Our silent symphony

CHAPTER FIVE

Saturday mornings were supposed to feel light, right? Sunshine, lazy music, family chatter. Mine was just… empty. Mom and Dad were gone—work, errands, whatever. Dominique was in her usual “don’t-talk-to-me-unless-you’re a mirror” mood. I’d barely gotten out a “good morning” before she grabbed a soda and vanished like I didn’t exist. Typical.

After I finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes (because apparently I’m the official house elf), I decided I wasn’t about to waste my weekend sulking. So, I grabbed my bag and walked over to Bert’s place.

His mom opened the door, her smile instantly warmer than anything I’d gotten all week. “Gwen! You’re here early. Bert’s downstairs in the basement.” She lowered her voice with this conspiratorial grin. “If you can get him to finally arrange that mess, I’d owe you forever.”

I laughed, already picturing the disaster zone I was about to walk into. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I made my way down the narrow basement steps, and sure enough—there he was. Bert Greenwood, in all his chaotic glory, sitting in the middle of boxes, sports gear, and random junk that looked like it dated back to the dinosaur era.

The smell hit me first. Not bad-bad, but that mix of dust, old sneakers, and… something that might’ve been pizza once upon a time.

Bert sat cross-legged on the floor, a basketball under one arm and a comic book in the other, like the mess around him was just background art in his personal man cave.

“Please tell me you didn’t call this ‘organizing,’” I said, tiptoeing over an army of mismatched shoes.

He looked up, grin stretching wide. “Plushie! What are you doing here?”

“I live here now,” I shot back, brushing cobwebs off the stair rail. “Your mom sent me down. Translation: I’m supposed to trick you into cleaning this disaster zone.”

He held up the comic book like a trophy. “I am cleaning. I found this.”

I snorted. “Yeah, because every good cleaner knows the first step is sitting in the middle of the mess and doing nothing.”

He stood, towering over me with that mock-serious expression he loved to wear. “Okay, fine. Since you’re clearly the basement police, tell me where I should start.”

I picked up an old cap from the floor, blowing off the dust. “Maybe start by throwing away anything that looks like it’s old enough to vote.”

“Harsh,” he said, taking the cap from me and plopping it on his head sideways. “This is vintage.”

“Sure,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Vintage trash.”

He gasped like I’d insulted his firstborn. “You wound me, Gwen. You really do.”

We got to work—well, kind of. He tossed things into random boxes, and I followed behind, fixing what he messed up. Halfway through, I pulled out a shoebox buried under some blankets.

“Uh, Bert,” I said, holding it up. “This looks… suspicious.”

His eyes widened. “Don’t open that.”

Naturally, I popped the lid. Inside were a bunch of old Polaroids—us as kids, covered in mud from one of our “science experiments,” the time he dressed up as a wizard and made me his sidekick, even that embarrassing picture of me at seven with paint smeared across my cheeks like war paint.

I grinned. “Oh my gosh. These are gold.”

He groaned, snatching the box. “Confiscated. Forever.”

I leaned closer, smirking. “Bert Greenwood, embarrassed? Wow. Historic moment.”

He shoved the box back into a shelf, muttering, “Some things are better left in the vault.”

We kept going until the basement actually started looking like… well, not a landfill. I plopped down on one of the now-clear crates, wiping sweat off my forehead.

“Mission accomplished,” I declared. “Basement: 70% less tragic.”

He dropped beside me, stretching his long legs out. “I’d call that a win.” Then, side-eyeing me with that mischievous grin: “You know, you make a pretty good cleaning partner.”

I nudged his arm. “And you make a pretty terrible one. But you’re lucky I like you.”

His smile softened, just for a second, before he ruffled my hair. “Yeah, plushie. Lucky me.”