Chapter 12 takes place before "MORP". Malcolm's still got some growing up to do, but he's on the mend with Cynthia. Due to his past mistakes, prom isn't in the cards for them. Despite their reconciliation, Malcolm is at a loss when it comes to taking things further. He may be past his self-sabotaging tendencies, but it takes a little more than that to get things off the ground.
The Window
Malcolm sat at the foot of his bed while Stevie attempted to focus on making the finishing touches to their final research project. While Stevie worked diligently, Malcolm continually drifted off into flights of fancy and excited recanting of the details of his and Cynthia's train ride.
"I never felt so excited by holding hands, it was like I was twelve again."
"You're…
…welcome," said Stevie.
"I could have done it without you," said Malcolm.
"Save it."
"Well, because of you I'm also grounded for the next month. The only reason they still let you come over is to finish this project. Any chance I had to spend time with Cynthia outside of school is gone."
"There's still…
…prom."
"She's not going."
"Why?"
"Her mom is going on a work trip to Vietnam and Cynthia's going with her.
"But how?"
"Her mom pulled some strings, got all her final exams and projects assigned ahead of time. I guess that's what she's been doing all year instead of socializing."
"The speed run…
…nice."
"They already had the whole trip planned before we made up. It really sucks."
"Well if…
…someone…
…hadn't—"
"If I hadn't been a humongous ass then she might have stayed and we would be going together, yeah I know."
Stevie smiled with genuine admiration.
"You've grown…
…so much."
"I'm not going to see her until graduation, now."
"Absence…
…makes the heart…
…grow fonder."
"Just hand me those notes, will you?"
Stevie dutifully passed a ream-sized stack of loose papers to Malcolm.
"And the worst part is, while Cynthia's on an early vacation, I'm working two overnight shifts a week at the Lucky Aide with Craig. It seems like no matter what I do, the universe is going to find a way to make the last part of my senior year suck more than all of the rest of High School combined."
"Malcolm…
…complaining…
…isn't sexy."
"I'll agree to take that to heart if you'll agree to never say the word 'sexy' again."
XXXXX
While Hal, Reese, and Dewey sat at the table pouring their cereal, Malcolm slouched on his elbows and stared at his family with glazed eyes, like an inmate observing fellow lunatics in an asylum under the watch of Nurse Lois, who pulled out a chair and sat down, eyeing Reese.
"Well, Reese, you've finally managed not to be grounded on prom night. And it only took you three times."
"Damn!" said Reese.
"It was a compliment, not a challenge."
"That's easy for you to say! If I was grounded, then I'd at least have an excuse for not going. Now everyone will know I'm a loser."
"It's okay, Reese. They already know," said Dewey.
"Don't try to make me feel better, Dewey," said Reese as he looked down into his alphabet cereal. "Why don't they ever put any easy words in here? I can't read any of this crap!"
"Ah, the prom," said Hal. "Remember ours, sweetie? The romance, the magic."
"Hal, you showed up in tuxedo body paint and the assistant principal had to wrestle you off the stage."
"Two years in a row," said Hal with a satisfied smile.
Malcolm tried to hide his instinctual scowl, but he couldn't escape Lois's avian eyes.
"And you, Malcolm, just consider yourself lucky. You'd have been grounded longer if it weren't for your school work. If they could set up a college prep program in the back of the hall closet, that's where you'd be until you graduate. Just let this be a lesson to you. You have too much potential to be getting yourself into trouble. For the next month you are going to be a prisoner in this house. But don't think we won't still be watching when you go to college."
"What about me?" said Reese.
"You'll be under our thumb until we're both dead," said Lois.
"Dad can't stop me if you die first."
"I don't think so," said Hal. He pointed emphatically at himself. "I'm dying first, bucko. It's already been agreed upon."
"You can't control that!"
"Wanna bet?" asked Lois.
Reese stared at his parents in disbelief.
XXXXX
As they'd mostly done ever since getting off the train, Malcolm and Cynthia walked side by side in silence on their way to class.
Things have been a little unclear between me and Cynthia. We haven't really talked about what happened on the train ride home. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But for now, I'm glad we're not addressing it. I don't want to say anything stupid.
"Malcolm," said Cynthia, "can we talk about the train ride?"
"Huh? Wait, oh yeah, when we rode on the train. Totally."
Like that.
"I just…well, how do you feel about it?"
Malcolm's head began to bob as his mind reeled, his eyes searching the distance between them for some sign of what to say, a sign which did not appear.
"I think…I don't know what I think."
"You don't regret it, do you?"
"No! No, definitely not. It was really nice."
"Yeah," said Cynthia, relaxing.
"I guess I just don't know what it means."
"Yeah, me neither."
"So…we're definitely friends again, right?"
"Yes."
"But not…not more?"
"No."
"But we could be?"
Cynthia paused for a long time.
"Maybe."
Malcolm nodded.
"Okay, good," he said. "Maybe is good. I can live with maybe."
Reading the sadness in his face, Cynthia pulled his arms until their hands met again.
"I just want to remember what it was like to be friends again. If things change between us, I don't want it to mean we stop being friends, even if it's because we became more, you know?"
Malcolm smiled. "Yeah, I know."
The bell rang and the both of them released a long-held breath.
"Well, I gotta get to class. Oh, but, before I go, how firm is that grounding?" asked Cynthia.
"Ironclad."
Cynthia tilted her head and a look of pity. "I guess I expected as much."
"Right."
"But hey, maybe afterwards, when I'm back in town, we can do something before graduation."
"I'd like that."
Cynthia nodded and pulled her books to her chest. "Well," she said, "see ya later."
"Yeah, see ya."
Cynthia smiled at him a final time before turning and heading off to her class. As she rounded a corner, Malcolm's shoulder's dropped in renewed dejection.
This timing couldn't be any worse. This latest grounding has stalled any possible progress I could be making. My life just…well, you know.
XXXXX
"Malcolm, yearning is the heart of love," said Craig. He hiked up his pants in order to bend down and snatch a lost penny off the Lucky Aide's grimy linoleum floor.
"Tails again," he said. He looked up from the penny and wistfully gazed out the Lucky Aide's front windows. "Looks like you'll have to make your own luck once again, hombre."
"What are you talking about?" Malcolm was hunched over, mopping multiple strata of filth from the tiles.
"Desire, my friend. It's what drives each and every one of us. But when you get what you want, the thrill is gone. You need a little separation to keep the flame alive."
"The flame?"
"Yes, the flame. The spark, the passion. The longer you let it burn the stronger it gets. I mean look at me. You think I'm single by accident?"
"I definitely don't think that."
"It's because I don't want to settle down and kill all the excitement. I'm going on thirty-nine years of non-stop anticipation and look where I am."
A chill went down Malcolm's spine.
"Well," said Malcolm, "we can't all be like you."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. It takes a special kind of man to be this unattainable. But my point still stands. A little patience will do you good. Women like men who can exercise some restraint."
"I know you're trying to help, Craig, but that's not what I'm worried about. It's taken me all of high school to get it together. If I can't be with her now, I'll miss my window."
"Trust me, buddy, I've been there many, many times," said Craig, putting his arm around Malcolm. "You'll get your chance. You just have to let it come to you."
Malcolm rolled his eyes and pushed harder on the mop to scrub away his frustration.
The whooshing sound of the automatic doors opening made both Malcolm and Craig look up, and when they saw Cynthia striding past the counters they straightened up in tandem. Craig looked down to inspect his zipper.
"What'd I tell you, champ? Your beloved has been flown to you on the wings of—"
"Craig."
"Right. I'll be in the back." He turned and began to scurry off as Cynthia approached Malcolm with a radiant smile.
"SORRY CAN'T HELP YOU," Craig shouted as he darted past the plastic curtains and into the stockroom.
Malcolm turned back towards Cynthia, a half smile pinned to his face.
"Hey!" said Cynthia.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I just need a few more things for the trip, figured I could say hi while I'm picking them up."
Malcolm smiled. "Well we have a deal on sword shaped toothpicks. Do you need any of those"
"I already have so many at home," said Cynthia. She looked down, giggling. "So where are the toothbrushes?"
"This way," said Malcolm. He walked down the aisle with Cynthia following.
"So the day after tomorrow, right?"
"That's the plan," said Cynthia, shrugging.
"Well…" said Malcolm. "That's great. You're gonna have a lot of fun."
"You can say it sucks, Malcolm. You're allowed to complain sometimes."
"No, no, I mean it. I mean, it does suck for me. I feel like we have so much catching up to do."
"I know."
They stopped in front of a wall of generic toothpastes and mini shampoo bottles. Cynthia pulled up the basket she'd picked up at the entrance and began loading up.
"Do you really need all that?" asked Malcolm.
Cynthia stopped. "Well…no."
A silence commenced, with nothing but distorted Muzak from the Lucky Aide's overhead speakers filling it.
"Can I just be honest?" asked Cynthia.
"Definitely."
"I don't really need anything. I just wanted to see you."
"I wanted to see you, too."
"I hate that I'm leaving now."
"I wish I could go with you."
At the same time, both of them realized how close they were. They looked around, noting the lack of others nearby before turning back to each other.
"So, uh…" said Malcolm.
Cynthia blinked, then took a deep breath. She raised her arms up, her hands nearly reaching Malcolm's face before she was jolted out of the move by the Lucky Aide's PA system clanging on.
"Malcolm," said Craig, pitifully, his voice buzzing through the ceiling. "I'm in the manager's office. I got stuck in the chair again. Please help. I know I'm not supposed to be in here but the fantasy was too tempting."
Malcolm screwed up his face and scoffed. Cynthia threw her mouth to her hand to stifle a laugh.
"Oh no, Craig's stuck," she said, finally letting the laughter spill out. Malcolm couldn't bring himself to smile.
"I don't care," said Malcolm. He reached for Cynthia's waist to pull her in when the PA buzzed again, accompanied by a dreadful shriek.
"Malcolm! Oh god, Malcolm, I tipped over! I tried to get out on my own and the whole thing gave way. I'm still stuck in the seat, Malcolm, please. I can feel the blood rushing to my head. I'm gonna have an aneurysm if you don't come quick!"
Malcolm's face hardened into something like stone. He looked dully at Cynthia one more time and opened his mouth to say something, but Cynthia's expression changed into one of apprehension.
"You know what, I…" she started. "I'll just let you handle that. I'll see you at school tomorrow."
Cynthia ran her hand down Malcolm's arm, then turned around and headed for the exit, plopping the full basket of travel toothpaste on an empty register before breezing through the automatic doors and turning left and out of sight.
Malcolm began to walk toward the back room, but paused. He turned and trudged over to his mop and bucket. He picked up the bucket full of dirty soap water and regarded it for a moment, then with an icy stare he brought it with him towards the back.
"I'm coming, Craig," he said.
XXXXX
Malcolm tapped his feet rapidly, hoping the second hand on the clock would match his tempo and make the hour go faster.
"You taking up tap dancing?" asked Lloyd
"Can it," said Malcolm.
"You know, if you spend all your time anticipating future gratification, you're basically inviting life to pass you by."
"This coming from the guy who spends all his free time on Magic: The Gathering?"
" You know, just because things are better with you and Cynthia doesn't mean you don't have to work on your people skills."
Malcolm sighed. "Lloyd, it's been a long year. Can you just give me a break?"
"Yes, I can," said Lloyd, smiling. "That's the open communication I was looking for."
Malcolm rolled his eyes.
"Is there something on the ceiling now?" asked Lloyd.
"Shut up."
Lloyd smirked and shook his head.
The bell rang and Malcolm was the first out the door. Luck happened to be on his side and his cheap mid-year replacement backpack managed to hold the weight of his numerous textbooks and folders, straining at every stitch. He shot through the hallway and around the corner, just in time to see Cynthia leaving her class.
"Hey!"
Cynthia turned and instinctively beamed when she saw him.
"Hi!" she said, waving, but forgetting she was holding a sizable stack of books, which fell to the floor in a heap. Malcolm rushed over and began helping her pick them up.
"Crap, I'm sorry," he said.
The entire student body was amassing around them. They could feel their cheeks getting whipped in a windy tundra of jean skirt hems and cargo pants pocket flaps.
"No, it's me. I'm so clumsy. Ow!" A wheeled backpack ran over Cynthia's fingers.
"Hey, watch it!" Malcolm shouted. "Here, give me these, let's just get out of here."
She handed her stack of books and mismatched papers to Malcolm. They helped each other up, then entered the human swarm, and before they could get their bearings they were deposited onto the front lawn of campus.
"Man, why the rush?"
"The weekend, I guess."
"Oh, right."
"Well, anyway, I better get going. I have a few more things to do tonight, and then we have the early flight."
"Can I walk you home?"
"Of course."
The two of them headed towards Cynthia's house and didn't say anything for awhile, but the silence was comfortable this time. Eventually, without trying or noticing, they'd begun talking.
"You know a lot of birds recognize faces?" said Cynthia. "I always wonder which ones remember me. I try to acknowledge them, too, but it's hard when there are so many."
"You're making friends with wild birds?" Malcolm asked.
"No, just trying to be polite."
"Right," said Malcolm grinning.
"Oh, I know you just think I'm crazy."
"No, I don't," said Malcolm. Cynthia could tell by his relaxed and non-defensive tone that he meant it.
"So I heard a lot about Reese joining the Army through the grapevine, but did anything else interesting happen while I was ignoring you?"
"No, not really."
"Really? That's surprising. It seems like there's always something going on with you."
Malcolm looked off thoughtfully.
"Well, you know the Buseys?"
"Ugh, I hate that name," said Cynthia. "We didn't like being called Krelboynes but no one bats an eye at calling those poor disturbed kids 'Buseys'"
"Well I don't call them that. Well, I do, but I'll stop from now on. Anyway, remember when they all went missing?"
"Yeah, it was all over the news."
"Well, they were hiding in my family's tree. Dewey ended up in their class by accident, and when they fixed the mistake and took him out, they didn't want to let him go."
"That's sweet! And a little unsettling."
"Yeah, but that's the only other thing. Oh, well I tried to fix up a 68' Barracuda and it kinda drove me insane. I realized I had a problem when I almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Really?"
"Yeah, if my parents hadn't found me, I'd have been dead."
Cynthia linked her arm with Malcolm's. "I'm so glad you're alright."
Malcolm laughed. "But that's it, really. Just that and the billboard."
"The billboard?"
"Yeah, me and my brothers got stuck on that billboard for the strip club. We were gonna spray paint something on it, but before we could think of what to write, we got caught and had to act like we were protesting against sexual objectification."
Cynthia threw her head back and laughed, and Malcolm laughed too.
"And let's see, what else? Well there was the street luging, I did that for a while. Dewey wrote an opera. My grandma's leg got cut off. I went to Burning Man. Oh, and Reese married a girl in Vegas and lived in our garage for about a week until they got it annulled."
Cynthia stopped and turned to Malcolm. "So this is what you get up to when I'm not around?"
"It seems to happen whether you're there or not. You're gonna have to get used to it if we're going to be together."
Cynthia stopped and looked down, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Well, we're almost at my house."
"I—" Malcolm stopped. "I just meant—"
Cynthia shook her head, gently. "I know," she said, her smile resuming. She continued to look at Malcolm, holding his hand, again, with a light grip, the tips of her fingers barely grasping his.
"Well, there's some last minute packing I have to do."
"Oh, okay."
"Well, see ya." She turned and walked to her front door.
Malcolm was struck by the absurdity of seeing Cynthia turning from him and walking towards her front door, once again, as he had seen so many times before, often as a result of some missed opportunity or careless action. Despite what he considered unimpeachably positive potential in this particular walk, it seemed the cycle of buildup and letdown was destined to repeat itself, that despite his measures to mend his relationships and invest in self-improvement, misfortune was still his one remaining constant, and this fatalistic notion pulled him out of the happy flow of their breezy conversation like a broken parachute, whisking him into an orbital freefall. He lumbered, home, dejected, without even the prospect of a solitary night in his room to comfort him. The night shift with Craig awaited.
XXXXX
It was midnight. Cynthia had checked and rechecked all of her suitcases. She confirmed the next day's itinerary with her mother. She assembled a carryon bag of essentials and left it on the passenger seat of the car which was parked safely in the garage. She made sure her graduation dress, cap, and gown were hanging in her closet so she wouldn't have to worry about them when she got back. She spent an hour with her sisters playing cards, arguing with Miriam about the rules of gin and mentally cataloging Judith's various souvenir requests. She said goodnight to her Mom and Dad, who were sitting rather close together on the couch, watching something on PBS. She tried not to read too much into what it meant. She chattered and hummed to herself throughout her nightly routines and threw on some cotton pajama pants and an oversized New York Rangers t-shirt. She climbed into bed and rested her head against her thick feather pillow and pulled the soft purple duvet up to her chin in hopes that the transition into that peaceful sleep she yearned for would be almost imperceptible, but ten minutes later she was still awake. And twenty minutes later she still lay awake. And when hours passed and her family had all gone to bed and she continued to lay awake she confronted the unwelcome reality that, eventually, she would have to think. And when she did, she thought, I've made a mistake.
She threw off the covers.
XXXXX
As Malcolm finished stocking the last of the bargain brand pregnancy tests, Craig strolled up with a handful of pink pellets.
"Malcolm," said Craig, "do you mind telling me what this is?"
Malcolm gave Craig's hand a passing glance and took out his boxcutter to unpack the bargain brand condoms.
"They're air freshening pellets, Craig," said Malcolm.
"No," said Craig. "They're three-week-old air freshening pellets, which means they've lost their scent. The ladies' room has no ambiance now."
"Why were you in the women's restroom?"
"That's of no concern, let's change the subject. Say, any progress in the love department?"
"Almost," Malcolm sighed. "I walked her home after school today, but nothing happened."
"Ah, well, looks like you've lost momentum, buddy."
"Well I had a window, but then you got your ass stuck in an office chair, remember?"
"What do you want me to tell you, Malcolm? Manager's chairs are designed for tiny, power tripping Napoleans. I was just sitting in it to be ironic, anyway." Craig chuckled at his own cleverness.
Malcolm cocked an eyebrow.
"For who?" he asked.
"Anyway," said Craig, "I'll go ahead and be the bigger man and forget that little friendly hazing you laid on me. But you owe me one, champ. Tonight I am gonna work you to the bone."
Craig patted Malcolm on the shoulder and walked confidently towards the makeup section.
Malcolm finished the box he was working on and turned to look down the length of the aisle. An unopened box lay every three feet. The truck had just come in earlier that night, and they were nowhere near close to getting everything on the shelves. Malcolm made for the aisle's end, turning the corner into the adjacent one. More boxes sat in three-foot increments down that aisle, unopened. Through a crack in the shelves, Malcolm saw Craig pretending to take inventory on nail polish while leering at an unsuspecting woman browsing nearby. Craig's words echoed in his head.
…work you to the bone…
…to the bone…
…to the bone…
…bone…
Malcolm stared out to the Lucky Aide's automatic doors. Something, maybe a gust of wind, maybe a hamster in a ball, made them spring open. His box cutter clattered to the floor. He knew a shortcut to Cynthia's house.
XXXXX
Although she'd worked up more courage than she'd ever needed in her life to sneak out and see Malcolm, that responsible, nagging voice in her head continued to plead with her to turn back. Although she had the resolve to ignore it, some deferential side of her decided she needed time to change her mind. So she took the long way to the Lucky Aide.
The long walk provided her with plenty of time to engage in self-admonishment.
Why didn't you just kiss him, you dunce?
Because something didn't feel right.
And the other day? You let a little office chair emergency throw a wrench in your plans? You could have just waited for him to come back!
That didn't feel right either. It was both too ridiculous of a situation and also too serious. Spontaneity was key. That's why she needed to do this. Still, though, there remained an unacknowledged factor in all of this. Although she'd forgiven Malcom for all of his stupid, selfish, inconsiderate, and downright bizarre behavior, this did nothing to replenish her trust in him. This could very well be wishful thinking, too much too soon, too good to be true. All the pitfalls of gullible, hopeless romantics in love with utter fools.
She knew, deep down, that giving Malcolm grace meant going against her best instincts, just as he was always going against his. It defied logic. But tonight, come hell or high water, she was going to make two wrongs into a right.
XXXXX
Craig had just finished placing clearance stickers on half the Lucky Aide's nearly expired milk when the sound of rummaging drew his attention to the front of the store. Curious, he walked in the direction of the sounds, circumventing an empty mop and bucket and cutting through kitchenware to find himself at the registers. Digging into the open drawer were two wiry teens with weedy mustaches. They pulled out greedy handfuls of wilted singles and were stuffing them into the pockets of their oversized jeans.
Panic shot through Craig with an arresting force. He began inhaling unsteadily, taking in sharp gulps of breath like a beached fish. His face contorted into a grimace of terror. The sticker gun he'd been holding fell from his numb grip and clattered to the floor. The greasy adolescent duo shot a look over to Craig, freezing with gobs of cash and loose coins in their grip.
"OH GOD," Craig screamed. "OH GOD DON'T DO THIS."
He raised his hands above his head.
"I'M YOUNG," Craig wailed. "I'M YOUNG AND FULL OF UNTAPPED POTENTIAL." He fell to his knees, hands still raised, his head lowered in full submission. He began to weep softly.
After a long silence, Craig looked up with bleary eyes just in time to see the thieves slipping through the automatic doors. With great effort, Craig hoisted himself up from the kneeling position, bracing his hand against his lumbar region for much needed support. He staggered toward the automatic doors and, upon reaching the threshold, peered into the dim parking lot with caution. They'd made it beyond the flickering lamps and only the sound of racing footsteps could be detected. Oddly enough, the footsteps did not fade into the distance, but abruptly stopped. Craig jolted and slammed the doors shut. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and locked them.
XXXXX
Cynthia could see the faint light of the Lucky Aide's parking lot, and she quickened her pace. She'd managed not to talk herself out of seeing Malcolm during the entire lengthy walk from her house to here.
She practically hopped over the curb in excitement, but when she was under the furthest streetlamp from the store, she eyed two suspicious figures running from the exit, carrying a money tray, dollar bills and change flying from their bulging pockets like something out of a cartoon. She could see Craig scrambling to get up inside. She put the pieces together quickly in her head, and had a sober understanding of the situation by the time the two thieves had closed the distance between the store and her, and were now staring dumbfounded.
Their shoulders sagged as they both flashed weasley smiles.
"C'mon, Doug," said the taller one with a friendly tap. "Let's get out of here."
As they attempted to walk past her, Cynthia stepped in their way.
"Oh okay," said Doug, "you think you're little miss badass? You gonna teach us a cute little lesson? You got a six-pack under that nightie? You gonna open up an adorable little can of—"
The last thing Doug could remember when he woke up in the hospital the next day was the blurred image of the Lucky Aide's littered pavement as he collided with it.
XXXXX
"Cynthia!" cried Craig. "Oh, thank god you're here. There were a couple robbers. I scared them off, but they took the money."
"Well, they didn't get far. They're still out in the parking lot. Unconscious."
"Oh," said Craig, still breathing heavily. "Good. That's great, I—" he swallowed, "I'm a green belt in jiu jitsu, so if I'd caught them, they might be dead. Probably for the best. What's your fighting style?"
"Krav Maga."
"Wow, where did you learn that?"
"A couple of IDF defectors that lived in the East Village. My mom pulled a few legal strings for them, so as a favor they trained my sisters and I in good old fashioned New York self-defense."
"Wow, I had no idea you were so interesting. No wonder Malcolm's in love with you."
Cynthia's breath caught in her throat.
"He said that?"
Craig opened his mouth to speak, but then doubled over, his dinner coming out instead of whatever words he'd meant to say.
XXXXX
Malcolm hadn't thought of what he wanted to say or how he would say it at this late hour. All the lights, including the porch light, were off at the Sanders residence. He snuck around the side of the house until he was below Cynthia's window. It struck him as oddly romantic. He'd seen guys do this in movies. He remembered, then, that he'd been here before, only with a brick in his hand, pumped up with confusing early-adolescent hormones. Malcolm shook his head at the memory of his foolishness.
Malcolm looked around, at a bit of a loss. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Psst," he tried, softly at first.
"Pssssst! Cynthia!" he whispered, harshly.
Looking around the yard for something to get her attention, he eyed a small pebble. This was becoming more and more like some corny TV show. But he figured it was worth a shot.
Malcolm picked up the pebble and gave it a light toss towards the window. It hit the siding of the house just under it.
Malcolm picked up another pebble. He tossed it at the window, this time hitting it with a sharp tap.
He darted his head around, then looked up to see if his pebble was answered. After a few seconds, he picked up another pebble and threw it. It made another tap on the glass, a bit louder. The sound made Malcolm wince. Still, there was no response. He decided he would try it one more time, and then he'd have to scale the side somehow.
He picked up a pebble, this one a little bigger and a little heavier. He figured if he threw it just right, it would make a loud enough sound without doing any damage. Years of playing indoor baseball had taught him how to do it just right.
With a pitcher's grace, he tossed the rock up to the window, and shattered it.
"Crap!"
A blaring light shined in Malcolm's face. Cynthia's dad, in striped PJs, pointed a flashlight at Malcolm with a dull, aggravated stare.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
XXXXX
It was now 2:00 AM. Lois's expressionless face as she walked into the lucky Aide hid the fearsome anger within. She beelined to Craig, who sat perched on a step stool while a tired officer scribbled notes in a pad. Upon seeing her, Craig stood up with a jolt.
"God, Lois, I'm so sorry. This never should have happened. You know how I always make sure to watch the registers. Well, except for that one time, oh and last week. But this time I was secure in the knowledge that Malcolm was—"
"Craig, knock it off. Where's Malcolm?"
Before Craig could answer, the sound of the women's restroom door opening caught Lois's attention. Her eyes widened when she saw Cynthia emerge.
"Cynthia, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, hey Mrs. Wilkerson…"
"She came to see Malcolm," said Craig. "She's the one that fought off the robbers."
"Oh my god, are you alright?" Lois walked over and hugged Cynthia.
"Yeah, I'm fine, really."
"By the way, how did you like the ladies room?" asked Craig.
"It was nice," said Cynthia.
"Did you like the vanilla candles?"
She nodded and smiled.
"Craig, where is Malcolm?"
"I have no idea. Here was here one minute, gone the next. That kid's a loose cannon, Lois. That's what I'm always trying to tell you!"
"When I get that hands on that little delinquent, I'm gonna kill him. Where on Earth could he have gone?"
"I…think I could hazard a guess," said Cynthia.
The automatic doors opened. In walked Malcolm, held at the collar of his work shirt by Fred Sanders.
"Lose something?" he asked.
"Oh my god!" cried Lois.
"Oh no, what happened?" asked Cynthia.
"Well," said Mr. Sanders, "lover-boy paid you a little visit last night. It looks like we're getting your window replaced. Again."
"It was an accident this time," said Malcolm. "I thought you were home, I was just trying to get your attention."
"Right, he was just trying to sneak into my home so he could try to fool around with my daughter."
"Dad, stop!" cried Cynthia. She buried her face in her palms.
"Oh for cryin'—" Lois took hold of Malcolm's collar, which Mr. Sanders gladly released. "What is the matter with you? Did you hear nothing I said this morning?"
"And you," said Fred, walking up to Cynthia. "What has gotten into you? Sneaking out? Since when do you sneak out?"
"Somewhere between graduating kindergarten and developing free will. It's no mystery, Dad."
Fred scoffed. "Lose the attitude, Cynthia, we give you plenty of freedom. What we won't allow is running out in the middle of the night doing God knows what. You could have been hurt."
"I took care of it, didn't I?"
"You're lucky they weren't armed."
Cynthia crossed her arms in defiance and pointed her scowl away from the onlookers. Malcolm looked towards Lois.
"How many more months are you adding to my time now?" asked Malcolm.
"Luckily I don't have to. They fired Don in receiving and now we need someone to cover a month's worth of night shifts during the week. I was going to pick them up, but now I think you will. You'll be living here at the Lucky Aide until May. School during the day, homework in the afternoon, and a night shift from 7:30 to 3:30. We'll set up a cot, a couple of changes of clothes, and some mousetraps to keep the biters away."
"Ouch," said Craig. "That's a tough break, Malcolm. Word of advice, don't let them know how scared you are. They can sense fear. It makes us taste better to them."
Malcolm felt another little piece of his soul flake off and dissolve into an abyss.
"C'mon, Cynthia," said Fred, "we're going home. You're gonna have a rough morning."
Cynthia looked at her dad, giving the most pitiful face she could.
"Can you please give us a moment, Dad?"
Fred, tired and self-admittedly over-permissive, simply waved his hand at them and turned towards the exit with a sigh.
"I'm counting down from sixty when I get in the car. Don't let me get to one."
Malcolm turned to Lois, attempting to replicate Cynthia's expression of pity.
"In your dreams, Koufax." Lois cocked her head towards the back, sending Malcolm away.
Malcolm felt his heart sink, and his body sank with it. He stared in disbelief and desperation at Cynthia, standing there in night clothes with a sweet, sad, disappointed expression. He couldn't bear it any longer and spun around, stomping towards the back and sending the plastic flaps aflutter as he tore through them.
"Well," said Cynthia, "goodnight, I guess."
"Hold on a minute," said Lois.
Cynthia stopped and turned to her, a weaker version of that pitiful look she gave her dad spreading across her face.
Lois made a half smile, then hugged her.
"Thanks for saving the store," she said. Then she pulled back, her hands firmly on Cynthia's shoulders. "And don't ever do it again. Lowlifes like that aren't worth scrapping with. Besides, the store is insured."
"Okay, I won't," said Cynthia, looking down.
"You know I'm not trying to punish you," said Lois.
Cynthia nodded.
"Hey," said Lois. Cynthia looked up. Lois's eyes were bright and sincere. "You're a great kid, Cynthia. I've always liked you. And you're always welcome in our home, and in our family. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of us."
Cynthia felt the warmth of an acceptance that she, in some way, always knew she had with Malcolm's family, but had never heard in words. Her chin quivered as she beamed.
"So," said Lois, "really, Cynthia, what's going on with you two?"
XXXXX
Malcolm glared at Lois as she entered the backroom.
"Oh, please. Don't make me the bad guy. You brought this all on yourself."
"I know!" Malcolm growled.
"No, you don't know. What you did tonight was incredibly irresponsible. You've really outdone yourself. And I don't care what reasons you had."
Malcolm looked away, scowling to conceal his shame. But soon he was hanging his head in defeat.
"I missed my window," he mumbled.
Lois stayed quiet for a few moments before speaking.
"No," she said. "You didn't miss anything."
Malcolm's head shot up. He looked at her, eyes wide.
"Huh?"
"Where is this 'window' idea coming from anyway? I've never seen someone more vocal about their interest in someone than Cynthia has been with you. And what did you do? You shot yourself and the foot and you destroyed any chance you had at happiness, just like you always do with everything. There was never a window with Cynthia, Malcolm, it was a wide open door. You're the one that someone needed to get through to. I don't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed for that poor girl. If your dad ever pulled half of the stuff that you did, you wouldn't exist."
"Wow," said Malcolm, perking up. "So you think it'll still work out?"
Lois smirked.
"I'd like to make you suffer a little more but…from what she told me out there, you have nothing to worry about."
Malcolm grinned and sighed in relief. Craig patted him on the back.
"Glad for you, buddy. Looks like you're not destined for the bachelor life. It's too bad. We could use someone with your brains."
"Well," said Lois, "you've got a lot of work to catch up on tonight. You better get out there."
Malcolm got up and headed back into the store. Stopping midway through the plastic flaps, he turned and looked at Lois.
"Aren't you going home?"
"Yeah, in a minute. I have to talk to Craig about some things. Like what kind of grunt work we can come up with for you to do."
"Ooh," said Craig, "you know how I've been cleaning out the fungus in the basement? Well, I haven't."
Malcolm's face twisted and he scoffed in revulsion.
He stormed through the Lucky Aide's empty aisles and towards the front registers. When he got there, he halted at the sight of Cynthia still standing by the doors and looking his way, waiting.
"Hi," she said.
He opened his mouth but no words came out.
"Um, my Dad's out there. I don't really have time, but I just wanted to say—"
Before she could continue, Malcolm ran to her. He put his hands on her face and pulled her close. She hitched in a breath and closed her eyes as their faces met and she was rocked by his embrace. Fred's horn blared in the parking lot as they became locked in a frantic, feverish, inconceivably overdue kiss.