The television droned on in the living room, a persistent backdrop to the evening. A sharp-dressed newscaster stared gravely into the camera, her voice cutting through the quiet house.
"...anger continues to mount against the Woodblock government. Protesters cite not only the deteriorating living conditions but also the ongoing mysteries and alleged cover-ups surrounding the blood wax epidemic. Despite three years with no known cause or cure, officials maintain they are 'close to a breakthrough.' The question on every citizen's mind: can we afford to believe them anymore?"
Martin barely heard it. He burst through the front door, the sound swallowed by the thick walls of the old house, and took the stairs two at a time.
"Martin? Is that you?" a voice called from the kitchen, warm and familiar.
He skidded to a halt in the doorway. Loria—who he'd called 'Ma' for as long as he could remember—stood at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water. A smile touched her lips. "Well? How was the first day of Senior Secondary? World-changing?"
"Not really," Martin shrugged, dropping his backpack by the table. "Just orientation. Hung out with Jenny and K the whole time." He paused, as if remembering a minor detail. "Oh, and I got the full three-year scholarship."
The ceramic plate in Loria's hand slipped with a loud clatter into the sink. She turned fully, soap suds dripping from her fingers. "You oh-and-you-got-the-scholarship?" she repeated, her voice rising with incredulous joy. "Martin! That's not an 'oh'! That's a 'heck yes'!"
A grin flickered across his face. "I know, I know. It's a big deal. But I promised Sadie I'd watch her win her competition. I'm already late." He was moving before he finished speaking, darting towards his room.
"Change fast!" Loria called after him. "And when you get back, we're celebrating! All of us!"
Martin froze, his hand on the banister. He looked back. "Are you coming too?"
Loria's smile tightened at the edges, a faint, nervous thing. "No need, love. Your mum—Andella—is already there with her. It's… a mother-daughter thing tonight." She waved a dismissive hand. "We'll have our celebration later."
"Oh. Right." The word felt flat. "See you, Ma."
"Take care. Love you!" she said, her voice softening. Then, as an afterthought, "And don't tell your dad about the scholarship yet! I want it to be a surprise!"
"Okay!" he yelled back, already out the door and swinging a leg over his bicycle.
The streets of Woodblock were a tapestry of fading afternoon light and gathering shadows. As he pedaled toward the city's community centre, his route took him past the mayor's sprawling, wrought-iron-fenced mansion. A crowd was gathered there, not large but loud. Their signs were stark splashes of paint and anger: JOBS NOT EXCUSES, WHERE IS THE CURE?, BLOOD WAX = GOVERNMENT LIES.
Getting heated, Martin thought, weaving past them. Maybe heated enough to cancel school for a week. The idea was appealing. He could use the gaming time.
He reached the drab, concrete community centre, chained his bike to a rack, and pushed through the heavy glass doors. The lobby was quiet, echoing with the muffled sound of piano music from within. His eyes scanned for a sign, finally landing on a banner draped above a set of double doors: WOODBLOCK UNDER-13 BALLET GRAND PRIX.
As he headed for the left-hand door, a flicker of movement caught his eye. By the other door stood three girls, their heads close together. They were looking right at him. The one in the center, with cold, assessing eyes, held his gaze with a look that was pure venom. Her friends glanced at him, then quickly away, whispering into her ear. After a moment that stretched too long, the trio turned and disappeared into the auditorium.
What was that about? Martin shook his head. Whatever. Just ignore it.
He reached for the door handle, and the world tilted.
A sudden, vise-like pain clenched his chest, so intense it stole his breath. A wave of dizziness washed over him, making the lobby swim. For a terrifying second, he felt like his heart was going to hammer right through his ribs. He gasped, leaning against the wall as cold sweat prickled his skin.
Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure began to ease. The pain receded to a dull, ominous ache. He took a shuddering breath, then another.
That was the worst one yet, he thought, pressing a hand to his sternum. The occasional twinges he'd felt lately were nothing compared to that. He waited, counting his breaths until the lingering dizziness faded.
Just stress. Probably. He pushed the fear down, deep down where he wouldn't have to look at it. It'll go away.
Taking one last steadying breath, he pushed the door open and slipped into the dark, hushed auditorium, the fateful news broadcast already forgotten, the searing pain pushed aside, the warning in a stranger's glare dismissed. The normalcy of the evening, fragile as glass, still held.
For now.