Your Loyal Servant

(7) Secretly a Genius?

I shut the door behind me brusquely and released a long, tired sigh. I kicked off my shoes and they landed somewhere I didn't care. I took off my jacket and dragged my bag across the floor.

All of a sudden, a figure appeared before me in front of the steps, lips curved up in a smile while his silver eyes shimmered in concern. Bowing, he noted, "You're home late, ma'am."

When I looked at him, I was reminded of the tale of the Orrie family and the Connors family and unpaid debts. I groaned and hit Freak's arm, informing him, "Well, kid, congrats. You've convinced me that the story of our families' past is true."

He replied first in silence and, as I trudged up the steps, called, "Would you like dinner? I could always reheat the meal, or make something completely new."

"I'll eat later," I decided, too tired to say anything more.

Tommy looped through my legs, purring and meowing, wondering where I had been all this time. Before I could stumble over him, he started to strut alongside me. When he determined I was too slow, he bolted in front of me and dashed into my room.

I dropped my bag on the ground and shuffled to my bed. With an exhausted moan, I fell face-first onto my bed. I curled into a ball and pulled a cover over me, while Tommy cuddled into my side.

What did this mean? What did I do now? After all, the story was true—my own ancestor had written the account down. So I couldn't argue that he had made the whole thing up. I had to accept the fact that I was, indeed, destined to have a servant. So what now?

My head was spinning with thoughts of debts and generations and servants. It threw my thoughts into chaos, jumbling my emotions into a tangled mess.

I didn't know how I felt about this. All I knew was I was tired and cold and hungry. I wanted to eat and then go to sleep, so I no longer had to think about anything.

By the time I had convinced myself to go back downstairs, my parents had gone to bed. But Freaky had yet to leave.

Sighing, I flopped down in a seat at the dining room table and rubbed my eyes—they were worn out from reading the small, cursive script in the diary. When my eyes opened again, a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese sat in front of me. I looked to The Freak with eyes wide in surprise.

Smiling softly, he explained, "Your parents told me this was your favorite meal, and I thought maybe you'd like it after a long day."

My eyes returned to the cheesy noodles in front of me, and my lips pursed—it really did look delicious. I murmured, "Thank you." Before he could respond, I dug into the meal.

He stood off to the side, trying to be invisible, as I ate. If someone had just entered the room, they wouldn't have noticed him. But because I knew he was there and I knew he was watching me, he was about as noticeable as an annoying fly buzzing about the room.

Before the moment could get any more awkward, he inquired, as though he was unsure of himself, "Was your room to your liking?"

I swallowed a bite of my mac n' cheese and my eyebrow quirked. "What?" I asked, confused. But then I remembered. "Oh yeah. You did say you'd clean my room."

He nodded, eyes eager for my response.

With a sigh, I set down my fork and admitted, "I didn't really notice. I only cared about lying on my bed so I didn't notice anything else."

"I understand," he said, without a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Because I felt bad for not remembering he'd done that for me, I added in a hurry, "Sorry."