Inconsolable » Squid [Holes]

18: Make Ripples, Not Waves

She didn't mind the soggy mush that once could be called food squishing between her fingers as it floated by in the soapy water. She didn't mind that their idea of a sponge was a flimsy scrap that had seen better days. She didn't mind that tackling the stack of dinner dishes was bound to take her hours. Being shut away from everyone was a nice reprieve.

The minute the counselors signaled that dinner was over and they were free to go back to their tents or the Wreck Room, Mickey bolted from her seat. By the time half the campers were on their feet she had already disappeared back into the kitchen. It wasn't lost on her how, when she first arrived at camp, she wasn't particularly happy with being moved to the kitchens; as if they were quietly telling her where she was supposed to be. Where she belonged. But now, she raced for the security that the area gave her because it gave her a place away.

From Eagle's increasingly pushy assistance, from B-Tent's unusually fierce glares across the mess hall, from Squid's sudden and strange empathy, from the constant noise, from everything. The thoughts flying through her brain already screamed at her, the extra weight added on top wasn't welcomed.

She let out a breath of relief when the sound filtering in through the door ceased altogether, chatter and laughter fading to a steady quiet as the campers went off in search for something to entertain themselves before lights out. Listening to them was exhausting sometimes. Halfway through dinner she found herself longing for the days she sat alone in an empty classroom when the rest of her high school was at lunch. The only other person around was her English teacher, a lovely woman who knew when to ask questions and knew when Mickey just wanted to eat in peace. She craved peace; instead she was forced to listen to the guys talk about something exquisitely boyish like wondering if they could ride a T-rex like a horse. She would've preferred they talk about Clyde Livingston again; at least then she could somewhat contribute to the conversation. She may not have stats memorized like they do but she knew good teams when she saw them. Though she supposed they held off because Stanley didn't like talking about him; that or X-Ray didn't feel like picking on him for the time being.

She snorted at the thought because, from what she gleamed from the past few weeks she'd been there, X-Ray wasn't that nice. He knew the game and he played it well; his mouth moved faster than someonelse's ears could catch up and he smooth-talked better than any politician. She'd be impressed with him if she didn't want to strangle him.

Mickey set aside a tray and reached for one of the dirtied pots. She lifted it with one hand, using her elbow to push the faucet away. The handle of the pot slipped through her soapy fingers and it crashed into the surface of the water. She didn't have time to step back, get out of the way, and, in the next second, soapy, dirty, dishwater splashed up and landed in her opened mouth.

Her mouth steadily dropped open even further, tongue lolling out of her mouth as horror and disgust twisted her face. The muscles in her throat spasmed and retching sounds poured out of her as she frantically rubbed at her tongue with her sleeve to rid herself of the disgusting taste. She spat and hocked saliva; it landed in splatters on the floor.

With heaving breaths, she placed her wet hands on her hips and stared down at the offending sink, then around to the splash of water that sat atop of the surrounding countertop and the dribbles on the floor, up and around the space of the kitchen and down to the orange jumpsuit she practically swam in, the arms tied around her waist. Beneath the pooling fabric that touched the ground, the tips of her dusty boots stared back at her.

Then, as a predator would stalk right up to its prey, a giggle overcame her. Her lips twitched in the corners, lifting and dropping like the ebb and flow of a tide. Pressure built in her chest and she laughed again, a foreign sound magnified in the otherwise empty kitchen. In a matter of seconds, Mickey found her eyes scrunching up, her shoulders quaking, and her stomach clenching due to the force of series of laughter bursting out of her. And this time, she didn't stop it.