Chapter Eight – Birthday Insults
It was an unspoken rule in Wammy's House that on someone's birthday every child was due to give a gift to the student who's birthday was on that special day. Usually in December, Mello was far too concerned about his own birthday, the first birthday of the month to worry about any of the other children whose birthdays fell after his. Usually he just slapped something together with sticks and glue, not caring really if they enjoyed it or not.
During time at recess, Mello had given up his hour to help Layla's handwriting get better. For an artist, her handwriting was awful and kind of hard for him to read. Ever since the incident when he had found her covered in bruises she had disappeared into herself. No longer did she bother him, filling his ears with pointless chatter about colors and painting. She was just quiet. Just dutifully following him around and watching everyone around her with a scared look in her eyes.
It almost seemed as if when the bruises faded, Layla had faded away too. She hardly ever spoke anymore at all, and the whispers from the adults were constantly ringing in his ears.
"Oh, she's gotten so sad looking...the way she follows little Mello around."
"Yes, hasn't she? The doctor said her wounds were self inflicted, I wonder if Watari did the right thing, taking her from Estonia? She's so unhappy.
"But she was fine before, perhaps it's her birthday coming up? Maybe she misses her family around this time of year."
And Mello had been floored by the maid's words. The thought had never really crossed his mind about Layla having any kind of birthday at all. She'd never mentioned it before and the idea seemed strange that she could actually have been born and had a day devoted to her. Then he felt stupid for never having asked about it himself. She probably knew when his birthday was, what with his constant talk of his life in Russia and how much his parents had lavished attention on him during his day of birth.
After watching her attempt to write the letter R for the fifth time and failing miserably he sighed, "When is your birthday Layla?"
She blinked, then looked up at him, seemingly started by the question. "My what?"
Mello huffed, "You know, your birthday. The day you were born."
"Oh!" she said, and gave Mello a careful smile that didn't really reach her eyes, "It's the first of December."
Almost instantly he blanched. December first? The first day of December? That was thirteen days before his own and he tried to push back the pang of jealousy that shot through him. Then, he recalled the the customary act of giving gifts and panic pushed way past the slight jealousy that he felt.
"December first? That's tomorrow!" he exclaimed.
She smiled at him again and nodded, "I will be nine."
"I don't care about how old you'll be," Mello said dismissively, "What do you want?"
Now, Layla's smile faded into quick confusion, "What? Why would I want anything?"
"Uh, because it's your birthday, stupid." Mello retorted.
She still looked confused though and Mello shook his head, annoyed by her ignorance.
"You know, as a gift, you're supposed to give people a present on their birthdays" he said.
Understanding suddenly shone in Layla's grey eyes and yet she still looked a little perplexed at his words.
"You're supposed to give a gift?" she said.
"Yes!" Mello replied, now exasperated with her cluelessness. "You know, didn't you have birthday parties in Estonia?"
Now she looked a little crestfallen and Mello regretted speaking at all, "No." she said blankly.
The knowledge that she'd never had a birthday party sunk in Mello's thoughts like an anvil. How could she miss a home where she'd never received a gift? Her life seemed so alien compared to his, Wammy's House must have seemed like a luxurious resort compared to Estonia. Why on earth would she miss that place?
They continued studying in silence and Mello's mind was already determining what to give her. If she'd never had a present, maybe a nice gift would cheer her up and throw her out of the rut she'd been in.
Later that evening, after classes and dinner were finished Mello was ransacking his room, searching for something to give to Layla for her birthday. Girls were hard, confusing. They didn't like soccer, or violent games, or hitting people until they cried. Girls were nothing like boys.
What had his mother liked? The thought seemed strange, and made his heart skip a beat. He usually avoided thinking about his mama the warm gingery smell of her after she washed her hair in the morning suddenly hitting his nose.
In the corner of Mello's room wedged between the desk was a small, loose floorboard, and it was that floorboard that Mello crawled to. He snatched the small letter opener that was in the bottom drawer of the desk and sticking the letter opener in the crevice, he pried the wood from its surroundings.
The damp smell of dust and dirt rose up to meet his nose. Biting back coughs, Mello pulled out a silver cigar box. It had been his father's, and he recalled the way it had sat perched on a table in his father's study. It was one of the few things he had managed to pack before being carted away to the orphanage in Moscow.
He opened the box carefully, leafing through the sparse belongings. He briefly fingered his mother's photograph, but then went to pick up a tiny comb that lay scant inches away from his fingers. It was a pretty, silver thing. A tiny cluster of crystals lay on the edge in the shape of a swan.
Mello recalled the way as a little boy he watched as his mother had pulled it down from the nape of her neck and put it in his hands. They way her blue eyes had shone brightly when she told him it was his father's wedding present to her. She had told him that there was love in that comb.
A few strands of his mother's blond hair still clung to the teeth and he picked them off, placing them carefully in the box.
Would it be okay, to give his mother's comb to Layla?
He ran through the options in his head, half considering making her something pointless out of sticks. Besides, what if she broke it or something? Her hair wasn't nearly as pretty as his mother's, at all. But, maybe it would make her a little happier too, especially if she had never gotten a present before. His mother had said that there was love in that comb, that it made her happy. What if it could make Layla happy, make her better?
In the end, Mello wrapped the comb up carefully in newspaper, setting it on his bedside table before going to sleep for the evening.
When Layla opened her bedroom door the next morning, she seemed surprised when Mello thrust a bundle of newspaper in her hands.
"Open it," Mello said impatiently.
After rubbing sleep from her eyes, Layla carefully unwrapped the newspaper while Mello looked on impatiently, tapping his bare foot on the wood.
When it lay opened in her hands she stared at it, and Mello noted nervously the little tears that gathered at the end of her eyelashes. Perhaps it would have been a better idea just to get her a soccer ball instead.
Still though, he couldn't help the offense that creeped into his tone, "You don't like it," he said, fully prepared to snatch the comb away from her fingers.
Out of nowhere she suddenly latched onto him, bawling and squeezing him so tight he thought his eyes might go as wide as L's usually were.
"Layla," he grumbled, attempting to shove the estonian girl off of him, while tears splashed awkwardly on his collarbone. "Get off!"
She released him from her death grip and sniffled pathetically, wiping at her runny nose with the back of her hand. "It's the prettiest thing...I've ever gotten. I've never had anything pretty." Then she faltered, holding the comb back out to him, "Are...you sure you want me to have it?"
The way she looked made Mello suddenly feel sorry for her, as if she expected him to snatch the comb away from her and laugh in her face.
"It's just a stupid comb." he mumbled, hastily pushing her hands away. "It's not that special. You can have it."
Then he turned heel, going down to the hall for breakfast without another word.
Her birthday had been a slightly amusing affair to say the least, starting with the customary chocolate cupcake during lunch. She had appeared embarrassed by the birthday singing though and Mello noted how she fiddled with her fingernails while the chorus rang out all around her. However, he couldn't help but smile at her when she split the chocolate cupcake in thirds, giving the other two portions to Matt and himself.
During recess that day, several of the other boys had come up to her, offering gifts they had made. She thanked them all in that shy, quiet manner of hers before trailing behind Mello and going to sit under the large oak tree in the courtyard to watch him repeatedly smack Matt with a snow ball.
But, the real surprise was when Watari came out into the courtyard, bearing an elegantly wrapped present which he offered to Layla. The other children crowded around them, curious as to what the package contained.
"This is a gift from L." Watari said, smiling down at her benignly.
"Why should she get something from L?" A boy close to Mello's shoulder demanded.
"Flood, go play with your rubber ducks or something!" Mello snapped.
Flood was an athletic prodigy, most well known for his swimming abilities and sarcastic remarks. He was a year older than Mello himself, and quite tall with curly red hair. But still, that didn't stop Mello from going to glower at the lanky child.
"She's not even a real successor." Flood said, his tone clipped, giving voice to the private thought Mello had wandering around his head whenever Layla had annoyed him in some way or another.
"Shut up, Flood." Mello snarled, trying to control his urge to shove the boy when he witnessed the hurt look on Layla's face.
"Why should I?" the swimmer demanded, "You know it's true Mello. She gets special treatment around here, even from you. She's just desperate for attention. That's why she gave herself those bruises."
"She didn't give herself those bruises." Mello said vehemently cocking his fist before he felt Watari's hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down Mello." he said sternly, then gave Flood a sharp look, "You shouldn't be cruel on someone's birthday Flood. She has enough right to be here as the rest of you."
The children dispersed and Watari tipped his hat to Mello and Layla before disappearing inside the House.
"I didn't do that to myself." Layla said and Mello blinked in surprise.
She looked angry, angrier than Mello had ever seen her. Then her features softened and she looked pleadingly at Mello. "You...you believe me, don't you?"
"Yeah." Mello said quickly. "He was just upset you got something from L. He only gives presents to the kids he likes."
It was true too, Mello himself received a gift from L every holiday, a blatant display of favoritism from the world renowned detective. Although, he was usually far more subtle in showing this, often giving presents in private so other students were unaware.
"What is it?" Mello asked, pointing to the now opened present. It was a wooden box with the words Faber Castell written on it in fancy, golden script.
"Paintbrushes." she said softly.
"You should paint him something," Mello said, "As a thank you."
She nodded, and Mello watched as she walked back inside, obviously eager to try out her new paintbrushes.
Mello didn't see her for the rest of the day, and he assumed she was painting, happily lost in her own head.
About halfway through dinner, Mello watched perturbed as Zion ran through the hallway grabbing anxiously at Rodger's hand. When he spoke, Rodger's eyes widened dramatically and soon he was following Zion outside, practically running.
After muttering an excuse to Matt, Mello stood and followed them quietly out to where the fountain lay covered in snow in the courtyard.
It had taken him several minutes to register what he saw.
The fountain's water had been frozen over, and it looked as if the ice had been coated in strawberry syrup, some of it sloshing out over the snow in rivets.
Draped over the fountain was Flood's now lifeless body, a large gash in his throat, the source of all the blood that now lay freezing over the fountain.
"I saw Layla near the fountain." Zion said to Rodger, his tone unimpressed and Mello's eyes widened.
Is that where she had been all day? Plotting out the murder of a student who insulted her? The shock of it sent him running back into the House, up to Layla's room where he barged into the door.
"Mello!" she said, seeming surprised, "What's the matter?"
Roughly, he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "Where were you for the rest of the day? Tell the truth!"
"I was in here!" She squealed, showing him the paintings of flowers she had been working on. "I've been painting. Mello, what's the matter?"
He gave her a harsh, quizzical look, then released her from his grasp, going to collapse on her bed.
Mello stared blankly at the comb that lay glittering on her desk, "Nothing."