Chapter Five

"Michael. Get up."

Wilde kept his eyes closed and hoped Kristen would give up.

"You can't fool me. I know you're awake."

Wilde turned on his side away from her. "I'm sick. I can't go to school today."

"You look fine to me." There was a tentative pause from behind him. "You were awfully quiet last night at dinner. Mum is worried."

"I told you I'm sick." Wilde mumbled, pulling his covers over his head to block the sunlight streaming through his windows. He had forgotten to draw the curtains last night.

Kristen was silent for a moment. "Mum will think it's puberty or something."

Wilde groaned and forced himself to sit up. "Fine. I'm coming."

"Good," Kristen said approvingly, and walked out.

His body felt like lead, Wilde realised in resignation, standing up from his bed and stretching. He had spent another night wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He had never studied his ceiling so closely before, and it was actually quite refreshing.

He reached his bathroom and leaned heavily against the sink. Wearily, he lifted his head to stare into the mirror above the sink.

"Ew." He frowned in disgust, his reflection waking him fully. He quickly busied himself in making himself look more presentable. In the middle of pulling up his jeans, he realised he had not drawn his curtains. His fave heated as he found himself staring out of the window and straight into the curtained window of Goose's room. It had to be Goose's room; it was the only one with its curtains drawn.

Goose must have been observing him through her window. He earnestly hoped he had always drawn his curtains before changing. How could he have missed noticing her? She not only sat beside him for seven years straight, she had the clearest view of his room, as he did of hers.

I really am wrapped up in my own world, Wilde thought grimly, and made his way to the kitchen. He found his parents and sister as he always found them: eating breakfast in the expected dress code and the normal food laid out on the table.

"Morning, Mum, Dad," Wilde said, trying to sound cheerful. Mrs.Simpson gazed searchingly at her son's face, and a reluctant smile broke over her face.

"Good morning, sweetie," she let him peck her on the cheek, but Wilde did not miss the slightly depressed tone in her voice. He cast a glance at Kristen, but she was enthusiastically slurping up her food. He turned to his father, who was browsing through the day's mail.

"Well, what do we have here?" Mr.Simpson murmured in surprise. "Another letter for Wilde."

Wilde's head snapped up. His mouth formed "What?" and he hastily snatched the envelope from his father. "Sorry Dad!"

He pushed his chair back and brushed past his mother out of the kitchen and into the living room. This time he did not wait to sit; he smoothed the envelope with his thumb and tore it open.

It was empty.

But it was clearly from her, the telltale picture of a long-necked duck marked the inside of the envelope. Wilde pursed his lips in irritation.

"What are you playing at now?" He muttered, glaring at the small, scrawled goose, as if waiting for it to give him a clue. Then his gaze dropped down to the back of the envelope, where there was something not on the previous envelope.

A return address.

---

"Wilde? Son, are you alright?"

Wilde started, and looked up at his father. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Because I've called you five times already in vain," Mr.Simpson bent forward to stare at his son over the table. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just..." Wilde trailed off uncertainly. How much should he tell?

"Is there somewhere you have to be?"

Wilde turned to stare, confused, at his mother. "What?"

"Do you need to leave soon?" Mr.Simpson asked, folding up his newspaper. "Should I drive you?"

Wilde could only gawk at his parents.

"Cool. Is it an adventure?" Kristen perked up, swinging down from her chair. "Can I come along? Wait, don't let me. I want to stay here and ransack your room while you're gone."

"Hold on-" Wilde tried to grasp what was happening.

His mother shook her head. "Let's hear what Wilde wants to do. What do you feel like doing?"

"Wait- How did you know?" Wilde managed to choke out.

"Every teenage boy has a time when he needs to escape. When he needs to do something for himself." Mr.Simpson shrugged casually. "Your Mum and I made a promise a long time ago to let you do just that, if you ever wanted to."

"We live a boring life, Wilde," Mrs.Simpson said gently. "We understand."

Wilde gaped.

Kristen gulped down the last of her milk. "So when are you leaving?"

---

"Dark blue is so much more stylish," Spike was saying, "and it's not that far from black."

"But it completely defeats the purpose," Leila replied dully. "Hello, Wilde."

Wilde stopped in his tracks. He was sure he had not made a single sound creeping up behind the two of them on the sidewalk leading to Leila's house.

"She has eyes on the back of her head," Spike offered in answer to his amazed face.

"Ah. That explains it," Wilde agreed.

Leila opened her mail box and peered inside. "Nothing for me, it seems." She glanced over at Wilde. "But I can't say that for you, can I?"

Wilde held up the envelope on his open palm. Leila picked it up delicately.

"How strange," she remarked coolly, turning the envelope over, inspecting it carefully. Spike was looking politely interested, although it was obvious he did not really care.

"We're going to be late for school," he informed his companions.

Leila looked up and handed the envelope back to Wilde. "Well. We should get going to school then." She swept the opposite direction and towards the school. Wilde stared after her, wondering if maybe she did not know him as well as Goose did.

Spike made to follow Leila, but then he paused and said over his shoulder to Wilde, "What excuse should I give the teacher?"

Leila froze.

Wilde grinned, crossing the road back to his house.

"Say I decided to do something impulsive for once."

---