Where we left of in our last installment of TAoSS, Ben was being creamed at chess and we got the first appearance our favorite gum-chewing spitfire soccer player, Angelina (but don't call her that unless you want to be castrated, Ben)!

----- 

For some people, Halloween was filled with family traditions, things they did every year— Visiting a pumpkin patch, baking pie, going to a particular haunted house, et cetera, et cetera. There was only so much a person could take.

Halloween wasn’t a holiday Theo Brent was particularly against, but she’d never seen much purpose in it, nor was it one her family had ever observed.

Come to think of it, they weren’t big on celebrations in general. The who-knows-how-old fake fir tree came out every December, but that was just about it.

This would be perfectly fine with her, but then, of course, there was Jared.

Her cousin, who was excellent at guilt-tripping Theo into doing Normal Holiday Things, which she usually ended up ruining. She was fairly sure his insistence was more out of familial kindness than actually wanting her to come, especially since that disastrous Thanksgiving dinner three years ago.

And so, it Theo easily made up her mind about a certain Halloween party that her cousin was trying— once again —to wheedle her into attending.

>> Jared

Are you 100% sure you don’t want to come?

>> Theo

ughhhh haven’t you bugged me enough about this

the answer’s still no btw. halloween parties are dumb

>> Jared

Hey, just checking. It’d be fun.

>> Theo

besides, your friends don’t like me

correction - i don’t like your friends

>> Jared

Okay, that’s a fair point.

Ben and Angie can be sort of intense.

>> Theo

understatement of the century

look, i appreciate the effort but i wouldn’t know anyone

it’d be sad and lonely

>> Jared

Alright. Have it your way.

Finally, peace. Theo sighed and tossed her phone across her bedroom, where it landed neatly on the faded blue armchair.

Why was she the only one who seemed get annoyed at how stubborn Jared was sometimes? Ben and Angie would be her best bets for noticing— However, the former saw Jared only through rose-colored glasses and Angie was so obstinate even Theo had to admit her cousin was compliant in comparison.

Their merry little trio was positively exhausting to put up with.

Besides, Theo had things to do. It’d be nice to catch up on some homework, or do some brainstorming for that Sculpture and Modeling project. The girl she was working with— Adrienne, but then again Theo never called her that — was nice enough, and had great ideas, even if she could be quite bossy sometimes.

Their idea-throwing sessions were infuriating. When Adri made a good point, she’d smirk as if she knew everything about everything and toss her blonde waves, letting them ripple neatly around her shoulders like annoying cheerleaders do in movies.

Both knew they were behind compared to the rest of the class. Most of the others were making headway on the building, and all but them had at least one solid concept.

And so, each time they had S&M, Theo would find herself lying back on multiple chairs like it was a chaise lounge and watching Adri, sitting perched on the edge of the table, nibble anxiously on the end of her pencil.

They tossed around thoughts like their lives were in danger but nothing ever came out of it, save for a few terrible-but-plausible conceptions that Theo labeled, “Plan Z”.

Adri became increasingly more short-tempered at each class that went by, and Theo quickly grew tired of trying.

“Why won’t you help?” Adri sighed the last meeting, folding her arms in exasperation.

“There’s nothing to help with,” Theo said. It came out a little more condescending than she had intended, but she was frustrated and it felt good. “What’s the point of all this? We’re not getting anywhere. All of these ideas are terrible.”

“Fine,” Adri snapped. “You can sit and daydream or whatever you like, but I am going to do this project and I am going to do it well.”

Then she promptly burst into tears, chucked her notebook at the wall (it landed in a bucket of ceramic slip, but Theo thought that at this point Adri wouldn’t care very much), and ran from the room.

Theo hadn’t talked to her since then.

Oops.

Later, Theo saw Adrienne in the hallway, eyes slightly red rimmed and pointedly not looking at her. Theo felt kind of bad, but then again, she had never been good at apologies. So she settled for avoiding Adri right back.

Which, of course, was a terrible strategy on both their parts, practically guaranteeing them both a failing grade in S&M. However, it was the easiest one, and Theo tended to prefer the simple routes unless totally necessary.

----

Next installment - We meet Theo's mom, and Jack complains about fabric bats.

In our last installment of TAoSS, Theo was annoyed at everything, specifically, Halloween, Jared, and Adrienne.

I'm going on vacation for the next week-ish, so have a long one while I'm gone. :)

-----  

Back in reality, there was a knock on the door to her room.

“What?” Theo called.

“Can I come in?”

Mom. Theo didn’t answer.

“Theo.”

Theo sighed. “Sure, mom.” The door opened, and her mother stepped over the threshold but didn’t move any farther in. These days, she was in a perpetual state of annoyance, usually directed at Theo, who could never seem to do anything right.

Theo liked her room, its careful simplicity, but under the scrutinizing gaze of mom, she suddenly noticed the messy piles of papers and the t-shirt hanging off the back of her dresser and inwardly cringed. Mom didn’t say anything, but Theo could feel the judgement radiating off of her in waves.

“Any plans for Halloween?” Mom asked, not moving from her spot in the doorway.

Theo shrugged. “Not really. I have homework.” (She didn’t.)

“Oh,” came the reply.

Silence, long and awkward. Please leave, please leave, Theo silently pleaded. She knew mom was waiting for her to say something, anything, break the crushing quiet, but her mind had run dry and she couldn’t think of anything. Mom fiddled with a black curl had come undone from her messy braid.

“Your hair is getting very long,” Mom said eventually.

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

Mom gave her a look that implied many unspoken things. “I suppose.”

“I have homework,” Theo repeated, parrot-like. (She could start writing something on the Revolutionary War, add a couple lines if mom or dad came in again.)

“All right, then. Make us proud, Theodore.”

Mom turned to go, and Theo almost yelled, “That’s not my name,” at her, but held it in. The door closed with a soft click.

Theo sometimes wanted to change her name altogether, to something frilly and unquestionably feminine like Elizabeth or Jane, just so she could stop explaining that she wasn’t a boy, and she wasn’t Theodore, not anymore (had she ever been?).

But usually, she was okay with being Theodora. Her parents consented to call her Theo (at least most of the time), and it was good enough, it had to be, even if she knew they still thought of it as a nickname for Theodore.

She had to tread carefully (be still, take it lying down, pretend it doesn’t matter), but it was what it was: a fact of her life. Sure, she didn’t like it, but some things couldn’t be helped, and she was skilled enough at keeping her mouth shut that she got by.

Sometimes, though, she stared at herself in the mirror, at the line of her jaw that looked a little too boyish or the obviously curveless way her shirts hung around her frame, and wondered, “Why me?”

20 -

It was only four forty-five, and Jack was already exhausted. Mo had disappeared fifteen minutes or so earlier up into her room (presumably, to change into her costume). Dad had made an appearance at about noon, sauntering into the kitchen looking perfectly put together, and was now peering around the house and criticizing the decorations.

“Why do we have the fabric bats up here, Jackson? Nobody will ever see them,” Dad called from a few rooms over.

Jack would’ve thrown up his hands in exasperation had he not been wearing oven mitts and carrying a very hot pan of cupcakes. Literally nobody would care about the stupid bats, or the fact that one of the light-up pumpkins had a hole on the side. People came to Halloween parties to have fun, not to judge. There was no reason to put up appearances.

Dad really needed to stop being so obsessed with how others might see him.

“Fix them if you want,” Jack yelled back. “I’m busy.”

“Fine, where’s the stepstool?”

“The guest bathroom!”

Shouldn’t the guy who owned the stepstool and the entire contents of the house know where it was? Jack wasn’t his mom. He wasn’t Rachel or Moriah or Luke’s mom. He was fourteen. Mom was in Big Bear, probably relaxing on her huge, squishy couch and not worrying about whether Dad would notice that the tablecloth was slightly frayed on one end.

The phone chose that moment to ring in a chorus of shrill vibrations. With a groan, Jack set down the cupcakes on the counter and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Jack! Happy Halloween! How are you, honey?”

Speaking of which.

“Hi, mom,” Jack said. “I’m okay. We’re getting ready for the Halloween party.”

He thought he could hear Dad somewhere behind him, listening like he thought Jack couldn’t tell. (It irritated Jack— he wasn’t a criminal, wasn’t a loaded gun.)

“Ah,” Mom sighed, consoling, over the background shuffle of papers Jack could just detect. “Is Thomas still making a huge deal over it all?” The exasperated twinge on her voice was just so satisfying, and Jack wanted to shout, Yes, yes, he is and I’m sick of it, can I please go run away and live with you forever.

But that was one of the things he knew he could never say, and Dad was there and Jack wasn’t that honest of a person. And Mom was the one that left, ran away and left Jack behind to pick up the pieces because no one else tried.

So instead, he said, “It’s not really that bad.”

“Mmm,” hummed Mom, and it sure didn’t seem like she was done but stopped anyway.

Dad’s hand found its way to Jack’s shoulder. He was scarcely applying pressure, yet Jack still felt the overwhelming desire to squirm away. “Jackson, the guests are arriving in less than fifteen minutes.”

Jack sighed. “Right.” He reiterated the message to Mom, said goodbye, promised to call again soon and hung up.

“So,” Dad said, “Let’s get back to work.”

Jack nodded and tried to appear enthusiastic. He was sloppily frosting the last batch of cupcakes (people were just going to eat them, why did it matter if they looked good or not), when Moriah popped up from behind counter out of nowhere, scaring him half to death.

“Ah!”

She smirked impishly at him, which was a disturbing contrast to her innocent, doe-eyed costume as the woodland creature itself. “How’s it going, bro?”

“This is stupid,” Jack said. “The actual event hasn’t even started and I already want to go back upstairs and sleep.”

----

Next time on TAoSS, Jack spaces out a lot, Moriah is... well, a sixth grader, Adrienne arrives, and everyone is confused.

Top!

I like learning something new about Theo!

i am the toooooppping ghost!

This is really great! And Abigail S. I really agree with you. I know that this is a weird metaphor, but telling somebody that they can't be with who they want or marry who they want because it goes against your religion is like telling someone that they can't have a cookie because you're on a diet. I just thought that that example might be more relatable. I don't want to offend anyone, but I need to voice my opinion.

Omigosh! You are an amazing writer. So descriptive. I really feel for the characters. Can't wait for the next section!

Top! Don't stop! This story!

Mo gave him a sympathetic look, adjusting her antlers, which were attached to the same headband as the triangle ears she had meticulously cut out from a sheet of felt a week or so prior. “You’ll live,” she reassured him.

“Very comforting,” Jack grumbled. She only reached over and patted his curls.

A moment of relative silence, punctuated only by Jack’s angry muttering when he spurted frosting all over his hand.

“Know what,” Mo decided, snatching the cupcake tin from him so abruptly that all his hard work almost spilled out onto the counter, “I’ll finish these. You go change.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Wow, thanks. Very generous of you.”

Moriah laughed. “Don’t get used to it. ”

Jack saluted and dashed up the stairs two at a time.

“I will never work in a bakery when I’m older,” Mo announced huffily when he returned. She was standing on tiptoe to wash her hands in the kitchen sink; the cakes were positioned neatly on a plate, and most were at least a little lopsided.

“Gold star for effort,” Jack offered helpfully, leaning over to shove the piping bags back into a drawer. The lack of perfection was strangely satisfying among the pristine organization of the lowest floor, at any rate.

The doorbell rang, three cheerful chimes in an descending scale, directly followed by footsteps— Dad’s, evidently, since he then shouted from the general direction of the foyer, “Moriah! Your friend is here!”

Mo jumped up and dashed down the hallway, slipping in her brown ballet flats. “I’m coming, Dad!”

Jack had started to sneak upstairs and kill some time when Dad reappeared (it was almost as if he could teleport— he popped up in the most inconvenient places).

“Jack, why don’t you stay down here and be social?”

“Sure. Sorry.”

(Darn.)

“We don’t go to all this trouble for nothing, right?”

“Right.”

Dad poofed out of sight again and Jack wandered into the living room and settled himself onto the couch. Moriah and her friend (a girl with caramel-colored hair and a breathy voice— Jack couldn’t remember her name) were stretched out in the center of the carpet, heads bowed together and giggling furiously.

Jack picked up a publication from the sideboard and flipped mindlessly through the pages without actually registering anything that was printed onto the glossy pages.

“How do you like that magazine?” Moriah asked from her spot on the floor.

“Uh, fine,” Jack said, blinking at her.

“I think,” she continued, reaching over to cover the other girl’s mouth with the back of her hand, “That it would be much more interesting if it wasn’t upside down.”

Jack peeked around the cover of the book, realized she was right, flipped it over, and resumed his un-reading.

The two sixth graders appeared to find this perfectly hilarious.

Some amount of time passed— maybe ten minutes, maybe less, in which several more people arrived, and a group of Luke’s preschool friends began a very loud game of tag.

The bell chimed again, and this time Dad hollered, “Jaaack!”

Jack tossed the magazine back onto the table and, with a sigh, started the customary trudge into the foyer.

“Ah, there he is,” Dad said when he entered.

“Bonjour!” Adrienne chirped, giving him an enthusiastic wave. She appeared to be dressed up as a cat, with an ear-adorned headband, a slightly too-large black sweater that fell loosely around her shoulders, and jeans, ripped at the knees, of the same dark shade.

He nearly grabbed her and shoved her down the hallway until the corner turned and they were out of Dad’s line of sight.

“Thank goodness,” Jack said. “I thought you were going to be someone else.”

Adri rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the welcome.”

“Sorry,” He shrugged. “Just a little paranoid.”

Adri gave him a sideways look. “All right. I like your shirt, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

The shirt, in fact, had been a sort of lazy attempt in coordinating costumes with Mo. He’d bought a white t-shirt at a craft store and drawn on it a forest scene in markers, which wrapped all the way around the fabric.

It wasn’t the most elaborate thing he’d ever done, and several of the trees had branches that looked rather like sausages, but all things considered, it turned out fine. Still, he much preferred paper. And being able to erase.

Adri poked his shoulder. “Ground control to Jack, are you there?”

Jack blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Yup. Spaced out, sorry.”

“Just checking.”

“By the way,” Jack said, “The expression would usually be ‘Earth to Jack’, not, um, ground control.”

“Pah. Whatever.”

YESSSS THERE IS MORE!!!! This is so good, Abi! Keep on writing it! (By the way, thank you for explaining what TAoSS meant on another thread, I wasn't sure what it was...) 

-Nianad  

“I knew your mom in high school.”

“You’ve told me this before.”

Sarah sighed, tapped her long, pink-painted fingers on the steering wheel. “Not all of it.”

Alex stared moodily out of the dusty, streaked car window, letting his eyes unfocus so the red and gold lights of the streets outside melded into a blurry glow. When he didn’t respond, Sarah continued.

“I knew your mom in high school,” Sarah repeated, slow, as if the words left a funny taste on her tongue. “That’s all that was ever said, as far as I know. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Alex paused. “I didn’t know there was more.”

“Do you want to hear about it?”

The question, flat out. Alex appreciated that. Sarah knew he didn’t like to dance around things, liked being able to choose.

Part of him did want to, find out more about who Mum was before she became Mum, who she was besides his mother. He wanted to know what things she did and liked and loved, understand what it was that Grandpa kept locked up in the leather-bound photo albums on the highest shelf in the stifling flat.

Things he would never know and liked to wonder about. It made him realize how little he knew. He kicked himself sometimes for not asking when he’d had the chance.

Sarah might know.

Tempting.

Still.

Something about the way Sarah gazed at the windshield, straight on, steely-eyed, said, This isn’t simple. Alex wasn’t in the mood for complexities.

“Later,” He said finally. “Not today. Not now.”

Sarah almost looked relieved. “Okay.”

What a funny word. Okay. They could be okay, if they tried hard enough. Okay.

Alex blew on the window and traced haphazard smiley faces into them with his index finger. Sarah turned on the radio and hummed bemusedly along to the Top 40 filtering through the speakers. The quiet was tangible, yet comfortable.

Several kids hurried by on the sidewalks, carrying plastic pumpkin-shaped bags in one hand and holding their various costume pieces onto their heads as they ran gleefully against the wind, trailed by exasperated adults.

They stopped at a red light. Sarah coughed. “Remember,” she said, “You have my phone number if you need anything or want to go home.”

“I know, I know,” Alex said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I believe you.”

Seven streets forward, two blocks left and three houses down, Angie was balancing on a slender brick wall, shuffling across with utmost care.

“Y’know, it would be quicker to walk on the sidewalk like a normal person,” Jared said, clearly amused.

“Nope,” Angie huffed, holding up a single finger to shush him, almost falling off one side and into a particularly thorny rosebush. “Coordination is an important skill.”

She straightened up once again. “Besides, we’ve got, like, four houses before we arrive and this thing only goes on for one more yard.”

“Leh heh haf heh fa,” Ben said.

“What?” Jared asked, squinting at him.

Ben rolled his eyes, held his hand out in front of his mouth, and spit out a pair of cheap plastic vampire fangs into his palm.

“Gross,” Jared said, scrunching up his nose at the display. “You should carry a handkerchief for when you need to do that.”

“I said, let her have her fun,” Ben sighed. “These things are hell to talk in. I’d get rid of them, but then I’m just a guy in a cape and that’s weird.”

He popped them back in. “Blergh,” he mumbled thickly. Jared gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

Angie continued in her deliberate steps, one foot in front of the other, arms out to the sides like an airplane.

Ben and Jared exchanged looks. “You look ridiculous,” Jared said.

“So what?” Angie shrugged, reaching the end of the wall and hopping off, landing neatly on two feet. “Ridiculous is the new awesome.”

Ben recognized Jack’s house when it came into view. It had remained mostly the same since the many times he’d been over in elementary school, smooth, sandy-colored stone and arched iron-wrought windows. There were couple changes, though, and he noted them— The tiny, wilting, tangerine tree that used to stand sentry by the front gate was gone, replaced with a row of lilac bushes, and the door had been repainted from its former red hue. It was now a sad sort of grey, which in Ben’s opinion was a supreme downgrade.

Angie checked the address which she had scribbled on the back of her hand. “Yeah, this is the right one.”

Ben could’ve told her that. He started to say something but found his lips were virtually glued together by the plastic fangs. It was probably for the better. He tended to get himself into trouble when his mouth could move at the same speed at his brain.