Young Writers Society

Take a Look at the Five and Ten

I sleep better than I have in weeks. My dreams aren't as pleasant as I would've liked, but they aren't unbearable. When I wake up, I feel more rested than I have for a long time. Unfortunately, I do wake up much earlier than Genevieve and Aspen deem reasonable... well, something has to go wrong, right?

Presently, I sit up and rub my eyes. Genevieve stirs restlessly beside me. She's a light sleeper, and she buries her face in the pillow with a low moan, which I take as my cue to leave. I try to slip out of bed as agilely as possible, but when you're rounder than a Christmas ornament and the floor is covered with sleeping Aspen, this isn't an easy task. My dramatic friend tends to star-fish when he sleeps, so we usually put him on an air-mattress and pray heavily for Zeke, who has to bed with him. Luckily, when Aspen is out, he is out, and he doesn't move when I almost step on him in my effort to get out of the bedroom.

I slip out the door, wincing as it creaks, my heart rate nearly doubling. As I will the stairs not to creak as well, there's a muffled, "Savannah?" from the living room.

"Not Savannah---Molly," I reply, ending the treacherous staircase and landing safely in the living room. Zeke sits on the couch, "Hercule Poirot's Christmas" tucked under his arm.

"Noelle's?" I ask. Zeke nods. Noelle has a thing for murder mysteries. She converted Zeke just before he left---

One Year Ago

11:00 pm

"Psst---anyone awake in here?"

Esther and I both sit up, see each other, jump, and settle back into our skins again. Noelle shimmies in through the doorway of my bedroom, being careful not to creak it. She smiles, the freckles that powder the bridge of her nose wrinkling. Noelle and I look sort of similar, I guess. Our hair is both brown and curly, although hers falls in long waves while mine forms ringlets that bounce around my face and shoulders. We both have brown eyes and freckles (my freckles are a bit more plentiful, though, seeing as they happen to cover my entire body with a fine spray). She's curvy, and I'm small and a lot chubbier. Presently, her computer is tucked underneath her arm, and she flops onto my bed, beckoning to Esther, who comes, cautiously.

"You guys have to watch this with me," she whispers, opening the computer. "It's called 'A Mysterious Affair at Styles,' and it's amazing."

My eyes lock with Esther's. "I don't know."

"Just try it, pleeeease! You don't have to watch any more if you don't want to. I know you'll like it---especially you, Es."

"Fine."

We try it. We watch through the whole thing, and when we stop, it's midnight, but, just like Noelle predicted, Esther loves it, so we watch more... and more, and more, and more. Pretty soon, we hear the burners pop-Pop-POP!-ing downstairs, and know that Mom's making breakfast. Noelle starts to close the computer, but Esther puts a hand on her arm, and my sister smiles. We finish the mystery we're on before trudging downstairs, bleary-eyed and yawning. Sleepovers between us are common, seeing as the Rabinowitz family lives right across the street.

"What have you guys been up to?" asks Mom, laughing at us as we stumble into our seats at the breakfast table.

"Sleeping," Noelle answers, and we all smile.

Present Day

I go and sit next to Zeke, resting my head on his shoulder. We don't say anything. We're good at that---just sitting there, enjoying each others' company without having to talk. We can stretch out time this way. Genevieve and Aspen are all GO, GO, GO, but Zeke and I are fine with taking life slowly. We don't have to be doing all the time for us to make the most of our time. It's what Aspen and Genevieve don't understand. We can make memories just sitting there---different kinds of memories. Quiet ones. Loud, adventurous ones are fun, too, but I think lots of people forget about how comforting quiet memories can be. I'm a watcher, and, for the most part, so is Zeke. We laugh at what Aspen and Genevieve get up to, and, lots of times, we join in, but, often, it's nicer just to observe, to absorb the atmosphere. I love it when I get to cook when they're over---I get to do my favorite thing with all my favorite people bouncing around the kitchen. The town around us might be unforgiving about who we are (my queasy stomach and weak knees, Aspen's love of skirts, Zeke's new name and new identity, Genevieve's birth-marked body). but nothing can touch us when we're together, or, at least, it's more difficult. This year---ever since they left, since their families moved them to places that didn't spit at their feet---it's been the hardest year of my life. This feels like a dream, having all of them back, and I know it's not a dream I want to leave.

pop-Pop-POP! go the burners.

"Hi, Mom," I say, breaking the silence.

"Hey, honey." Mom comes into the living room and flicks the heater on. The familiar rattly sound warms me before the room even starts heating up. Zeke puts his book in his lap, and mom comes over to peek at it. "Which one are you on now, Zeke?"

"Hercule Poirot's Christmas," he says, his face lighting up. "Basically, this really mean old man has tons of kids who all hate him, and he invites them and their spouses to spend Christmas at his estate. A 'family Christmas,' he says, 'all my children around me.' The thing is, the only reason he wanted them there was so he could rile them up and watch them get angry, 'cause that's what he enjoys. Later, he's found---"

"MURDERED!" I swear, my whole body jerks when my sister's voice comes out of nowhere. I shrink back into Zeke and try to let my heart-rate settle back down to normal.

Noelle jumps down from the second to last step of the staircase, making the dishes rattle. "It's one of my favorites."

"Noelle," Mom clucks, sitting on the other side of Zeke. "Don't yell, you'll wake up the princesses."

It's too late. "Noeeeeee-elllllllle!" Aspen's falsetto, sing-song voice announces his presence as he bounds down the stairs. On the bottom step, he throws open his arms before sweeping a hand dramatically across his forehead. "Oh, alas! I have been seized by a vicious witch---Genevieve the Fearsome! I await a noble champion who shall come and rescue me from this terrible fate!"

Noelle kneels before Aspen, who flutters his eyelashes, making Zeke and I burst into giggles. "Fair maiden, I, Noelle the Strong, have come to take you home!" Aspen extends his hand to Noelle, who kisses it, and leads him from the "tower." They both take a large, sweeping bow while the three of us couch-potatoes laugh ourselves silly.

Suddenly, a loud sound---somewhere between a groan and a yawn---emanates from upstairs.

Aspen leans in conspiratorially. "Genevieve the Fearsome."

"ASPEN AND NOELLE, I swear if you make ANOTHER SOUND, I will KILL YOU and use your blood for war paint!"

The maiden and the knight both give a grossly exaggerated gasp and seize each other's hands.

"I fare thee well, commoners," the maiden says before sweeping the knight into the hallway, "for we must fly!"

I can't see them any more, but I hear Aspen shout, "catch us if you can, witch!" The metallic sounds tell me that they're fumbling with the lock on the door, and, all of a sudden, there's a thundering noise coming down the stairs.

We laugh as Noelle shouts, "fly, damsel, fly!"

"Not out there!" Mom exclaims, as the door creaks open. Zeke and I jump to our feet and run into the hall just in time to see Genevieve rush down the stairs and tackle Noelle, who shrieks, "my love! Run far, far away and never return!"

We all laugh as Genevieve lets go of my sister and charges out into the cold, winter air. She hops onto Aspen's back and he stumbles down into the frosty grass. Noelle, Zeke and I race outside. There's a lot of noise---shrieks of anger and terror coming from the maiden and the witch, cries of "no, my love!" coming from the knight, and lots of laughter from the commoners.

Suddenly, Dad rushes out of the house, runs over to Genevieve, who is still desperately trying to rip Aspen's hair out of his scalp, and plucks her off of him. We all gather ourselves up and troop back into the house, Genevieve still fighting my dad with everything she's got. Once inside, Dad deposits Genevieve in front of Mom, who looks at her sternly before bursting into laughter.

"No, Molly, we don't have the budget for a Lindt jumbo pack." Genevieve frowns at me, pulling the chocolates off of the shelf with a long-fingered hand and scrutinizing them. I sigh. I just want chocolate. Gen takes my arm and leads me away from temptation. "Come on---let's go make sure Aspen isn't doing ballet with the frozen foods again."

As we cross the Rite Aid, "Here Comes Santa Claus," plays through the speakers. A young woman wearing a Rite Aid badge peers suspiciously at me and Genevieve, and I shrink behind her. The woman's eyes narrow, and I decide to walk faster, grabbing Genevieve by the hand and leading her over to where Zeke waits with the shopping cart.

Genevieve deposits several large tubs of popcorn kernels into the shopping cart and leaves to go fetch Aspen, who is supposed to be getting cans of cranberries, but is, in all probability, actually performing a full five-act ballet in the frozen food section. Zeke puts a hand on my arm and gives a little nod to my left.

"Who is that?"

I turn to look at where he indicated, and find myself looking at my elusive across-the street neighbor. About a month ago, the house across the street was bought by... someone. It was the house that had once belonged to Zeke, but strangely, I didn't resent the new owners---not that I'd ever met them, of course. However, I had seen the daughter when her grocery bags had spilled in her driveway. Dad had helped her; I had watched from the window. I probably should have gone out to meet her, but I have a thing about talking to strangers---especially strangers my own age. Throughout the entire transaction between herself and my dad, all she said was "I can carry them," and "thank you." After she disappeared inside her front door, I never saw her... until now. From far away, I hadn't noticed how long her hair was. It's that shade of ginger that some people find obnoxious, and other people find beautiful. Her face is freckled, and she sports a long, thin mouth that seems to twist its way mischievously around her face. In fact, everything about her is long. She’s tall, and the sheer length of her hair and all her limbs make her look much taller. She stands next to a small, elderly woman with iron grey hair and a rather dictatorial expression.

"I don't know her name," I whisper. Zeke's gotten taller---I have to stand on tip-toe a little bit to reach his ear. "But she's the girl who moved into your house."

"Is she in our grade?" he asks.

"I don't know---I've never seen her at school."

Aspen bounds over to where we're standing near the checkout line, leading Genevieve by the hand. "What're we talking about?"

"That's the girl who moved into my old house," Zeke whispers, nodding at the girl.

"Cool!" Genevieve exclaims, rushing over to the girl and tapping her on the shoulder. "Hey, my friend over here---" she grabs Zeke by the elbow and drags him over "---used to live in your house!"

The girl gulps, and says nothing. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my palms start to sweat. The older woman has been watching us with a look of stern judgement, and now she puts a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"How fascinating," she says, speaking with a very distinct Irish accent. "I am Maureen McDermot, and this is my granddaughter, Fenella McDermot."

"Pleased to meet you," Genevieve says, extending a hand for Mrs. McDermot to shake. "I'm Genevieve Branagan, and this is Zeke Rabinowitz." She shakes both Mrs. McDermot's hand, and Fenella's.

"What are your names?" asks Mrs. McDermot, indicating me and Aspen. I swear I'm drowning in my own sweat, and the butterflies inside my stomach are making a meal of my internal organs---why is this so difficult?

Aspen saves me. He sweeps Genevieve and Zeke out of the way and bows flamboyantly before Mrs. McDermot, who backs up, apparently incredibly alarmed. "Madam---Aspen of the House of Usher, at your service. Also, may I present Lady Molly, the fairest damsel in all the land."

To my surprise, Fenella laughs. However, she stops abruptly when Mrs. McDermot gives her a stern look. "So you're the florid one. I knew there had to be one among you. Well, Fenella and I have got to go, or the milk will sour. Perhaps we will see you again."

Mrs. McDermot walks her shopping cart to the cashier, Fenella following listlessly behind her. Unfortunately, we also have to check out our many cans of cranberries and tubs of popcorn kernels, so we wait awkwardly behind them. I can’t help but notice how Fenella keeps glancing over at us---more specifically, over at Zeke. I can tell that Aspen sees it, too, but Genevieve is too busy counting up our purchase over and over again to make sure that we got it right. We leave the store after paying, and I breathe a sigh of relief.