Crooked Smile (WINNER of the MJFA'S 2017)

Chapter 5 - Visitors

The next day in school, Marilyn worried about Michael. She kept recalling his fall, replaying it over and over in her mind's eye: him desperately pulling on the breaks while at the same trying to steer clear of her. The wheels locking. The screeching of the metal as the front wheel gave in. His cry as he was thrown off. How he had hit the pavement, turning over like an inanimate object. And then how he had lain there, so terribly still.

"Hey, ugly-Edmond, what's the matter with you today? Wondering, if Beth has a pullover you didn't copy yet?" Brian had tried popping himself in the seat right in front of Marilyn's desk, but she had hardly noticed him. He had put quite some effort into it, distorting his long, pale face in disgust and pulling on his light brown, copper-tinted shock of hair to check, if her proximity had caused it to fall out yet – stating that it could only be a matter of moments, now, until it did – but to no avail. With no reaction from her, the game wasn't fun, and Brian had finally given up.

Michael's head had hit the ground so hard that he had lost consciousness. Marilyn had hit her head many times in her life. But an impact that would have made her pass out – she couldn't even imagine that.

She wished she knew how he was. What if he had been more severely injured? She wondered, if he had been taken to hospital in the meantime.

He had done it for her. He had taken those injuries trying not to injure her. Her, ugly-Edmond. Of course she knew he would have done that for anyone. He simply hadn't had time to think and consider who was in front of him. But he had done it for her, too, and that already felt like a whole lot.

Later in the afternoon, when Marilyn was in her room doing her homework, the doorbell rang. She thought it would be Michael coming for his bike, but when she opened the door, it wasn't. On the threshold stood a middle-aged man with a hat made of a light-colored cloth and a squared face that reminded Marilyn somewhat of a dog, a boxer, not unfriendly, but with sharp eyes and hanging cheeks. The impression was intensified by a mustache, that grew not only along his upper lip but also around the corners of his mouth, and thus emphasized the overall downturned features of his face.

"Are you Marilyn Edmond?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, who are you?"

He gave her a friendly smile. "I'm Bill."

Marilyn didn't move. She just looked at him expectantly.

"Bray," he continued after a moment of silence. "My name is Bill Bray. But everyone just calls me Bill."

"I'm sorry, that doesn't tell me anything. How may I help you? Do we know each other?"

"No, we don't know each other. But I think Michael left his bike with you."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Yes. Are you his father? How is he doing? Is he okay?"

Bill was white, but that didn't mean much. After all, Michael wasn't that dark, and maybe he just took after his mother.

"No, Miss, I'm not his father. I'm an employee of the family."

All blood drained from Marilyn's face, her lips opened and she suddenly felt cold despite the warm air outside. The family had sent someone to pick up his things! He couldn't do it himself. Wide-eyed she stared at Bill.

The man seemed to notice her reaction, because he nodded with a reassuring, almost fatherly smile. "He'll be fine. He'll be fine! You don't need to worry." His voice was low and had assumed a warmer tone, but even though Marilyn nodded, too, he failed to relieve the worry she felt.

"Well," Bill went on when she didn't say anything, "I'm supposed to get a new front wheel for that bike. I would need the damaged one to know what kind it is exactly. Do you think it would be possible for me to just take it off?"