Mixtape

There, There- The Wonder Years

A Boy Named Everett

The streets of Manhattan were too warm and too windy, in Everett's opinion. They were too crowded and too bright and too noisy and they smelled something awful, and besides that the people were rude and they shoved him when he was moving too slow and they gave him dirty looks. Everett really disliked the streets of Manhattan.

Today, like any other day, he was heading to his mom's bakery up near Starbright Floral Design. Every day was the same for him and his mother; she'd get up at the crack of dawn to go to work, he'd wake up hours later, run some basic errands for her and walk the dogs, then when late afternoon came around, he'd walk or take a bus to the shop to visit her. He hated doing chores and walking, but he wanted to help his busy mother in every way he could.

His schedule and his antisocial mannerisms meant that Everett barely even knew any kids his age. He was an awkward, nervous boy, who saw but only two other teenagers on a daily basis. Today, as he traversed the filthy streets of Manhattan, one block up from the Lower Manhattan Hospital, he accidentally plowed straight into one of these teenagers, sending them to the ground and himself to his knees. Seeing who it was, his heart skipped a fearful amount of beats- it was her.

This girl's name was Liam. He knew this because she had come into his mother's bakery from time to time, getting packages of cookies or cakes with "Get Well Soon" written in intensely-sugared icing on the top. He'd taken notice of her the moment she had stepped in through the bakery doors, and he had almost dropped the tray of cupcakes he was lining up in the display case. He wasn't sure what had enchanted him so much; maybe it was the way her short brown hair was the exact color of caramel and as soft as marshmallows, while his was thick, knotty, and oftentimes greasy; maybe it was how her deeply tan skin was smooth and flawless, while his was pallid and somewhat acne-ridden; maybe it was those dark brown eyes shining from behind a pair of wood-brown glasses that were so innocent yet held so many secrets, in comparison to his storm cloud grey eyes that were mostly hidden by his busted black frames; maybe it was how her body was thin like a model's, yet precisely muscled and sturdy like an athlete, while his was heavyset and corpulent, and his movements were clumsy and twitchy. Everett had held a secret admiration for this girl named Liam for an unhealthily long amount of time, while she most likely hadn't a clue of who he was.

He was certain she didn't recognize him as he scrambled to help her pick up the contents of her shopping bag. He glanced at what she had dropped and he could barely contain his curiosity; infamously orange pill bottles littered among chocolates and sunflowers meant to brighten a dreary room. This mostly confirmed the suspicious he had been holding about her; she had been visiting someone sick day in and day out for awhile, and brought them sweets and, evidently, their medicines when she visited. What Everett realized as he handed her back her things, unable to look her in the eyes and his palms sweating embarrassingly, was that this person had been sick for a very, very, VERY long time. Maybe a few months. Maybe even half a year.

Liam took her things and passed him in a hurry, and for him, she was gone too soon. As he turned from her retreating back, he looked down at the sidewalk and noticed the petals that had fallen off of her sunflowers when he had knocked her over. He picked one up, and gazed at it. Without thinking too much about it, he placed it safely in his pocket. He felt like a creep and a weirdo, but it felt like his hands were doing it on their own, without his consent. He would keep the flower petal, and it would shrivel up and crumble, and that would be the end of his single interaction with the girl named Liam.

Everett walked on, heading for the bus station that would take him to his mom's bakery. He had begun singing to himself quietly, some old hymn he had found in his mother's books in the bureau by her room, and found that this calmed the nerves that had taken over him since seeing Liam. He was aware of the stares and the funny looks, but he wasn't going to be bothered with them. He knew it seemed weird but now he was ducking into an ally as a shortcut, and now he sang a little bit louder because no one could hear him there, and now he was coming out of the ally, and soon he would-

"Eeeevereeeett...." A voice said from behind him, and he froze, his blood running cold and his stomach ready to empty itself of its contents. Directly behind him was the second kid his age that he knew, and had sincerely hoped he wouldn't be running into today- Roger.

Roger was a downright bastard. He was 6"4 and skinny as a post, with beady green eyes and wild black hair. And he was the cruelest boy Everett had ever had the displeasure of even knowing about.

"Well, HEEEY there, lil' buddy!" Roger crooned at him, and Everett turned around stiffly, grimacing deeply and beginning to shake.

"H-hey, Roger!" Everett quite literally squeaked, twiddling his thumbs and having to lean back to look his bully in the eyes. "W-w-what's up?"

"Oh, you know... The usual," Roger grinned, twirling his Swiss Army Knife around his pointer finger. Everett cringed at the sight of it. Roger had never used it on him, but Everett knew he could. Oh, that boy really could.

"Well th-that's nice!" Everett smiled feebly, taking a step back and away from the bully. "I, uh, gotta get goin' now. Gotta be helping my mom down at the bakery, and I gotta catch the bus to get there, and-"

"Now hold up a minute, fat boy!" Roger barked, grabbing Everett by the front of his shirt and pulling him up to face him. Everett squeaked, whimpered, and blubbered, on the verge of crying. "I ain't done witchya! Y'see, I been havin' a CRUDDY FREAKING DAY, y'hear? And I'm ANGRY! An' you know what I do when I'm angry, dontchya?" Everett blubbered in response, so Roger tried again with the Swiss Army Knife pointed beneath his chin. "DONTCHYA?"

"You beat on me, Roger!" Everett squeaked, sniffling loudly. Roger smiled at this, and Everett knew what was coming.

"You know it, pal," Roger snarled, and Everett braced for impact.

Minutes later, Roger was gone, and Everett was crying on the filthy ground, curled up in a ball. He had a bruise on his cheek he had to find a way to explain to his mother about, and a few more bruises and scrapes on his arms and chest. On a scale of one to ten, Roger had been about a six today, and Everett was able to pick himself up and walk on.

Everett sat on the bus, staring at his feet. He was humming the hymn again, trying not to be too loud about it. He was a smart boy, but not overly-smart, so he had kind of a hard time analyzing how cruddy his life had been lately. He was falling for a girl who had no idea who he was, and was getting beat up by a guy who didn't need to know who he was to hate him. This boy named Everett was in a really cruddy place.

Everett got off the bus and walked a couple blocks. The walking had been getting easier, at least, and he had been trying really hard to cut back on the sweets, though that was more than a little difficult, being in a bakery most of the time. Everett was an awkward, nervous boy with no friends and a busy schedule, but sweets and his mother did make him happy. He didn't let Roger's bullying put him down, because somewhere deep inside his smart-but-not-too-smart mind, he knew that Roger was just a kid like him, and that they would both move on from the streets of Lower Manhattan to something that hopefully didn't involve one another.

Besides, he did have that flower petal.

((a/n Everett is also bae))