𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐲 (𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐨𝐜)

𝟝

‎‧₊˚✧[𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐤]✧˚₊‧

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0:39 ─〇───── 3:13

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

—𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝟾𝟹𝟻, 𝙿𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚊, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟿—

"You are so lucky that Viper showed up to save your sorry butt," Mary scoffs, shaking her head as we step into the tiny but cozy home. I called my parents on the bus to ask about staying for dinner at Freddy's house, and they willingly agreed. They seem to like Freddy excessively, although I have long since given up trying to understand why.

"Aren't I?" Freddy says, almost sighing in awe as he thinks back to the encounter. Rolling my eyes at his nearly lovestruck expression, I take him into the kitchen, where there are copious amounts of bandaids and at least three bags of frozen vegetables to ice Freddy's cuts and bruises. His ribs are banged up like an old truck, and there's a cut along the line of his jaw where Brett punched him. Sighing and taking two of the frozen bags, I sit my best friend on a stool and stand before him, gesturing for him to lift his shirt so that I can see his sides. It's too early to see the bruises forming, but his entire left side is red and agitated, dotted around the edges like a rash.

"They beat you pretty bad, huh," I hum as I press one bag of frozen corn to his upper side and hold it there, grabbing two cloths so his hands won't freeze. I place one cloth over the corn and he keeps it in place, smiling a little at me as I carefully put the second bag of frozen carrots closer to his stomach.

"Until some badass in a costume showed up and kicked their asses for me," he says, allowing a generous smile to grace my face. I shrug as I stand, patting his shoulder and ripping open two Band-Aids.

"Yeah, you know, she is the best superhero in the world," I smile, making Freddy roll his eyes. Gently, I place one Band-Aid over half of his cut and repeat the process over the final half. He brushes his fingers over the two patches gingerly, grinning broadly. At his smile, I feel a warmth in my stomach. If I'm being honest, Freddy is pretty cute. Of course, I would never want to prove my dad right, so I push down the feelings and turn to the living room, where Eugene plays video games and Darla is coloring. Mary and Pedro are upstairs in their rooms and Billy is . . . somewhere.

We eat dinner (pasta with red sauce) and it becomes quite obvious that Billy isn't coming home. My nervousness grows as the hours tick by with no sign of the new addition to the family. As the sun begins to set, dinner ends, and Freddy and I are put on dish duty. Well, Freddy is on dish duty.

"You know, I think you're the most helpful friend I have," Freddy grumbles as he scrubs at a dish coated in pasta sauce while I lean on the counter, chin resting on my hands.

"You're only friend," I correct him, earning a childish scoff. "Besides, you insisted that it was only gentlemanly of you to do dishes instead of both of us."

"And the lady-like thing to do would be insist back and put some elbow grease into it," Freddy retorts, letting the plate drop into the sudsy water and picking up a new plate. He looks over his shoulder now, where his other siblings are trying to track where and why Billy would have run away for the umpteenth time. Rosa and Victor stand aside, talking gravely with an officer.