Petite Michel

10

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It almost sounded like thunder, it was so loud and sudden. Mike yelped at the noise, clinging onto Peter's arm tightly. Peter jumped, but smiled slightly as he looked down at his friend.

"It's okay," he said softly. "It was just the door."

Mike frowned, not believing him. How could a knock on the door make so much noise?

There was another round of knocking and Mike cried louder, holding onto him more. Peter frowned, conflicted. He wanted to pull away to answer the door, knowing whoever would only knock louder and get more upset the longer they waited, but also didn't want to leave Mike, who seemed to be holding onto him for dear life at that moment.

"Mike," he said quietly. "I'm gonna go answer the door, okay?"

Mike didn't answer him.

"I'll only be a minute," Peter explained, though he was already feeling guilty about his decision. "If I answer the door, the noise will go away."

Mike didn't have the time to answer before there was more knocking, this time followed by a booming voice yelling "OPEN UP!" He whimpered and nodded, letting go of Peter's sleeve.

"Here," Peter said, handing Mike his hat. "You can hold onto this for a minute."

Mike nodded and laid down on the couch, curling himself into a ball and holding his hat close to him. Peter let out a sigh and took a deep breath before answering the door.

"Hello?"

"Alright, Tork," Mr. Babbitt said, already stepping into the house. Peter tried to keep him outside, but he just walked right in. Now, he was only hoping that Babbitt wouldn't notice Mike on the couch and start asking questions.

"Hi, Mr. Babbitt," he said, trying to stand in front of him to block his view of the living room. "What did you need?"

"Rent."

Why did Peter think that he'd be here for anything else?

"Oh," Peter said, going to the kitchen. "Yeah, let me get it for you. We actually have it this time."

He stood on his toes to reach the cookie jar in the top cabinet and pulled it out. It was empty.

"Crap," he whispered under his breath, closing his eyes when he remembered. The money they had been saving for rent? Micky and Davy were now busy spending it, buying things for Mike.

"Where are the others?" Babbitt asked, looking around and going into the living room. Peter's eyes went wide as he tried to go and stop him, but saw something that put him more at ease. Mike had noticed everything that was happening and now was hidden, both by his hat and one of the couch pillows.

"Uh huh," Peter said nervously. "Just me."

"Where are the others?"

Peter gulped. He was an awful liar.

"Um...they're out. Looking for a gig."

He thought it was a decent story but began regretting it when Mr. Babbitt shot him a suspicious look.

"And why are you here?"

Peter shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

"I...I didn't want to and wasn't feeling good earlier so I just decided to stay home on my own."

Peter smiled, hoping his lie was working. Mr. Babbitt looked at him for another moment, noticing that something was off about it, but choosing to ignore it.

"Do you have my money?" He asked with a sigh. Peter frowned and slowly shook his head.

"Could...you come back later, please?" He asked hopefully. "I don't have anything to give you right now."

"I've given you long enough, Tork," Mr. Babbitt said harshly. Peter frowned.

"I...I know that, it's just, well, we don't have any money right now—"

Mr. Babbitt sighed and turned around, making his way toward the door. Peter tried to stop him, he was panicking at this point.

"No, no, no, please," he stammered. "Please, Mr. Babbitt, I...we, we can get it to you, really."

"I've given you boys enough time."

"Please," he cried out. "You don't understand. We can get it to you. Please, just give us a little more time."

Mr. Babbitt sighed, standing in the doorway, thinking about it.

"You have until tomorrow morning," he said quietly. "You hear me?"

Peter frowned. Half a day wasn't enough time. He was about to speak up again to defend them, but was interrupted when Babbitt held his hand up in front of his face.

"If you don't have rent by tomorrow morning, I'll have no choice but to evict you boys."

Peter nodded slowly, knowing there was no point in trying to argue.

"Okay..." he said quietly, holding his head down low. Mr. Babbitt nodded and made his way back out, closing the door behind him. Peter looked down as he made his way back to the living room.

"Help?" A voice called out. Peter frowned, going toward the voice until he found Mike struggling to get out of his hat and trying to get the pillow off of him. Peter let out a sigh and smiled as he picked up the pillow and helped Mike out.

"There you go," he said quietly and Mike nodded, looking down, embarrassed.

"Thank you," he said, sitting down, staring at his hat.

"What're we gonna do?" He asked sadly, fiddling with his hands. Peter sighed.

"We'll...find a way to get $175 before tomorrow morning," he said, trying to stay positive.

"We had the money," Mike said sadly. "I thought we had enough money."

Peter frowned and nodded.

"We-we did..." he said embarrassed. "We just wanted to get you things...I-I didn't realize that was the rent money, and—"

Mike groaned, throwing himself onto the couch.

"Mike, really," Peter pleaded. "It's okay."

"Tell them to give it back," he muttered, his voice muffling through the hat. Peter frowned, getting onto his knees to be at eye level with him.

"What was that?" He asked softly.

Mike looked back up at him, almost angrily.

"Tell Micky and Davy to give back whatever they got," he said again. "That way, we'll have the money."

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

Peter frowned, looking down.

"We were only getting you things that we thought might help," he said softly and Mike sighed.

"Well, they won't help us from being evicted, now will they?"

Peter didn't answer that for a long time. Finally Mike groaned, laying back down on the couch.

"Unless you have a better idea," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "It's probably our best option."

"We could always ask for money or help," Peter suggested, trying his hardest to stay positive. It was hard to in a moment like this.

"Who?"

Peter shrugged.

"Millie, probably."