~ ♥️ 𝒫𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓍 ♥️ ~ 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓂𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

Secrets, secrets are no fun

"Autumn is always a dreadful time of year," Mrs. Netting muttered to herself as she dipped her silver butter knife into the jar of peanut butter. Rain pounded on the paneled windows of the quaint 1950s home as it had for days and days.

"I quite like autumn," a voice chirped from the living room.

Ten-year-old Sadie Netting was kneeling on the cloth rocking chair, her head propped up on her knuckles, watching the rain drench the blurred world outside through the window. "The way it rains, it feels as if everything is getting one great big shower."

Mrs. Netting gave a small laugh as she closed the sandwich she was making, wrapping it carefully in tissue paper and placing it into a paper brown lunch bag. "Is your sister still asleep? She's going to be late for school."

Sadie shook her head, her brown ponytail flying around her.

"She's sitting in the grass outside."

Sadie pointed out the window to seven-year-old Alice, who was indeed sitting on the wet grass of the front yard, her legs crossed. Like it did everything else, the rain did not hesitate to soak her entirely, as it drenched her carefully patterned plaid dress and white socks, her sopping brown hair dripping down her face like a sad popsicle.

Mrs. Netting sighed as she closed the lid to the peanut butter jar and placed it in the cupboard.

"She's going to spoil her brand new shoes in the mud," she said as she rinsed the knife clean, "Not to mention, what would the neighbors say if they saw her, out there in the rain."

Wiping her hands on her apron she made her way to the front door and opened it. Recognizing the breach, the chilling wind blew droplets of cold rain all over the woman's face, which she wiped away irritably.

"Alice dear, it's time to come inside," she said. The girl did not answer, her back still faced the house, and taking her silence as an answer, Mrs. Netting closed the door and went back inside to the warmth of the house.

Finally, Alice entered the house, soaking wet, water dripping from her dress and forming a pool around her. A puddle of icy rainwater that grew and grew with every step she took, until it was sponged up by the carpet.

"Och, Alice look at this mess," her mother said, "And I just cleaned the floors." Alice said nothing, didn't even look up. "Go change, and quickly, you'll miss the bus."

Alice silently removed her mud-battered Mary Janes and walked up the carpeted steps with her cold, wet socks, while Mrs. Netting went back into the kitchen to finish preparing their lunches. Alice was always doing odd things such as this, so much so that Alice herself was considered an odd thing. Still, Mrs. Netting liked to console herself with the thought that Alice wasn't always this way, meaning she wouldn't always be this way. It would be alright, she thought, and in the meantime she still had Sadie, a normal child.

~

"Want to see what I can do," Jeremiah said as the yellow school bus lurched forward. Alice sat in the last of the tattered seats on the last row, looking at her feet. "Hey," the boy said from the seat in front of her, "Wanna see?" Jeremiah Franko, eight years old, four-foot five, the biggest bonehead of the second graders.

The bus bumped and a few children gave startled exclamations, though Alice hardly noticed. She heard a younger child sing an off-key nursery rhyme, in response to the lamentable weather. It's brain-ing, it's boring, the old man is snoooring. Those were not the words, but Alice assumed the child was trying her best. "Well, I'll show you anyway," Jeremiah said before reaching into his backpack and withdrawing a small cardboard object. A juicebox.