The first thing that hit me when I stepped back into the house was the smell. Managing to waft over from the kitchen was the smell of… alfredo. Mom was making chicken alfredo. It'd been about a week since she last made it, so it made sense. Part of me had been hoping for something else, not just chicken again. It was dumb of me to think it'd be something else.

"Wendy, is that you?" Mom's voice called from the kitchen, and I winced. Of course, she'd have heard the door open. Couldn't be too caught up with the cooking.

"Yeah. Back from the gym!" I started towards the stairs, continuing to shout at her before she could start to ask too many questions. "Gonna go drop my stuff off in my room!"

"Well come down afterward! I wanna hear about it." A quiet sigh escaped me as that, as I continued up the stairs. Of course, she'd want to hear about it. I was spending time with a celebrity after all.

There was only so much I could do to try to buy time up in my room. Putting everything away didn't take that long, and even changing from out-and-about clothes to just some comfy sweats only got me a minute. She couldn't just let me relax and then question me about it at dinner.

Grumbling to myself, the steps creaked underfoot as I started back down them. Smile Wendy. With a fake smile on my face, I stepped into the kitchen. It was a disaster area. Like any time Mom cooked. A mixture of sauce and powder all over the counter and floor. Mom herself was standing by the stove where it was all cooking, in a very dirty apron. Along with Dame sitting nearby, eagerly awaiting any scraps. "Wendy! Did you enjoy your time at the gym? Come on, tell me anything."

"Hey, Mom. There's not really a lot to say. It was like the other couple of trips. It was leg day if that counts for anything?" Despite knowing better, part of me hoped my Mom would just accept that and move on to something else.

"Come on, there's gotta be something more interesting than that. You were with Panacea! Did her sister come with her? Anyone else in her family?" My smile shifted just a little at hearing that question again.

"Amy Mom, when she's not in costume she prefers Amy. Like I've said, she doesn't like the attention that Vicky brings. So it's just me and her… She did show up to pick her up today?" That had caused a little bit of a scene. The crowd watching Glory Girl descend from the sky, give a few waves, then scoop Amy up and fly off without a word.

"Oh really? Doesn't she usually take the bus back? What was the hurry?" Mom's selective memory strikes again. Can't remember to call her Amy, but can remember that.

"Amy mentioned they were going to get fitted for new dresses. Apparently, there's this big party the Dallons are going to coming up. Some kind of Christmas Gala." My smile fell a little bit more at that. Amy had complained a lot about it. How boring and fake the whole evening was, just rich people jockeying with each other.

"Oh, the Forsberg Christmas Gala! That's one of the biggest parties in the city!" Mom's eyes practically sparkled at the thought of the party. I couldn't help but roll mine. Of course, she'd be excited to hear about something like that. "I wonder if she could get us an invitation…"

"I guess I'll ask." I had no intention of asking. It was just better to let her think I asked, and got told it was impossible. Otherwise, she'd get all defensive about the idea if I told her there was no way it'd work.

"Oh, that's so exciting! I should look to see what I have to wear. After all, even if we can't get into that party, there's still plenty coming up in the Christmas Season!" Even if I didn't groan at that, I wanted to.

"I guess I'll go see if that dress that I wore last year still fits?" She turned and smiled at me, even as I was fairly certain something was burning behind her.

"Good! I'd give you a hug but well, dirty hands! Are you sure you can't invite Glory Girl to our Christmas Party? I know we had one for your brother, but since he's sticking around at least for Christmas, we gotta have a proper party!" That made me shake my head.

"Pretty sure she's gonna be partied out. There's a lot of important stuff she's gotta go to. Stansfield parties, Protectorate-related stuff, family stuff. Busy you know?" I didn't even bother correcting her on the name. Or comment on that she only asked about Vicky, not Amy.

"Aw. Oh well, I'm sure we can manage a great party without her. Oh!" She finally noticed that something was burning behind her, quickly hurrying to take it off the burner. Rolling my eyes again, I headed over to the refrigerator to snag a bottle of water.

I still didn't get why Mom continued to try and cook. She never really got better at it, despite how religiously she watched cooking shows and read magazines. It was almost like she had a special talent for screwing up recipes. "Can you get the others dear? Dad's in the garage, and Finn's up in his room."

"Okay, Mom." It at least got me out of the kitchen for the inevitable mess she'd make trying to plate everything.

They weren't exactly hard to get. Dad was in the garage fixing up an old lawnmower. Finn was up in his room on his laptop, talking to some of his college friends online. Before long we were all sitting down around the table. Which meant that I had to answer the same questions all over again from Dad and Finn.

"Aren't heroes supposed to be like, able to fight?" Finn's question made me roll my eyes.

"She can fight. Her power's just more useful for healing. She explained it back at the party, remember?" It seemed to jog his memory a bit, as he nodded along.

"Yeah, I do. Just seems kind of… strange. Like, she's a hero. I just figured they'd all exercise on the regular." Part of my brain jumped back to the first lunch we had after exercising.

"She did cardio on the regular. Just decided that she wanted to do more, and wanted some help… And it's an excuse for us to hang out." I finally stabbed a piece of my chicken alfredo, knowing it was cool enough to eat now.

It was what I expected. Mom had gone too heavy on the garlic powder. Wasn't the worst thing she had created though. I was actually able to enjoy it, at least a bit. Unlike the Sriracha Incident.

"I for one think it's great you're getting to spend time around such a good role model." Dad chimed in, munching away happily on the food. He always enjoyed Mom's cooking, even when Mom didn't enjoy it.

"Really Dad? That's what you're thinking about?" Amy wasn't a good role model. The girl had issues, and it would take a lot of girl time to get her through them.

"Can't a dad enjoy his daughter being friends with a hero? At least I know you're safe when you're with her. This is a dangerous city! Greg got mugged today on his way home from work." I winced at that. It'd taken a moment to remember who Greg was. One of Dad's old college buddies, he'd played DnD with him back in the day.

"Is he okay?" Dad nodded, downing some of his water before responding.

"Yeah. He gave them the money he had and they ran off. He was just running to the store, so he only lost like fifty bucks." Relaxing a bit at that, dinner settled into its ordinary rhythm. Now that they'd finished with the talk about Amy. It was nice, like most of the dinners had been with Finn back. Playful teasing and ribbing back and forth.

Eventually, Finn and I finished our plates. We both pushed ourselves up, taking our plates over to the sink to wash them. It was something we'd learned to do over time. Just do them as soon as we're done, or else stuff will stack up way high. Turning to walk towards the door, Mom called out. "Oh Finn, could you stick around for a moment? I wanted to talk to you about something."

We both stopped, looking at each other for a moment. Glancing back at Mom, she gave me a small 'shoo' gesture. Finn shrugged and moved back over to the table, sitting back down.

Probably something about Christmas. It was what made sense, why she wouldn't want me around for it. Turning back towards the door, I couldn't help the mild frustration inside me. Seventeen years old, a junior in high school, and she still treated me like a kid.

Maybe if she actually got me something mature for Christmas, it wouldn't be as frustrating. I had my driver's license, so maybe a car? Not even something new and shiny, just something so I wouldn't have to take the bus or get driven around. Knowing Mom, she was making a big deal out of clothes, or maybe a bike I couldn't use. Not like this city had bike lanes.

Climbing the stairs to my room, I pushed the door open and stepped in. How much did I have to work at being mature before they finally got the message? My room reflected it. No stuffed animals, nothing coated in pink. Even took down the posters! Well, most of them. Miss Militia was still tucked away on the inside of my closet door.

No, my room was mature. Second-hand exercise equipment was neatly tucked away in a toat under my bed. Except for the exercise ball, it was in between my bed and my dresser. Decorations were a bit sparse since I took the posters down and put the stuffed animals away. Some lights around my dresser mirror. A shelf for my sports trophies, only the soccer one I was any kind of proud of. Pictures of the family, my friends, and myself scattered around. From a little redheaded gremlin running around the house to a young woman. Short red hair, athletic build, pale skin that refused to tan, and an absurd amount of freckles.

Grabbing a water bottle from its designated spot on my end table, I walked over to the plant. Sat on my windowsill so it could get as much light as the winter would allow, it was a pretty plant. It looked like a small pitcher plant if the pitchers had all the red and purple flowers. A faint sweet smell surrounded it, getting a bit stronger as I poured some water into its pot.

It wasn't that simple of course. It served two purposes. One, it dealt with pretty much any bugs that might get into my room. They found the smell irresistible. That's what I had told my parents it was for. The second purpose was to heal. A few trips to the park to eat lunch after exercising had turned out pretty fruitful. My hand went to the single white pitcher, grabbing a nearby jar. Twisting it carefully while lifting the leaf on top, a thick clear liquid spilled out of it.

It mostly reminded me of aloe gel, down to the smell. That was on purpose. Amy had said a lot of stuff I hadn't understood, getting into the science behind it. All I got was that apparently, it was just in general really good for you before she'd gone and improved it. As well as came up with this plant. No need to cut leaves off if it just produces the stuff in a natural cup.

Once I had gotten what I thought was enough, I let go. The leaf came back down, covering the top as it settled back into place. Walking over to my bed, I began the process of rubbing it onto my legs. It felt weird. Even after doing it twice before, it still felt weird. Like I was rubbing shampoo onto me. Yet it gave good results. None of the aches usually came the next day from a hard workout.

Only a quarter of a jar was left by the time I was done. There was a slight tingle in my legs. That told me it was working. Glancing over at the clock, it told me it was eight. Go downstairs now to take your vitamins and grab some water for yourself. My legs should be dry by then, so I can lay down and just scroll through my phone.

Giving myself a nod, I headed over to the door. Mom, Dad, and Finn's voices carried up the stairs. The fact they were still talking was what surprised me. What were they talking about that was taking so long? Tiptoeing down the stairs as quietly as I could, I listened. Their voices started to become legible.

"You're asking me to give up my Scholarship to fix grandpa's mistake?" That made me freeze. Trying to process what the hell he was talking about.

"You and I both know what kind of man he was. The kinds of people he'd owe money to. If we didn't think it necessary we'd have never asked." Mom's voice this time. She sounded… desperate.

"Can't you ask Aunt Zoey for help?" Finn just sounded angry. What in the world was going on?

"Zoey won't do what Alan won't agree to. That man won't do a damn thing that'll threaten his next vacation." Mom had never made her distaste for Uncle Alan unknown. It'd only gotten worse as time went on.

"We're both trying our best. I'm trying to find work, and Liam is taking extra hours. If he can't take them he's doing odd jobs. Trying to cut out whatever that's too expensive. Why do you think we ate chicken for the last month?" My hand went to my stomach. I had mentally complained when I got home. Chicken again.

"Christ, how much of a debt did the old bastard have?" Old bastard? The comment about grandpa finally clicked. There was only one person referred to that way in the house. Dad's dad. The man who I only ever met once or twice. The old Irish sailor who taught me several new curses. He was dead?

"A fortune. To the worst kind of people. We'd sell the house before we'd stay in debt to them." Dad was serious. I'd only ever heard him use that tone once or twice before. When he thought we were being tailed by muggers when out shopping.

Sell the house though… my hand ran along the banister. The house where we'd all grown up… "Do it for Wendy, Finn. She doesn't deserve to get uprooted before she graduates."

"Oh, so I deserve to lose my scholarship?" There was the sound of a chair scraping against tiles. I bolted, hurrying up the stairs as the shouting started. That wasn't something I needed to be there for. I'd heard enough.

The door slammed shut behind me. I was panting. It wasn't from the running. My fingernails dug into one of my palms. The small bit of pain helped. Turning to sit on my bed, I pressed my other hand to my head. Unpacking everything I just heard. Even as I could still hear the shouting from downstairs.

Grandpa McHarlin was dead. He had been in debt to some bad people. They now expected us to give them the money. Mom and Dad were trying their best to get the money, but it wasn't enough. They wanted Finn to quit college to help get the money. All so… they wouldn't worry me. So I wouldn't have issues in my last two years of school.

I wanted to scream. To go back down there and join their shouting match. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hit something. I was going to punch something. Just to avoid having to face my family. Still treating me like a baby. Always treating me like a baby. To keep me from thinking about how much of a shit I was.

The punching bag was in my closet. It wasn't like those you saw in movies. Just a small round bag, with a hook at the top and a weight at the bottom. It was a gift from last year's Christmas. This year I wanted a car. When we were struggling with money, I wanted a car.

Dragging it out of the closet, I set it up. Dad had helped me get the hook put into a beam in my ceiling. So there wasn't any chance of me accidentally breaking it. He got a face full of plaster, and I laughed as he sputtered to spit it out.

One hand curled into a fist, and I lashed out. There was a satisfying 'thud' as my fist connected with the bag. It wobbled in place before eventually going still. I punched again, and then again before it had a chance to settle. I had complained about eating chicken every night. Mom standing in the kitchen cooking, trying her best.

Finn had worked his ass off to get that scholarship. He got out of the city and got to go south to Boston. It wasn't MIT like he had hoped, but it was the future he wanted. They were asking him to give it up. To come back home, and get a job so that they wouldn't have to sell the house. Because they didn't want me to suffer.

A familiar burn ached in my arms, sharper pain in my knuckles as I kept on hitting the bag. They didn't want me to worry. They wanted me to be able to focus on high school. At their expense. It was stupid, it made no sense, I wasn't a fucking toddler.

I was seventeen years old! I could get a part-time job. Work to help them, so they didn't have to handle it all themselves. The track team wasn't a big deal. Soccer wasn't a big deal. Losing the damn house was a big deal!

But no, no, I was the baby. I'd always been the baby of the family. They had to take care of me. Never let me know when anything was going wrong. How long ago did Grandpa McHarlin die? They didn't tell me about it, never mentioned it. Even though we weren't even close!

What made it worse, was the fact that they were right.

My fist hit the bag again, and a sharp pain ran up my arm. Letting out a light gasp, I pulled back. What looked like an ugly bruise was starting to form across knuckles. My breath came in shallow pants. I was useless.

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. Turning to my bed, I flopped onto it. My less bruised hand fumbled for a moment to grab the jar of salve. That was at least something I could do. I could at least help Amy with her problems.

At least she didn't treat me like a kid.

A/N: Interludes are hard. College sucks. Writer's block sucks. This is a little shorter than your average chapter, but I'd rather not take another month trying to figure out how to expand this by another thousand words or so. I'd apologize for the two-month delay, but at this point, I think it's come to be expected. I figured some insight into Wendy's life and her thoughts would be interesting to read.