The Weissman Twins pull a prank.
The End of Something GoodOren talks to her best friend, Penelope.
The Start of Something TerribleOren is cornered by St. Clair.
Thrall AgainLucinda is saved by Arthur.
A Good Day for a FairCharlie asks Oren on a date.
HauntCharlie writes about his life falling apart.
Writing for Myself to YouOren finally meets Arthur.
Etchings of HerArthur gives Josie a gift.
Unsleeping PrinceSacha struggles with Arthur's return.
BREAKINGVash breaks free in a narrative sense.
Hell is a BasementDiane describes her life up unto her subsumption into the Underworld.
Favored SonThe creation and revolt of Claire.
Quiet FarmsCaius rebuilds.
UnderworldArthur, Cece, Claire, Diane, Josie, and Vash in the Underworld.
QuantiThe obsidian arrowhead meets the glass eye and the lead sword.
Warnings: Depictions of underage drinking. Mentions of child death.
April 7th, 1981. Oren Estrada’s sixteenth birthday.
Spirited away from the day’s classes by her closest and only friend Penelope, the two drink on a neglected beach. School isn’t easy for either of them if you discount the academic element. Penelope, “Penny” to most everyone, has been spending more time out of school lately. She’s avoiding the other students, making it feel like being overlooked is something she has control over. She’s hidden because she wants to be hidden. She’s unnoticed because she put in the effort not to be. Today, Penelope has brought Oren along for her habitual disappearance. It’s her special day, after all. She deserves to spend it with her closest friend.
Oren sits on a large branch of driftwood; one she shifted to face the spot in the rocky sand Penelope was sat. She’s been close friends with Penelope for a while, but they’ve been growing even closer recently. It’s mostly Oren’s doing, noticing that Penelope is needier than usual and getting more involved to compensate. She sips her beer, not enjoying it but powering through nonetheless.
“You get these from your mom?”
“Not like she can stop me.”
Penelope felt guilty at the half-truth. Why was she trying to sound like a badass to the one person in her life who gave a damn about her, she didn’t know. Like she needed the person who knew her the best in the world to have the wrong idea all of a sudden.
“Well, that and they don’t have a problem with it. You know how they are.”
Oren replied. “Right. So I’m getting treated to the Clark family’s favorite-” She stops talking to reread the label on her bottle. “Primo brand beer.”
“Blame my mom’s taste, she’s the one at fault for these.”
“Yeah, she picked your dad.” Not a sore subject, surprisingly. Penelope wasn’t ever really bothered by her father or lack thereof. People felt like they needed to dance around it, which bothered her a lot more. Oren knew better. Oren always seemed to know better, see things others didn’t. Nobody else understood this about her, nobody valued Oren like she deserved. Thoughts like that made Penelope sure that Oren was the only person she really felt close to. She’s sure Oren reciprocates. That’s just how it is on an island, there’s not enough people around for more than one person to really get you. That must be why her boyfriend is so perfunctory towards her.
It’s fine, she’s been writing to Oren— or a character she’s playing. The two shared letters back and forth, pretending to be different people. They’re a bit old for playing pretend, but it’s just between the two of them. Penelope's role was a girl just like her but with a few more friends. Oren was more involved. She acted as this smooth-talking detective who lived in the states named Debonair St. Clair. St. Clair was worldly and witty and charming, all things that left Penelope blushing and kicking her feet whenever she gets a new letter. Recently, Oren had stepped up her game. She shifted her handwriting slightly, used real postage, even wrote in a fake address in a town in Illinois picked off an atlas. Her dashing detective, clever as ever, was arranging a visit to the island. Better yet, he’s set to arrive at midnight today, meeting her at a special, secret location. She’s so antsy seeing how Oren will pull this off, becoming the famed detective in person. “Penelope.” She’s not supposed to mention the letters in person, it ruins the immersion, so she can’t wait to get home and write ‘him’ one last time before ‘he’ arrives. “Penelope.” She wonders if they’ll do all the things he promised they would. “Penelope.” She’s so antsy thinking about it. “Earth to Penelope.” There’s so much she’d do for the one girl on the planet who ‘gets’ her.
“Penelope.” Oren raises her voice, finally getting her attention.
“Mm? Right, yeah. I’m here.”
What Oren says next feels rehearsed, almost. Planned. “My back hurts from sitting up and I don’t want to lay my head in the sand. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
She gets up off her branch and walks over to where Penelope is sitting, grabbing her another bottle from the pack on the way. She lowers herself onto the sand, then lays her head in Penelope’s lap. Her frizzy brown hair tickles, but Penelope doesn’t say anything.
April 7th, 1981. The last day of Penelope Ann Ha’i Clark’s life.