THE LION GATE CHAPTER TWO
724 Words
The invite didn't come in a gold-rimmed envelope, though with Janice, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was a sticky note pressed onto my locker—neon pink and smelling faintly of rosewater.
“6:00 PM. Don’t be late, Andrew-Clarken. My house doesn't like to wait.”
I spent three hours debating what to wear. My "normal" wardrobe felt suddenly offensive. I settled on a navy polo that my mom calls "handsome" and jeans that didn't have too many grass stains. When I pulled my beat-up sedan into the neighbourhood of The Heights, I felt like a stray cat wandering into a dog show.
The gates to Janice’s estate were wrought iron, topped with golden lions that seemed to judge my muffler’s rattling. When they swung open silently, I realised I was entering a different dimension.
The Glass Palace
Janice’s house wasn't just "classy"—it was intimidating. It was a sprawling structure of white stone and floor-to-ceiling glass that reflected the sunset like a giant diamond. I stood at the front door, my hand hovering over a silver knocker shaped like a peacock.
Before I could touch it, the door swung wide.
"You look like you’re waiting for a dental appointment," Janice said.
He wasn't wearing the blazer from school. Instead, he was draped in a silk robe the colour of a bruised plum, with matching trousers. His face was scrubbed clean of the silver eyeliner, which somehow made him look even more intense. Without the glitter, his eyes were sharp and observant, like he could see the ink stains on my fingers from my diary.
"Nice house," I managed to say, my voice echoing in the marble foyer. "It’s... big."
"It’s a museum," Janice corrected, turning on his heel and gesturing for me to follow. "My parents collect beautiful things so they don't have to talk to each other. Come on, I’m in the middle of a crisis."
The Disturbance in the Library
He led me past paintings that probably cost more than my parents’ entire retirement fund and into a library that smelled of old paper and beeswax. There were thousands of books, but Janice wasn't looking at any of them. He was standing in front of a vanity mirror he’d moved into the room, surrounded by dozens of glass bottles and brushes.
"The crisis?" I asked, looking around at the opulence.
"I have a gala on Friday," he said, picking up a gold tube of lipstick and staring at it with a frown. "My father wants me to wear a black tie and a 'normal' face. He thinks if I blend in, the investors will trust his bloodline more."
He turned to me, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "You’re the expert on being normal, Andrew. Tell me... does it feel like a cage, or does it feel like a blanket?"
I stood there, paralysed. I thought about my beige living room, my blue sweaters, and the diary hidden under my floorboards.
"It feels like a hiding spot," I admitted quietly.
Janice stepped closer. The "disturbing" energy he had at school was gone, replaced by something heavy and real. He reached out and touched the collar of my navy polo.
"Well," he whispered, a small, mischievous spark returning to his eyes. "I think it’s time we find you a better place to hide. Or better yet... a reason to stop hiding altogether."
He grabbed a brush and dipped it into a pot of shimmering gold dust.
"Sit down, Andrew-Clarken. If I have to endure a 'classy' gala, I’m not doing it without a little bit of trouble by my side."
The Diary Entry (Late Night)
I’m back in my room now. The house is silent. My parents are asleep, and the 6:00 PM dinner is long over. I looked in the mirror before I washed my face. There was a tiny, almost invisible fleck of gold glitter trapped in my eyebrow. Janice put it there. He called it a 'mark of rebellion.'
My heart hasn't stopped racing. I went there to see how the 'rich kids' live, but I left feeling like the truly poor one. He has everything, yet he’s fighting for the one thing I take for granted: the right to be himself.
I think Chapter 2 of this diary needs a new title. Not 'The Disturbance,' but 'The Awakening.'
- Writer
