The Bad Crowd

Chapter 5 - About to Pop

I didn't so much wake up as appear, listening to the tick of yet another wall clock I didn't own. I rolled to my side, thinking I was going to have to talk to someone about abolishing the use of clocks entirely. Of course, if I did that, then I wouldn't have known that it was about two, as the bedside alarm's digital display so helpfully informed me.

I groaned, rolling back over, and resigned myself to missing school today. There was no saving it, so may as well just let Mom think I was sick.

My stomach swam.

My brain felt thick and rubbery.

My eyes hurt.

Maybe that wasn't super far off, actually. I certainly felt sick.

I rubbed at my face, staring at the wet spot on my hand in uncomprehending wonder.

Was I... crying? Why?

I rolled onto my side, fighting to focus on the alarm clock next to my bed.

2:34.

I'd missed the bus. I'd missed school entirely, actually. Why hadn't my mother woken me up? Did it have something to do with why I was crying?

Yes.

It did.

My brain kicked in enough to whisper that my mother wasn't going to be waking me up for school anymore. Nobody was. Who would make a kid whose mother was in the hospital go to school?

Hospital.

Right.

I slowly sat up, reality still lagging behind, or maybe my brain just hadn't decided whether to scream until the world was right again or not. For the moment, something felt... moved. It took me a while to figure out what, but as I looked over the room, I noticed a few things.

My gameboy had been moved to the vanity, the key on its dark screen. My bag had been folded and stored under the wardrobe. A wicker basket sat in the space between the wardrobe and the wall.

Why did I even need to get up?

What was the point?

No. "No." I said it out loud, my own voice startling me with how rough it sounded, and stood up. No giving up.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in the bathroom with an arm-full of clothes, faced with the strangeness of showering in someone else's house.

“But mom, his soaps are weird!”

“I know. Hmm… I know! Here, do you want to use some of mine? Then, if you get scared, you can smell your hair, and it’ll be like I’m there to give you a big hug.”

“… Okay.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, my brave boy. You’ll feel so silly once you start having fun and forget all about me.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m not gonna forget!”

The shelf along the back of the shower was full of travel bottles of soaps and shampoos.

Other kids?

Something about that got to me. The idea of being reduced to a small bottle of white cream in someone's shower. It wasn't right. I didn't know if they liked music, or video games. I didn't know if they ever went home, or if they'd ever had one to begin with.

None of the bottles smelled like her.

That would be the first thing I asked Marsha for.

It wasn't long before I was headed back downstairs, trying very hard to think about nothing in particular. I was, in fact, so focused on thinking of nothing that the sound of a voice sent a jolt of surprise through my body. I was getting tired of being startled by everything.

"Hello, Eric. Good to see you up! I was starting to think you'd joined the night watch after all." Marsha smiled up at me from behind a cup of coffee, her eyes still ringed with tired.

It took me a second to process what she'd said enough to respond. "Um... Morning. About that,"

She leaned forward, concern pulling at her brows, and I almost backed out of the question entirely.

"Are you gonna tell me what last night was all about?" I sat down, but Marsha was already up and moving before I could finish speaking.

"Oh, it's nothing, Mira just likes to make an impression."

She was bad at lying.

I let it go, making a mental note to ask Mira about it later, and just said "Are you sure? She made it sound like something was going to happen."

"Oh, no, no, that girl is..." Marsha leaned towards me like she was about to share a secret, "Well, you see, she's been through some things. She's a bit dramatic, you know."

And then there was a plate in front of me. Marsha smiled and straightened, rubbing her hands on a small towel with a chicken embroidered onto it.

"Thank you," I said automatically, not even registering the triangle-cut sandwich until after I'd said it. "She's a little freaky."

Marsha nodded, "Oh, I understand, Eric, I do. I promise, though, she means no harm. She was, well she was brought up just a little differently from you and me. Her parents were very eccentric people, so she thinks of things a little differently."

"Were?" I covered my mouth with the back of my hand, peanut butter preventing me from elaborating on that question.

Marsha got me a glass of milk before sitting back down with her own sandwich. "Oh, no they're not dead or anything, heavens no. They're very much alive, don't worry. They just don't have a lot of time for a child. See, they travel a lot and they thought it would be better for her to live somewhere just a tiny bit more stable."

"They just... left her here?" My brain rebelled against the thought, on principle. No matter how weird life had been with my mom, I fully believed that she had never for a single moment considered giving me up just so she could go joyriding around the world. I barely knew Mira, but I wanted to punch her parents.

"Well, yes." Marsha cleared her throat and leaned forward, putting a warm hand on mine. "Eric, that's not uncommon. Unfortunately, for the kids I've met, it seems to be a very normal thing. I started taking them in, I became a foster mom, because I wanted these kids to have somewhere good to go."

"Will she ever go back with her parents?"

Marsha sighed and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. "It's possible, though I think she'll be ready to head out on her own before that happens. Now, there's nothing saying she can't root them out, so maybe she will."

I frowned at my milk, not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Please try to get along with her, Eric. I think she needs a friend, and I think you do too."