TROUVAILLE ... l.danes (REWRITE)

chapter five; the past

IT'S JUST HUMAN NATURE

nineteen-eighteen-four

SHE'S ODDLY sullen as she trudges towards the house on the corner, light floral, summer dress swinging around her knees. Her parents stroll in front of her, arms joined, happy to enjoy the summer sun shining around them. Pamela's auburn waves bounce around her soft, round face as she tugs her husband closer to the towering Danes' house, where the tangy scent of William's Stars Hollow-famous chilli hotdogs can be found wafting through the open windows. Marlon is more than happy to let her pull him along, eyes softening at the bright smile lighting up her face as the mellow music dances around her, the sort of calming music that William only plays when he cooks to keep him from losing his temper when things start to go wrong.

Lucas watches them from his perched position on the windowsill of his bedroom window, trying to let the cigarette smoke waft out the cracked slit before anybody notices. Shelley's eyes flicker up just as they slip through the white fence gate, latching onto him through the glass. He tries to move out of the way of her hardened gaze as if he hasn't been watching her from the moment she stepped out of her house, slipping her cardigan over the main body of her shoulder bag just in case it gets cold on the short walk through the square back to her house tonight.

Her gaze pierces through him before he can move. Like a knife dipped in paralysing poison. Like a glare seeped in ice.

The front door is pushed open and Auntie Pam's voice echoes through every room in the house. Lucas wouldn't be surprised if she'd brought a microphone with her just to be able to get her voice to travel through every nook, every cranny, every slit and slat and disjointed bit of wood.

He chuckles a bit at the thought.

"Lucas!" His Dad's voice joins hers, but he knows he must be standing at the bottom of the staircase, one hand wrapped around the white-painted bannister as he acts like pushing himself onto the tips of his toes suddenly makes his voice louder. "The St James' are here! Get a move on with that homework and get down here!"

He can hear Shelley's snort even from up here. When was the last time he actually did homework? If he's lucky, he can get some nerd he can't remember the name of to do it for him with the fortunate help of a twenty-dollar bill. If he's not, well, he's served enough detention by now to know that his coach doesn't even care at this point. He's too good a runner to lose because he has to stay in Mrs Mannheim's classroom for an hour after school, like, once or twice a week.

"Be right down!"

He snubs out his cigarette on the outer window sill, where too much cigarette ash has started to settle and makes an effort to blow it off into the window. It just barely falls off the edge of the wood and into the garden, but at least there he's free from being found out and subjected to another lecture by his Dad on lung health and addiction and whatever else that old guy goes on about when he's not listening. After spraying some of Liz's minty fresh breath spray into his mouth, he swings out of his room and down the stairs, to where the tangy scent of his Dad's chilli hotdogs awaits him, enticing him to move closer to the kitchen.

Shelley's not in here. It's the first thing he notices when he slides in, letting Auntie Pam give him two sloppy kisses on his cheeks just before Uncle Marlon shakes his hand and slips ten dollars between their palms like he always does.