks, and his long, dark curls bounce with his steps.
What are you doing, Munson?
The other boy, whose dark skin contrasts with the simple white t-shirt he wears, rolls his eyes, reaching out to shove Eddie's shoulder good-naturedly. Still, the lanky boy just leans in closer, dodging back as his friend swipes at him again, jogging backward a little faster and inadvertently colliding with the back of another student. The other boy whips around quickly, his tanned arms extending out immediately to shove him back. Sara's brow raises as the commotion causes a bit of a pile-up on the track, as Eddie dances back from the other boy's grip, darting his gaze down his green and white jersey before narrowing his eyes, saying something with a smirk. Before the situation can escalate further, the teacher steps in the middle of the two, a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart before he turns to Eddie, his hands gesturing sharply as he tells him off. Eddie steps back, conceding, and the teacher and the other student both turn away. But Sara huffs as Eddie darts a look at his friend, flashing a middle finger at the back of his classmate's wavy black hair, biting his lip as his friend knocks his shoulder with his own. Together, they start jogging again, facing forward this time.
Sara sighs, shaking her head as she says to her friends, "Maybe that's not such a good idea, after all, Jenn. Boys are so fucking dumb." They nod solemnly, and Sara turns her gaze to the sky instead, closing her eyes, intent on enjoying the sun's warmth on her skin until they return to the stuffy confines of the Hawkins High School locker room.
By the time Sara pedals back into Forest Hills after her shift at the Hideaway Pub, the heat of the day has waned, and Sara relishes the breeze against her skin. The lengthy school day, lengthy waitressing shift, and lengthy bike ride back home have worn on her, and the cool air provides some relief to her aching muscles. As she crosses the threshold from the paved road to the gravelly path leading to her trailer, she hops off her bike, her messenger bag thumping against her hip as she does, preferring to walk the rest of the way as opposed to fighting against the loose stones. She guides the bike forward, lowering her shoulder and rubbing it for a second, quickly halting her steps and grabbing the strap of the tote bag full of her gym and school clothes that threatens to fall. She shifts it higher, reaching around her waist to untie the burgundy apron and stuff it into the bag with her other clothes. She hangs the tote from the opposite handle, counterbalancing it with her grip as she starts moving forward again.
The dusk sky is shadowed, hazed with low clouds, and she uses the warm streetlights to guide her to the left side of the path, heading towards the vague outlines of the large bushes pressed against the front of her trailer's small, wooden porch. To her right, the rust-red dome stands like a silent sentinel beyond the covered picnic bench, and as she looks in that direction, she squints, seeing suddenly in the darkness a small orange smolder blaze brightly before it fades again into the shadows. She registers a darkened shape sitting on the bench, black-clad legs spread casually wide, sneakers pressing the clumps of grass into the ground underneath his feet. The figure shifts, leaning forward, and she watches as the warm light of the streetlamp illuminates his pale arms. He rests his elbows against the ripped knees of his jeans, a joint held loosely in one hand, smoke drifting softly into the air.
Sara looks up, catching Eddie's wide dark eyes; he's already looking at her, his expression blank. She holds his gaze for a moment before her head tips up in a nod. Eddie nods back, exposing the pale column of his throat and his prominent adam's apple. Sara turns away again, wheeling her bike over to the front of her porch, maneuvering it against the stair railing so that the handlebars are facing out.
An uncanny feeling shivers up her spine as she climbs her stairs, as though he's still staring at her. It persists even as she pulls the screen door open, her hand closing around the bronze handle beyond; it persists as she creaks the wooden front door open, stepping through the threshold into her trailer. The sensation only fades as she sees her mother seated at the small kitchen table, her head leaning heavily on her palm as she stares at the tabletop, her wispy hair falling forward around her face, the tawny strands a bit unkempt.
Sara swallows, noting that there's nothing in front of her mother as she stares. Has she eaten yet? She kicks off her boots near the door, padding slowly to where she sits. Three chairs surround the kitchen table, which is butted up against the side wall of the trailer, and Sara drops her messenger bag and tote into the middle chair softly. But even at the small action, her mother startles, her head jerking as she whips her eyes towards the sound, then up into Sara's face. Her expression is drawn, the freckles more prominent than usual against her pallid skin, smudged shadows under her eyes shifting as she squints, sighing. "Sara… you're back. How was your first day at school?"
Sara smiles a tiny crooked smile at her before moving into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge. "It was fine. My classes seem easy this year." She scans her gaze over the shelves, seeing nothing but a carton of eggs, some milk, and condiments. Pulling open the crisper tray, she starts to ask, "Is dad—?"
She hears her mother huff a breath at the mention of her husband, her voice bitter and cutting as she interrupts. "On the road again. Said he'll be gone for at least a week, maybe two. Who knows," she mutters, and Sara blinks, her fingers searching in the tray, pushing around uncooked vegetables and catching on a Ziplock bag of onions that have started to go soggy with age. She pulls it out, pushes in the crisper tray, and closes the door to the fridge, looking at her mother's frail form from behind as she crosses to the garbage can.
"...Where's he trucking to this time?"
Sherry Rose shrugs one shoulder, her shawl shifting with the motion, and she pulls the fabric closer against her as she replies, "California, New Mexico, something like that." She cranes around in the chair, catching Sara's eyes. "So it's just us girls again."
Sara closes the garbage lid and steps closer. "Have you had dinner yet?" she asks, frowning lightly as her mother's eyes narrow, her mouth twisting in a scowl as her voice goes bitter again.
"No, Sara— We had a patient show up twenty minutes late for their appointment: a cleaning and x-ray, plus a consultation with Dr. Wagner. I only got home about," she glances towards the kitchen, eyeing the clock above the stove, "twenty minutes ago."
"That's okay, mom," Sara says quickly, walking backward into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, she pulls out a box of Bagel Bites, holding it out and shaking it slightly. "Bagel Bites okay?"
"Sure, Sar. Thanks," her mom replies, shooting her a small grateful smile as she unfolds herself from her spot at the table, stretching then shuffling slowly into the living room.
Sara tears open the package, pressing the buttons on the oven to preheat it before spilling the bagel bites onto a tray, arranging them right-side up as she hears the television click on. Bill Cosby's tinny voice intercuts with raucous laughter from the studio audience as she waits for the oven to preheat. When it beeps, Sara pulls the door open, the wave of heat swelling against her chest as she pushes the tray in, pulling her fingers back quickly and shutting it with a decisive clunk. She sets the timer, then wanders into the living room, leaning a hip against the couch where her mother rests, curled against the armrest, her feet tucked against the cushion. She looks so… small.
Her mother's voice brings her out of her head as she raises it to be heard above the television, her tone bright. "Payday today, right?"
Sara startles slightly, pulling back from the couch. "Oh right, yeah, here—" She crosses quickly to her tote bag, pulling out her burgundy apron and digging around in the pocket before she pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope. Shaking out the cash, she lays it out in piles on the table: a ten-dollar bill, a few fives, and countless ones. She splits the stacks in half equally, gathering the bills to the left into her hands and stuffing them back in the envelope, crossing back to the couch and holding it out in front of her mother.
Sherry Rose reaches for the envelope, pausing as her fingers take hold of it, not pulling it out of Sara's grasp. She looks up at Sara, her gaze somewhat sharp as her head cocks in emphasis. "Half, right?"
"Yeah," Sara replies, pushing the envelope further into her mother's hand. "Like always, mom," she whispers almost imperceptibly as Sherry Rose turns her eyes to the envelope, pulling it open with one hand and rifling through the bills with the other.
After a moment, she nods, her eyes shining as she looks back at Sara, her voice colored with surprised satisfaction. "This is a lot, Sara. They must really like you!"
Sara smiles at the praise, tucking a corner of her bangs behind her ear as her mother refolds the envelope, placing it on the side table. "I think so! Chris still says he doesn't want to put me on weekends yet since I'm," she makes air quotes, "'too young,' according to him, but I think it's only a matter of time before I get shifts on Fridays and Saturdays. That's where the real money's at."
Sherry Rose grins broadly, running her hand along Sara's arm affectionately. "That's great news." The timer beeps shrilly in the kitchen, and Sara hears a distressed meow as Silver comes trotting out of her room, attracted by the jarring sound.
"Hold on, Silver—" She hurries into the kitchen, flicking the timer off, turning to grab a pot holder as she says consolingly, "I know you hate that sound." She pulls out the bagel bites before shutting off the oven and sliding the tray onto the burner with practiced ease.
Standing on her tiptoes, Sara reaches into an overhead cabinet, pulling down two paper plates as her mother calls from the next room, "Water and electric are due next week, so every little bit helps." Sara loads the bagel bites onto the plates, hesitating briefly before pushing an extra onto her mother's. She carries the plates into the living room, settling next to her mother on the couch as she passes over her dinner.
Sara leans her left arm on the armrest, pulling her feet onto the sofa. She is a mirror of her mother: their postures, tawny hair, and freckles are identical, and their clothing and ages are the only things that separate them.
Silver hops up with a tiny trill, settling himself in the crook of Sara's bent knees, laying his paws against her calf. She takes a bagel bite from the plate on her side table, pushing it into her mouth as her mother does the same across from her.
And when Clair Huxtable gestures exasperatedly at her on-screen husband, her voice intercut with more chortles from the audience, Sherry Rose laughs too, her tinkling chuckle bringing a smile to Sara's lips as her own matching chuckle harmonizes along.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback, reactions and/or thoughts are always welcome :)