Chapter 6: Grounded, But Still in Danger
821 Words
Lee Arden Santos, hero of the mud streets and accidental survivor of mafia encounters, lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling.
He was grounded.
One week.
A full seven days of exile to his room.
No alley adventures.
No sneaking out.
No milk tea heroics.
“Mom,” Arden muttered to the ceiling, “you think this will stop me? I am Arden. I survive. I thrive. I. strategize.”
His mother's voice carried faintly from the kitchen: "Strategize all you want, Arden. Grounded means grounded. And no milk tea in your room!"
Arden groaned. "The audacity. The injustice. The barbarism."
He rolled onto his side, staring at the pile of laundry he'd been meaning to fold for… months. Maybe years.
The mud-stained clothes from last night sat like trophies of his bravery-or stupidity.
He poked one with a toe. "You were part of my escape plan," he whispered. "A valiant sacrifice. I will never forget you."
But soon enough, Arden's attention wandered to his phone. Surely his friends would realize the gravity of his heroism. Surely someone would come check in on him. Surely…
Nothing. Silence.
Typical.
He let out a melodramatic sigh and collapsed onto the bed. "Fine. I shall plot my next move… from here. Strategically."
Step one: surveillance. Arden pulled open his window, peering out into the quiet street below. The alley-the alley-was dark and foreboding. Peaceful. Too peaceful. He squinted. Wait… what was that?
A shadow flickered. Arden froze, milk tea long forgotten, because yes, he had snuck one in anyway. The shadow moved closer. Slowly. Menacingly.
Arden's brain kicked into high gear. Not again. No. Please, universe, no!
He ducked behind his curtains, heart hammering, and peered through the fabric.
It was… a cat. A really big, really fluffy, really judgmental cat.
Arden exhaled. "False alarm. Threat level: minimal. But still… suspicious."
He sank back into his bed, mumbling plans to fortify his room. Books as barricades. Pencils as alarms.
A strategically placed water bottle to trip intruders. His mom would probably lecture him on fire hazards if she knew, but Arden was prepared for anything. Anything… except sleep.
Because sleep was for the weak. And Arden? Arden was vigilant.
Two hours later, just as he was patting himself on the back for excellent fortification strategy, Arden's door creaked. Slowly. Creak. Creak.
“Who’s there?!” he whispered, yanking his blanket up over his head.
A little, muffled voice came from the doorway. “Arden? Mom says it's bedtime…”
Relief washed over him. It was his little sister, Mara. She peered inside, flashlight in hand. “Are you okay?”
Arden peered from under the blanket. “Fine. Fine. The mafia, the mud, the milk tea… survived. Barely. Heroic. Legendary. All of the above.”
Mara blinked. "Uh… sure. Can I have some of your snacks?"
Arden considered this. Snacks were precious. Snacks were survival tools. But he was generous-sort of. "Fine. One chocolate bar. But only if you promise not to tell Mom I snuck milk tea in."
She smiled and tiptoed off. Arden breathed, triumphant.
That victory was brief. Because the faintest click echoed from the window. Arden froze again.
“Not… now… universe… please…, he whispered.
He peered behind the curtain, and out in the yard, a figure crouched in the shadows. Tall. Handsome. Dangerous. The mafia leader.
Arden's eyes went wide. "Oh no. Not again. I am NOT prepared. I am still muddy. I am still grounded. I… I forgot my tactical pen!"
The man spoke softly, no more than a whisper in the wind. "Interesting."
Arden shrieked, diving under the blanket like it was a magical force field. "No. No. No. I survived the alley, I survived the mud, I survived milk tea betrayal… and I will survive my room! I WILL SURVIVE!"
The next morning, Arden awoke to his mother standing over him with a glare sharper than any sword.
"Lee Arden Santos," she said, hands on hips. "Apparently, being grounded is… not enough. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Again."
Arden blinked innocently. "Grounded… is… a concept… that exists in theory. In practice, one must… survive… you know, real-life threats. Mafia, mud, milk tea…"
Mother groaned. "I don't even want to hear it. You're grounded for another week. And no more milk tea in your room. Ever."
Arden sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. "Fine. But someday… someday my bravery will be recognized. My milk tea will be remembered. And the alley… the alley shall remain legend."
Mara looked in again. “Can I see the legend?” Arden smiled weakly. "Legend… yes. But carefully. Very carefully. It's… muddy." And with Arden sinking back into his bed, plotting strategies, fortifications, and heroic milk-tea maneuvers, he knew one thing: being grounded did not mean safe.
It only meant that the next adventure was already brewing… somewhere in the shadows of his otherwise boring room.
- Writer
