The Hidden (G/T)

Chapter Twelve - Distractions

Her mother stood in the doorway, eyes scanning the room. "Natalie, you better clean this room. It's filthy." Natalies hands flew out to guard Leo, not missing his squeak of terror. "Wha- mom! Does this family not knock anymore?"
Her words were ignored, as her mother continued to look across the room with an expression that could only be disgust. "Natalie," she tutted, "how long has this been in here?"
She pinched the empty bag of chips between her fingers, face scrunched. "I dunno..." she mumbled with a blush, her eyes couldn't help but drift back to her cupped hand, hidden behind her.

"What did you even come in here for?"
"Come down for lunch."
"Now?" Her mother gave her a look.
"Yeah? Come on, it's getting cold."
"Bu- momma, I'm kinda in the middle of somet-"
"Now." And that was that, she couldn't ignore her mother's tone. "Okay, just gimme a sec."
Where could she put Leo? Considering her family might pull another stunt like before and walk in, she couldn't leave Leo out in the open. Maybe she could put him in her drawer? It wasn't the coziest, but it would have to work for now.

"What- no. Come on, we're waiting for you."
"Like now now? Or in a second, cause-"
"Yes, now." Natalie faltered. "B-but mom, I-"
"No buts. Now." Natalie was hesitant, but having no other choice, she gently slid her hands into her jean pockets, with Leo along with them. She could feel him shivering through her fingers. She gently rubbed her thumb along his back, desperate to give him some kind of comfort. Natalie followed her mother downstairs, a grimace scrunching along her face.

She tentatively slid into the chair in front of the counter, mindful of her little passenger. Her mother slid a plate in front of her, a tiny clank resonated in the air as she sat awkwardly. "Whats with you?" Her eyes went back to her mother, fingers curling around the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "What do ya' mean?"
"Why are you sitting like that?"
"Like what?"

"Like you've gotta take a shit."
"Lucas!" Her mother scolded. "Don't use that language in my house."
He just shrugged, "My bad."
His attention turned to his sister. "Seriously, though. Why are you sitting like that."
"Like what?"
"Like that!"
Natalie looked down at herself. If she was attempting to act casual— which she was— she was failing miserably. Her hopeless attempt to swoon her family into thinking she was calm were awkwardly clenched fists, a tall and broad posture and sweat beading her forehead.

She played it off as dumb. "I dunno what you're talking about." She must've convinced them, because they went back to eating. "So, Natalie."
She looked up to her mother, "hm?" She was grateful for the change in topic. "That girl in your class, what's her name..." Her mother was deep in thought, skimming and scanning every inch of her brain for- "Bianca." She remembered, face lighting up.

"What about her?" Natalie grimaced. Bianca Tamada was the daughter of William Tamada, owner of Tamada Labs. To Natalie, she was your standard daddy's girl— She wanted something, she asked her dad, and she got it. At least, that's what she heard from everyone in her grade. Natalie never made an effort to talk to her, so she wouldn't know.

Natalie recalled every day she strutted into home room, bow withholding segments of pin straight hair, black as night. Her outfits picked out so precisely, you could tell she put thought into them. Her makeup was glossed on, so carefully drawn that at a first glance you would think she had none on. A gentle patter of light footsteps would alert her presence in the hallway, the sweet smell of vanilla she gave off dancing in the air. The average lackluster beings of her school yearned her approval, craved her mere presence. To know Bianca Tamada was to know pure beauty.

So why was her mom asking about her?

"Well..." she wiped the rag across the counter, all traces of what used to be dust swept away, leaving a glossy coat on the cold stone. "Her father came into the hotel the other day."
"Mr. Tamada?"
Natalie jabbed her brother in the ribs. "No, Spondgebob."
"Natalie." Her mother warned. She just rolled her eyes and took another bite.
"What'd he want?"
"He was reserving a reservation."