Chapter 9: Where Olivia Goes To The Mall
(A/N: Sorry for the short-ish chapter here. :-\)
I snuck into my room before I left and changed into a new pair of clothes. It was during that time that I almost had an emotional overload because it hit me. . .
Captain America is real.
And he is now living in my house.
I did silent screams as I jumped on my bed, spun on the floor and just plain ran around my room, spazzing out. Because it wasn't like I could tell anybody, no one would believe me. Not even the people on the internet, on Tumblr. Crazies say stuff like that on the internet all the time. I could tell Emmy and Jonesy, but I highly doubt that they'd really believe it was him—even Jonesy, who was usually so gullible. They'd probably just think it was some boy who I tricked into pretending he was Captain America or something.
Plus, I figured it was good that no one would believe me. What if whoever did this to him was some kind of dimension hoping evil overlord? What if they were just waiting in my dimension to hear that Cap had arrived? And I just put it on the internet—how stupid would that be? I'd be putting Steve in danger. Not on purpose, but it'd still be my fault.
Once I was in my casual clothes, I used the tree outside of my window to get outside the house. I didn't know if Edward was in the foyer—or near the foyer—and I didn't want to risk it. But the thing about my Escape Tree (that's what I've called it since. . .forever) is that you can use it to get out. . .but you can't really use it to get back in. It's like me; a complicated tree. Not that I'm a tree, but, y'know, I'm complicated.
I decided to head to the mall, and it was then that I realized. . .I had never bothered to ask Steve what size he wore in clothes. "Oh come ON!" I yelled, slapping myself on the forehead. Could I be any more stupid?! I figured I was just going to have to wing it or something. Maybe just hold up the clothes and guess if they would fit him or not. Eh, I'd figure it out.
I took the bus to the mall, like I usually do. Considering the fact that it was around twelve o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, there weren't too many people my age around. I was stuck with a crowd of adults, old people, and little children too young to go to school. I had my credit card with me, and I knew Mom wouldn't mind me overspending just this once. . .
Okay, it's not just this once, it's a lot of once-s.
On my way to shop for Steve, I passed Bath and Body Works. So I stopped in there and got me a few perfume soaps and lotions. Then I passed Forever 21, Hot Topic and H&M, so you know I had to stop in there too. By then I had about eight bags to manage, and they were really weighing me down.
So, as I continued on my way to shop for Steve, I passed the food court. I stopped for some Chinese food, and then I continued on my way. I passed a shoe store, and I may or may not have bought two more bags worth of things in there. And finally I got a store for Steve, and I brought him some stuff (clothes and shoes), and then I figured enough was enough and it was time to go home.
Man, shopping for Steve is exhausting.
By the time I left the mall, it was already four o'clock. Four thirty, to be exact. I winced. Okay, that was longer than I thought it'd be. If I had gone to school today, I would have been home already. I would have been home a while ago; school let out a three o'clock.
Plus, there was no way I could swing past the school with all these bags. I counted them all; thirteen. I almost raced back inside the mall to get another bag, just to make sure I didn't have an unlucky number. But then I figured that it was a stupid idea, and I just stuck with my (unlucky) thirteen bags.
I turned, getting ready to go, when my phone started ringing. Any other time, that wouldn't have been a problem. But right now it was, because I had seven bags on one arm and six bags on the other—and they weren't all small bags either. "Oh come on!" I hissed between clinched teeth.
I dropped all the bags that were on my right arm on the ground and dug out my phone. It was the house number calling. A small smile found its way on my face. It had to be Steve. But what could he want? Maybe he just wants to talk. Said my brain, which made me grin so hard my cheeks hurt. I pressed the phone to my ear. "Steve?" I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What's up—erm. . .how's. . .it. . .going?" Did they say that back then? I wondered after I had said it.
"Olivia," his voice was hushed, his tone sounding like he was in the middle of a battlefield. "A man just came in the house calling for you. Edward called him Mr. Wilde. I think it's your father."
That wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't supposed to be home already.
"He's coming upstairs," he added.
And if, y'know, Steve's room wasn't right across from mine.