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———

Seven in the morning on September 8th, the mourning doves gently cooing as the sun rises, the walk to the minivan is as silent as a graveyard.

“C’mon, guys,” Luis tries, but not that hard. “Let’s try for a good year, okay?”

To her credit, Veronica does her best to muster up a smile. Marco manages a nod.

Rachel does nothing. She hasn’t so much as spoken a word since the accident.

The half-hour drive to where everyone needs to do is completely silent. Luis tries initially to put on the radio, but he hears Marco’s sharp inhale when he averts his eyes from the road to change the station and stops immediately.

It’s been three months since Mamá and Papá passed. Sometimes Luis feels like none of them are ever going to be okay again.

Rachel and Marco are dropped off first.

“Remember to check in with your guidance counsellors,” Veronica says. “Luis and I talked to them last week. They’re aware of the…situation.”

Not that it did much. They’d made an appointment to talk to the school administration as soon as the high school opened, just before classes started, but they’d made it to the office and neither of them knew what to say. ‘Hey, there’s a very good chance that both of these kids are going to have extreme drops in performance or even fail because they both just lost their parents in one night?’ No, of course not. ‘Please be aware that Rachel has regular panic attacks at the sounds of car horns and brakes squealing, and that Marco sometimes just gets up and leaves and you don’t hear from him again for hours?’ Probably, but still. How the hell were they even supposed to breach the subject? Luis and Veronica aren’t fucking guardians. They’re barely even legal adults. Hell, neither of them can fucking drink, yet!

But there was no one else to do it. So they mumbled their way through an explanation — parents dead, kids traumatized, go easy — and high-tailed it the hell out of there. Both of them have been hanging up the phone whenever the school calls.

“Love you guys,” Luis says as they wrench open the side door and hop out of the van, slinging their backpacks on behind them. Veronica repeats the sentiment. Marco mumbles something in return, Rachel says nothing, and then they’re both off.

Before they can fade completely out of sight, Veronica calls Marco’s name.

“Watch out for your sister.”

Marco hesitates for a moment, eyes shining like broken glass, and then he nods. He turns back around without another word and disappears into the crowded mass of teenagers.

“We knew today was going to be rough,” Luis mutters, starting the car and carefully navigating out of the parking lot. “We expected this. That’s what all the parenting books said.”

Veronica’s silent for a long moment.

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

It takes them a little farther to get where Veronica needs to go. Her apprenticeship is entirely dependant on whether or not she can find a welder willing to take her on — it’s 2003, for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be that hard, but some people suck. Some people will be completely incapable of seeing her as valuable as she is, and they won’t even bother. It’s a shit reality, and frustrating as hell, but it’s their best bet for money in the long run. Veronica’s always been good with her hands, and with Luis already eating up funds in tuition and God knows how much savings they have left with Mamá and Papá gone, Veronica working as she’s learning is their best bet. The trades pay well, too, and they’ve got three more kids to save up for.

Luis swallows the lump in his throat. Marco has always wanted to go to Juliard.

How the fuck are they gonna afford that?

“Drop me off here,” Veronica says, pointing at a shop just down the road. Luis slows to a stop in front of it, peering through the windshield.

“…That place?” he asks skeptically. “You sure?”

If it weren’t for the two people arguing just inside the garage doors, Luis would assume the shop is abandoned. The sign’s paint is so faded and scuffed up that it’s impossible to read, and several windows are boarded up. The walls are more graffiti than brick.

“I looked it up online,” Veronica explains. “They don’t have a website, but I found a couple blogs mentioning it. Apparently it’s the most competent shop in town, and it’s run by a woman.” She shoots him a small smile, grabbing her bag and opening the passenger door. “I’ll be fine, you big loser. Or have you forgotten that I’ve kicked your ass in every fight we’ve ever had?”

Luis snorts. He has not forgotten. He’s pretty sure he has minor brain damage from the time Veronica slammed his head into a side table when they were fighting over a girl in middle school (who didn’t like either of them, go figure).

“Believe me, asshole. I didn’t forget. Keep your cell on, though, okay? Call me if things get weird. I’ll be here, you know I will.”

She smiles at him again, and seeing some genuine happiness and excitement bleed into her expression for the first time in months is more relieving than Luis has the words for.

“I will, Luis. Now get lost. You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He waits until she’s inside the shop and talking to who he assumes is the owner before carefully peeling off, mindful of the early morning traffic around him. Once he’s well on his way and a little more comfortable behind the wheel, he adjusts his rearview mirror slightly to see the baby seat strapped tightly in the back.

“You and me, now, huh, Lance?”

Lance grins at him around the thumb he’s got stuffed in his mouth, babbling happily.

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy. You’re going to be the first college-educated baby, because we sure as shit cannot afford daycare.” He grimaces. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say shit around you. The parenting books say you pick up on bad language and are more likely to be using it when you’re older.”

Lance does not seem to be too terribly offended, continuing to stare back at Luis through the mirror, brown eyes big and wide and knowing.

The parenting books say that he will have just barely gained a sense of self and awareness in July — 7 months — but Lance has always appeared so knowing. He’s ten months old, now, and sometimes Luis is convinced he already knows how to speak in full sentences and just doesn’t feel like it.

Babies grow at their own rate, Mamá had said years ago, when Luis asked why Rachel wasn’t walking yet. She’ll get there, mijo. Don’t worry your pretty head about all those milestones your textbooks tell you about.

It hurts to remember her words. Even now, months after the accident, thinking of his parents makes something like bile rise up in his throat.

But he’s never known anyone wiser than his mother. And certainly no parents better than his own, so he might as well get used to thinking about them.

He pulls into the first available parking spot he sees, in what has to be a fifteen minute walk at least to the main buildings on campus.

Oh, well.

He turns off the car, running through the checklist in his head — windows up, lights off, no check engine light, keys in pocket, seatbelt off — before getting out and opening the back door.

“Alright, Lancey-pants. You ready to come sit through Calculus III with me? Huh? Yeah, I bet you are, you little nerd. Let’s go.”

Lance’s carseat is big and clunky and heavy most of all, and combined with the diaper bag and his own backpack he feels like a fucking packhorse. He feels like a freak, too, with all the stares and giggles from other students he walks by.

He swallows, ignoring the burning of his cheeks, and walks on.

He just barely makes it to his class on time, sliding into one of the only available seats just as the lecturer starts speaking. He keeps Lance strapped in his carseat, rocking him gently with his foot as he takes out his notepad. He prays that Lance falls asleep so that he can get through the next couple hours without incident.

“…and hopefully you’ve all read the first chapter of your textbooks, and we can dive right in…”

———

They almost make it.

They get so close.

For the first two hours of the lecture, everything is fine. Luis is paying as much attention as he can, scrawling down notes to keep up with his rapidly-speaking professor. Every so often someone shoots him a dirty look when Lance says something in baby-talk, but they can fuck right off. Lance is being an angel, by baby standards. He’s almost completely silent, brown eyes wide as he observes the world around him, vastly different from the home he’s been confined to for the entirety of the summer. Any sound from him is no louder than the occasional whisper of any confused students. He’s fine.

And then the sniffling starts.

Luis isn’t quite sure what sets him off. He made sure to feed him just before they left, so he shouldn’t need anything else for another two hours. He’s obviously not sleepy. It might be a diaper thing, but Luis doubts it. He took care of that before he left, too.

Regardless, Lance begins to sniffle, and then he begins to cry, and no amount of desperate shushing and cooing from Luis does anything before Lance truly begins to wail.

Like a scene from a nightmare, the professor stops what she’s doing. Every eye in the classroom turns to him.

“Is everything all right?” the professor asks.

“Fine,” Luis chokes out. He doesn’t even take the time to gather up his bag, he just scoops Lance from his seat and flees as quickly as he can. Hopefully he can come back for his stuff when the lecture ends.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Luis soothes, gently bouncing an inconsolable Lance as he walks the campus grounds. Numerous people give him nasty or pitying looks as they walk by, but Luis ignores them. They’re not his concern right now. “What’s wrong, huh? You miss your parents? Me too, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Lance gets like this, sometimes. He just cries and cries, like his heart is breaking. Veronica thinks his heart is a little broken, and he needs time to heal, like the rest of them.

“It’s okay, Lancito. Let it out. Let it out.”

By the time he sees his class file out of the lecture hall, Lance has finally calmed down to hiccups and sniffles.

“Let’s go get our stuff, yeah?”

Luis tries to slip back inside as inconspicuously as possible, making a beeline for his seat and is relieved to find his stuff untouched. Thank God.

Lance protests when he tries to rebuckle him in the carseat, so he just dumps all his books into the seat and holds Lance instead. It’s fine. If Lance wants to be held, he can hold him. It’s the first day of classes, after all, so he probably won’t miss too much, note-wise —

“Excuse me, young man.”

Luis startles at the voice, whipping around to face whoever’s approaching. His professor stands a few feet away from him, straight-backed and tall, orange saree almost reaching the ground. Luis turns to face her, setting down the carseat and holding out one hand.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting the lecture earlier, Professor. I’m Luis Sanchez.”

“Sarah Lee,” she says. “And no need to apologize.” She smiles kindly, letting go of Luis’ hand and extending hers out to Lance. “And you, little one? What’s your name.”

Lance giggles. He doesn’t remove his hand from his mouth — thankfully — but leans forward to bat his head gently against her hand.

“This is Lance.” Luis pokes him in the stomach, making him giggle again. “He’s noisy. I wouldn’t usually bring him to class, I swear, but I had no other option and I already paid tuition —”

“Walk with me,” Professor Lee interrupts, and then she’s out the lecture hall without so much as a glance behind her. Luis frantically throws the rest of his stuff into the carseat and scrambles to follow her. She doesn’t speak again until they reach the campus gardens — the projects of fourth year environmental science students.

“You’re nineteen, yes? Twenty?”

“Twenty,” Luis affirms.

She hums. “Thirty years ago, I was in your exact situation.” She leans forward and plucks a sprig of mint from the garden, holding it towards Lance. “Good for digestion,” she explains, at Luis’ wary look. “And soothing the mind.” Luis nods once, and she hands it to Lance, who immediately shoves it in his mouth. He makes a face initially, but seems to decide that he likes it, gnawing on it slowly.

“You were in my situation?” Luis prompts. This is…not what he expected, but he’s so lost and the professor is speaking so kindly that Luis is willing to take any helping hand, at this point. Plus, Lance seems to like her, so.

“Yes,” she continues. “Twenty years old, freshly married with a newborn baby, desperately trying to get my degree so I didn’t throw away everything my mother sacrificed to get me where I was. Not an easy task.”

“Oh.” Luis feels horrible for misleading her. “Lance isn’t…he’s not mine. He’s my brother. My parents —” his voice cracks — “my parents passed, early this summer. I have no one else to watch him. My other siblings can’t take him right now and it’s not ideal, but I figured university has other adults, you know? People will be mature about it. I just — I dunno. It’s — I’m sorry if I implied our situations were the same. I can’t imagine what you had to go through.”

“Luis,” she says gently. She stops, facing him fully. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.” She considers him carefully. “You are carrying a lot on your shoulders right now, child. You don’t need to carry unwarranted guilt, as well. True, our situations are not identical, but they are very similar, no?“

“I guess,” Luis says weakly.

“I’m trying to offer my help, child,” Professor Lee says, reaching out and squeezing his hands. “Just like I was helped when I needed it. Accept it.”

Luis shudders, then nods. This is almost too good to be true, and he’s in no place to refute it. He’s not sure exactly what she’s offering, but anything is better than dragging poor Lance to class every day and hoping for the best.

“Good. Now, thankfully there are much better systems in place now than there were in the seventies. Did you know the university offers on-campus childcare for reduced rates, to help train the student educators? Come. Let me show you where to sign up.”

[Watching a Scream marathon].

Enid: Damn, you certainly can't trust anyone you know. [looks at Wednesday] If you decided to try the masked serial killer thing would you target me?

Wednesday: No mia lupa. Even if I decided to try such a puerile activity as hiding under a disguise to kill my victims, you wouldn't be one of them. Instead, I would go after those who would wrong you.

Enid: Aaaaww.

Wednesday: Your mother, for example.

[beat]

Wednesday: Enid, this is when you are supposed to protest and tell me not to kill your mother.

Enid: [pensive] Is it?

im so done with seeing articles about kids and screen time that doesnt mention parent behaviors even once. “kids are always on their phones” so are the parents! which the kids look to for how they should behave! ipad babies didn’t chose to only play on their ipads, thats what their parents gave them!

an anecdotal example: when i was a kid, all my parents would do in their minimal free time was watch tv and then they would be surprised when in my sister and i’s minimal free time we would also only watch tv/play video games. they scolded us for not reading books, but they never read books. they scolded us for not going outside but they never went outside.

“kids are always on their damn phones” my mom is in her 60s and opens up candy crush anytime she’s sitting — it isnt just the kids

Natasha Romanoff saying “come on, you think I can’t take a punch?” and “god damn it, you’re weak” and “thank you for your cooperation”

Wednesday Incorrect Quotes - Wenclair 2/??

Marks and Rec: Misc #2378

("Except that the internet is real, of course.") (Dialogue from tumblr.)