Continued from yesterday:
“By the way,” said Jean. “I can’t thank you enough for that fun little film you sent me."
"I detect the subtle tincture of sarcasm in that statement,” said Sara.
“Psh! No duh,” muttered Todd at a barely audible volume.
Jean gave them both a glare. “My life,” she said, “does not need to be that interesting. I have *enough* on my mind without needing to obsess over the fidelity of my boyfriend."
"At least this way you know he’s untrustworthy,” Sara offered. “Would you have preferred a more scandalous betrayal? Perhaps after years of commitment?"
Jean thought about this. "No. Not really."
"And for the sake of gossip, I kept this as low-key as I could manage. The only people who know are you, Matthews, and I. And now that he knows that you know that he’s -well- been a naughty boy… perhaps you can discuss the degree of relationship you both desire."
"I still didn’t need this happening *now*."
"Jean. He was going to use me as a threat so he could use your *body*. You’d prefer I made space in your busy schedule to tell you? Without proof?"
"It’s not like that, it’s just–” Jean sighed. “Too many girls want to go out with Duncan Matthews. Both them and him wouldn’t much care if I was out of the picture."
"So… Mr Matthews believes in disposable people?"
Todd raised his eyebrows at the shorthand.
"That’s one way to put it,” iced Jean.
“So why do you stay with him if you know that your disposal is inevitable?"
Venomous glare of doom. "Have you been talking to the Professor?"
"Strictly on a doctor-patient basis. Why?"
"Because you’re sounding just like him."
Sara put her tongue between her teeth. She was really, *really* tempted to imitate the Professor at that exact moment, but it was rude to both the man and Jean. "Perhaps,” she offered, “we’ve both noticed something potentially damaging in your choice of partner."
"And when *we* tell you about *Todd*… you’re allowed to get away with it."
"What you tell me about Todd is changeable behaviour,” Sara forced the note of ice from coming into her voice. “Habits like Mr Matthews’ are harder to break."
"Yo, I ain’t lifted nuthin’ since I met Sara."
"And after last night’s denoument, I think I’d rather trust *his* word,” this time, the ice was on in full force.
“Just because a few of us borrow something–"
"No. Just because nearly all of you accused Todd without asking about.” Sara fought to control her growing ire. “That sort of thing… *irritates* me."
"He *is* a pickpocket, you know."
”*Was*,“ they both said.
"Yo, maybe we should walk,” said Todd.
“Alas, I can’t. Logan’s expecting me."
"Rats."
When they got to the car, Scott had a pained expression on and Kitty was babbling in hyper-happy mode. Apparently, she and Lance had made up and resolved to be way more honest with each other about thoughts and feelings.
Lance was, according to Kitty, totally re-making himself now that the boarding house was being re-built. And he didn’t have to hold down three or four jobs so he wasn’t like, cranky all the time and he was even cutting down on his cigarettes. It was like, so totally awesome.
Sara relaxed in the back seat. "At least I made *one* person happy."
"Yo, Fred says you picked her up an’ shook her."
"Not a hard accomplishment when one’s target is a fourteen-year-old vegetarian who diets to stay thin,” said Sara. “She can’t weigh more than my bag."
"Yo, *I* don’t weigh more than your bag."
Sara thought about this. "Perhaps I should re-examine the contents…"
"Lift weights,” suggested Todd. “I like strong women."
Sara giggled. "Perhaps you could come up to the gym and I could bench-press you…” the blush intruded. “Did that sound–?"
"Out-of-context, maybe.” Todd cuddled up to her. “It’s cool. Logan trusts us."
"Logan *trusts* us?"
"Well, what he *said* was, ‘if you can’t be good, be careful’, but… yeah. He trusts us."
"Now we have to worry about the *other* chaperones living in the Institute. Five down, twelve to go. Don’t you just *love* wars of attrition?"
"O yeah,” Todd drawled. “My fave hobby.”
~
The worst thing about walking a bunch of dogs, Janine decided, was stopping every couple of yards to pick up poop, place it in a bag, and carry it around for the rest of the walk, searching for some kind of garbage can.
There was no question of giving it back to the owners and asking them to flush it. They frowned on that sort of thing.
One thing was for sure, she definately understood proportions now. A dog’s poop was proportional to that dog’s size. And the amount of wee that each canine was capable of just boggled the mind.
Sara would probably theorise that the canine body contained a wormhole to a dimension made solely out of urine. And right now, that seemed a very logical conclusion indeed.
And she was getting better at head-math. Two hours with ten dogs at five dollars per dog per hour made… one hundred bucks.
So she still couldn’t figure the train leaving from Denver, but she thought she was improving.
Having a grammar rule to memorise and a list of words to learn to spell on her extended journey may or may not help her with her English, but it gave her something to think about apart from bowel motions.
Right now, she was on phonemes. “Their,” she recited. “It is their chair. T-H-E-I-R. There. It is over there. T-H-E-R-E. They’re. They’re going out tonight. T-H-E-Y-apostophe-R-E…"
She could do that out here, in the freedom of relative solitude and dog messes. At home, she’d be accused of trying to drive people insane and be forced to quit practicing… even if she was only practicing in the privacy of the oldest girl’s room.
It was *amazing* what brothers could hear when they wanted to. Any other time, she couldn’t *make* them listen to her.
That’d be something to bring up with Mr Kian. The math of family dynamics and what made siblings act like complete and total butt-hairs.
Janine never got any breaks. It was the older ones who were trying to get into college or the younger ones who were still learning better who got away with everything short of murder. Janine, stuck in the middle, had to be invisible with a crowd of fingers pointing at her in accusation.
Half a week ago, she wouldn’t have even *thought* a word like 'accusation’.
That pocket dictionary Dad had bought her was worth its weight in gold.
~
"Please,” Sam begged. “It’s a family emergency."
The young slip at the counter took in his haggard looks and slightly desperate expression - and the way he clung to the counter with white knuckles - and said, "I’ll have to talk to my supervisor."
Sam tried to stop the groan. He’d been doing *fine* with penny-ante travel businesses. It was when they converged into the corporate conglomerate of modern travel that delay began to nibble at his ulcers.
All he had to do was get across the Pacific Ocean. From there, the travel options were limitless to a man with money in a hurry.
But a commercial airport ran on delay.
Hurry up and wait.
Somewhere on the other side of that gulf of water, his daughter was alone and without succour. Desperation had finally driven her from shelter to a safety her soul needed… but her body might not be able to survive.
_Sara…_
"Sir?"
"Hm?” Sam came back to himself. “Pardon?"
"What’s the nature of the emergency, sir?"
"My daughter. Sara. She’s run away from home.” Half-scrambled from lack of sleep, he automatically reached for his wallet and produced the last photo Jaquelline had let him keep in there. The beaming, beautiful little girl held preserved under plastic was out of date by eleven years - almost twelve. The *other* picture was in his luggage. Safe. Next to the portrait of her mother.
It was the only way his two lovely ladies could be together, now.
“Aaaawwww…” cooed the ticket-seller. Her eyes were misting up.
Even the supervisor was looking… softened.
Sam felt the evil compulsion to flim-flam them. To let them think that Sara was still five, to allow them to do a good deed for the little girl years lost… just so the nearly-grown one could have the father she needed, right now. He decided that saying nothing to make them suspect the truth was better that baldly lying in their faces.
“She’s all alone,” he said. “I have to get back to her. *Please*…” he winced as an ulcer kicked up. “She needs her Daddy.” All true statements. Completely true in every regard. _Truth isn’t the same thing as honesty, my lad…_
“We don’t have any seats to New York, I’m sorry."
"Just *anywhere* in the mainland. Canada… Mexico… Pick a state, any state… I can *get* there from there. Please…"
…murmur, murmur, murmur… The desk-jockey typed in a wreath of data at warp speed.
He’d been staring at her name-tag for five to ten minutes, and only now did it register that her name was Joline.
The supervisor, Paul, handed Sam his wallet back. Sam clung to it with the one hand that was cramping from the edge of the counter.
"We have one flight to Nome, Alaska in a couple of hours,” offered Joline. “It’s executive class, so–"
"I don’t care how much it costs, I’m going home to my daughter.” Besides, this was coming out of his *personal* accounts. The red tape that the firm would bury the recompense in was something to be ploughed through at a later date. Right now, every time he closed his eyes, he could see his little girl as the victim of the economic vengeance Jaquelline liked to enact… trying to cope with the pressures of school and society whilst coming home to a dingy little motel with cardboard walls and the sort of night life that could survive an atomic holocaust. But the insects were nothing, compared to the two-legged cockroaches that could prey on a young girl all on her own…
Every day away was a nightmare.
Sam bought the tickets in a dream, asked politely to be gently shaken when his plane was in, checked his luggage and found a place near the gate to hurry up and wait in. One where he could prop up his head and rest his eyes.
_I’m coming home…_
+
“…and I see - oh! Blue skies… through the te-ears… in my eyes,” Sara crooned as she helped assemble Eileen’s new engine. “And I realise…"
"Tallwater?"
"Hm?” Sara blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s been stuck in my head, lately. Sorry about the voice."
"Yo, you were singing as Tim Curry,” said Todd. Grease acted on him like liquid did on Sara. It got around. “Straight off the soundtrack."
Sara’s blush went deeper, turning her into a dark, blue-ish shadow in borrowed overalls. "I tend to sing what I hear. A flaw."
"Nah. Cool party trick, yo.” He found an excuse to edge closer and help her install a part. Guiding her hands and trying to be coy about the opportunity to hold her a little. “You ever tried singin’ as yo'self?"
"Nobody wants to hear *me*,” said Sara.
Todd snapped a band on her wrist. “*I* wanna hear you."
"Same here,” said Logan. “Damn disturbin’ to hear a grown man comin’ out of a young girl."
Sara went so dark she was almost black. ”…eep…“
"Sing?” pleaded Todd.
That was more than enough for her. She found her real voice and continued with the music in her head. “Everywhere, it’s been the same… Fee-ee-ling… Like I’m outside in the rain…"
Todd grinned.
Whenever he smiled, she felt at home.
~