Chapter Text
The Past
Eight-year-old Mae Foster generally believed her parents to be right about most things. Of course, they were. They were very smart, very impressive. It was rare that she doubted any statements or promises they made, but she was particularly convinced by her mother’s suggestion to wear red shoes to school.
Mae liked the shoes, no doubt. They were so pretty! She really liked the color red. It was just so—so full of energy. Bold. Brave. Her mother told her that red had often been considered a symbol of power throughout history in different countries. Kings even wore red shoes to their coronations. Red was the color that people often chose to rise in defiance of unfair treatment. Red was also associated with love, good fortune, and joy! It was just a really great color.
Of course, there were also plenty of places where red was associated with bad things, but that didn’t matter so much to Mae.
However, Mae did not feel any braver, bolder, or defiant than before. Studying the meaning of those words had not helped her identify with them any more than before, either.
“Darling,” Her mother stepped into her room. “You’re going to be late.”
Mae looked up from the full-length mirror she kept next to her wardrobe towards her mother. She looks nice in anything, she thought, a little disheartened. Her mother could have worn a sack of potatoes, and she’d have looked very pretty, regardless.
“The shoes don’t look…silly, right?” she asked, bowing her head a little. “They’re too red, maybe.”
Diana approached her with a soft, encouraging smile. “Oh, my love,” she softly cupped Mae's cheeks. “My adorable, cutesy, sugary sweet—”
“Mama—”
Diana playfully squeezed her cheeks with a grin. “They are not too red, I promise. I thought you liked them?” she said before lowering herself to one knee so she and Mae were closer to being on the same eye level. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, love. But I think it’ll help you.”
“I do like them,” Mae said, glancing down at them. “They’re very shiny too, and they match my bow and my school bag. It’s just—a lot of kids will notice it.”
Diana brushed invisible lint off of Mae’s shoulders, then gently grabbed her hands into hers. She lifted them up to her mouth and pressed several kisses all over Mae’s hands. As always, her mother’s hands were soft. Slender. Diana enjoyed wearing multiple rings and bracelets, although not all of them were precious. She was even still wearing the bead bracelet Mae had made in school, over the summer. Her father was still wearing his, which must have been quite funny to his co-workers, seeing as it was bright pink as opposed to her mother’s green one.
“Yes, they will. It might help you feel a little less nervous about being around people. Some kids might not like it, but you ignore them. There’ll be others who’ll like your shoes. They’ll think, hm, I wonder who this adorable poppet is who’s wearing red shoes? She must be so interesting.”
Mae smiled tentatively. “You really think that?” Diana nodded. “Okay, Mama.”
“That’s my girl,” Diana playfully poked the tip of her nose, which made Mae giggle a little. "Now, come on, breakfast is over. Dad has powdered sugar on his nose, but we won’t tell him just yet, hm? We’re going to have some fun with it.” She pressed an index finger to her lips, eyes full of mischief.
Mae grinned widely. “No, we won’t,” she said. “Maybe we should take a photo.”
Diana winked. “My perfect partner in crime.”
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Mae sniffed loudly as she dabbed her handkerchief over the front of her top. Someone had split nearly an entire carton of milk on her, but she didn’t think it was an accident as it was made out to be. It wasn’t the first time Lisa and her friends had done something like that, accidentally spilling something on her clothes. Or trip her. Or just make her things fall off the desk.
She didn’t want to talk to her parents about it. She knew what’d happen. Her father would get immensely annoyed and would get set on storming that place, ready to put the teachers in their place. Or worse, he’d confront Lisa’s parents again. They seemed nice enough, but it hadn’t helped much. It never did. Lisa and her friends would ignore her for a couple of weeks; then, they’d start teasing her. Then the accidents would start again.
Maybe they wouldn’t have done that if she'd been braver. But she wasn’t. Even when she had a comeback ready, her mouth refused to let it out. It felt as if someone put a lock on her throat. She hadn’t always been that bad at dealing with it, but ever since that awful sleepover she had months earlier, Mae had gotten even more nervous around people. She kept thinking of how embarrassing that event had been for her, even though nearly a year had passed. Every time she did, her hands always felt hot and itchy. There was a tingling sensation at the back of her neck as if something bad was about to happen. Something really, really bad.
Her mother said that was called anxiety. It was also anxiety that caused her to break into hives whenever she dealt too closely with Lisa or Danny or other mean kids. The crying, though, was more of her thing. She was a crybaby. Her mother hadn’t said that, and she didn’t like it when Mae said it either, but her teachers did. She’s so sensitive. Mae is just sensitive.
Mae lowered the handkerchief and glanced at herself in the mirror of the girls’ bathroom. Her face was really pink, and it was obvious she’d cried. How was she going to go to class in that state? The stain on her top didn’t look as bad anymore, but it kind of smelt.
She bowed her head and looked down at her red shoes.
Mama had been wrong. No one at school liked her shoes. There was certainly no one who looked at her and thought, "What an interesting girl! I want to be her friend." Even the kids who were nice and polite to her usually were because their parents made them. She was sure of it. Everyone at Saint Catherine knew who Harry and Diana Foster were, and while not all families were great fans of them or their work, they were quite well-respected.
Mae stood out enough without wearing the red, bold shoes. She stuttered, was too shy, and spaced out too much. She struggled with crowds and didn’t know how to talk to other kids. Whenever she tried, they either stared at her strangely or with pity. Or they got impatient. She had good grades, but that just earned her the title of being a nerd in addition to a weirdo.
“I do look silly,” she murmured, still staring at her shoes.
After tripping and spilling the milk carton on her, Lisa loudly said sorry, I didn’t see you, Ronald McDonald! You’re missing the red clown nose! A lot of the other kids laughed. Mae was sure Mrs Forst was also amused by it. Mae didn’t like her. She wasn’t a kind person. Bitter twat, she’d heard her mother call her when talking to her father, unaware Mae had been eavesdropping from the stairs. Mae asked her what she meant by it later on. Her mother had simply frozen, eyes wide - Mae rarely ever saw her surprised - while her father had chuckled, thoroughly amused. It’s an adult-only word, so you can’t use it. He told her.
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Her father had convinced her not to give up on the red shoes. “Let them laugh. Let them think what they want,” he told her firmly. “What matters is that you like them. Do you?”
“Yes, but, um,….not if people call me Ronald McDonald.”
Her father’s eyes hardened at that. “Was it that McKann girl again?”
Mae was immediately alarmed. “Please don’t go talk to her parents again,” she rushed to say. “Please, Daddy. I don’t—I don’t want you to.”
He sighed. “I won’t. For the time being,” he said. “Mae, listen to me. The world is—is full of people who’ll tell you that you are wrong. Sometimes, there are so many of them that you think, how can they not be wrong if everyone thinks the same? But they can be wrong.”
Mae mulled that over. “But how do I know when—when they’re wrong or–or when they’re not?”
“It won’t always be easy. Sometimes you’ll get it wrong.” He told her patiently. “Mom and I will help you figure it out until you get better. And right now, I promise they’re wrong. They pick on you for different things because they hope that’ll upset you. You don’t have to change for them, though.”
“....but sometimes,” She hesitated. Why does it have to be me? “It’s just, um, really hard.”
“I know, darling, I know.” He cupped her face and kissed her cheek. “Wear the shoes if you like them, Lilibeth. Okay? When you feel upset, you look at them and think – Mom and Dad have my back. Dennis’s got my back. Felix—well, Felix is very good at judging, but he’s got your back too. Minnie just has deadly farts, but that’ll work too.”
Mae started giggling.
“Let me know if anyone gives you grief, alright?” Her father said. “Mom and I will handle it.”
“Um, okay.”
There was nothing her parents couldn’t handle.
But sometimes, she wished she could handle some things alone, especially people.
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Mae assumed the new student would fit right in when she saw him. He seemed so at ease, so comfortable in his skin, as he approached the other kids with easy confidence, chatting about comics and school effortlessly. He didn’t stutter, he wasn’t afraid to look others in the eye, and he didn’t blush like a crab.
Mae didn’t know his name, but in her mind, the new student was just another peer she wouldn’t connect with.
Her gaze drifted across the crowded courtyard, her loneliness a presence most noticeable in those moments. Mae didn’t mind being alone - most days. She often found solace in solitude, losing herself in the pages of a good book. But sometimes, a longing for connection would creep in. She wished she had someone to share her thoughts with other than her parents or Maggie. Her brother was too young, and her dog - as wonderful a confidante as he was - made for a one-sided conversation. Felix was a king who did not like being bothered by his jesters.
It was a little unfair how so many books spoke of friendships and how sweet they were when one could not experience them themselves.
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The new student was a sun-kissed boy with eyes that reminded her of gems and curls that looked like butterscotch whenever he stood in bright light. Even streaks of gold made her think he spent a lot of time in the sun. Her hair always got lighter when she did that, and her mother and Oliver constantly developed freckles.
Mae was better at getting sunburnt than tanned. It was a most unpleasant affair, so she preferred shielding herself from the sun as much as possible. The heat was not her friend. She was also prone to feeling sick on the hottest days of the year. Her father always told her that she probably got it from him along with his eye color, hair color, pale skin, and height. She wished she got a little more from her mother. Maybe kids would have liked her more if she had pretty green eyes and lighter hair, instead.
She couldn't help but think that if summer had a face, it would be his.
His name was Billy.
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By the end of Billy’s first week at Saint Catherine, Mae knew three things with relative certainty. One, despite being much braver than her at talking to others, he had yet to make any friends. He always sat alone. Two, he was in a grade below her. Three, he was one of the poorer students there. She only knew the last one because she’d seen Danny and other boys tease him about his shoes and that he didn’t have a fancy lunchbox like most other kids did.
Mae thought those were rather silly things to tease someone about, but then again, she knew a thing or two about how silly some kids were. They always found reasons to make fun of her or creatively re-used the same old insults.
By the second week, Mae also concluded that Billy looked sad sometimes. He was not crying or trying to hide himself, like she often did, but just sad. He’d begun watching the other kids, just like she did.
But he never noticed her.
And she didn’t dare to talk to him, even with the red shoes on.
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“Mama.”
“Yes, darling,” Her mother had just pulled out the second tray of homemade cookies made from a personal recipe. Mae had helped her, as she always did, every Sunday. It was one of the constants week on week, in an otherwise very busy lifestyle, at least for her parents.
“Do all students get food? At the cafeteria?”
“Yes, they should. There’s a small fee, which mostly goes towards supplies or other school resources.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t known. “Does everyone have to pay it?”
Diana closed the oven door and then removed her gloves. “It’s expected, and most families do it since it's a small fee. However, if there’s anyone who forgets or can’t afford it, they won’t get penalized. Punished. So the students will always have food, no matter what.”
Mae’s lips pursued. “Oh, okay.”
“Why do you ask, poppet?” Diana asked. “I thought you were happy with the lunch Mrs Dresden makes. Do you want more food? Or did anyone refuse to give you food at the cafeteria?”
Mae shook her head. “No, um, I—I like my food,” she said. “No one said no, either, but—but, um, there’s this boy. The—the new student? He, um, never eats at lunch. From the cafeteria.”
Diana moved about the kitchen to take out the large plate they’d all come to think of as the cookie plate. It had a wavy green edge. To Mae, it was as a familiar sight as the sun in the sky. Dennis, an expected presence by her side, whined a little. Drool had already started to drip from his mouth as he watched Diana with such interest, Mae wasn’t sure he was even blinking anymore. Felix was on the kitchen's window sill, basking in the afternoon sun.
“Hmm, perhaps his parents are giving him homemade food,” Diana said. “Or maybe he doesn’t know he can have food from there. Does he not have food at all?”
“...not always,” Mae said, feeling slightly embarrassed over how much she’d been watching Billy. She still spent most of her lunch reading, but she was always curious whenever she saw him around. Despite his unsuccessful attempts at making friends, he wasn’t undeterred from trying to play in the courtyard with the older boys. He always got quite excited over sports, especially basketball. They couldn’t have been more different.
“I see. Have you tried talking to him? It must be daunting to be a new student.”
Mae balked at talking to Billy, even if she was curious about him. “Um, no. Not yet.” she stammered, knowing already that’d never happen. She eyed the cookies her mother had begun setting carefully on the plate. “Could I have some extra cookies for tomorrow, please?”
Diana smiled widely. “Of course. Just don’t eat them too fast or before actual food.”
“Hm. I know.”
It wasn’t until later that Mae realized that she’d never told her mother what age Billy was. Her mother was like that, though. Sometimes she just knew things. Her father sometimes liked to tease her by calling her Sauron. Mae wasn’t sure why, but it had to do with a character in a book that she had yet to read.
Years later, Elizabeth Stirling would wonder how many more inside jokes she’d missed out on and whether their family had been as connected as she thought they’d been.
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Mae had been so worried Billy would catch her leaving him the cookies and the apple that she ran away so quickly she’d nearly slipped and fell face first in the tree she’d planned to hide behind. That was her favorite spot to sit at, and even though the other kids enjoyed having their food on the grass, no one had challenged the area she claimed for herself between the two gnarly roots that curved out from the earth.
As discreetly as possible, she leaned from behind the tree and watched Billy as he came out, then made a beeline straight for the table that always sat in the shadows. It was colder there, usually, but he’d claimed that spot as his just like she did with hers.
He didn’t have food that day. He looked even sadder than he sometimes did, with dark circles under his hair and his hair flat, lacking in shine. There was a small bruise on his chin. A couple of others peeking from under the hem of his t-shirt. Maybe he injured himself while playing sports. Or perhaps he bruised easily as she did.
Billy had appeared confused by the food that waited for him, and when he started looking around curiously, Mae immediately ducked behind the tree, her heart pounding. She didn’t dare sneak another glance for several minutes, but when she did, she found him ignoring the apple and the cookies.
She was disappointed.
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The next day, Billy looked even worse than before. Mae had gotten a closer look at him when he’d passed her by the hallway, head bowed and eyes red. She’d never seen him so dejected before. He’d always been full of energy.
Mae made sure to get to the cafeteria before everyone else. She had no extra food on herself that day but left him her apple and cookies. Then, from behind the tree, she watched him eat both. Billy had brightened up with each bite, and at one point, he even started grinning.
Mae had felt light in the chest for the rest of the day.
Maybe her mother’s cookies were magic, after all.
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Billy stopped coming to school for a while. When she asked, the teachers either didn’t know why or they made a funny little face that made Mae think something bad happened. Perhaps he was ill?
She wished she’d mustered up the courage to talk to him.
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Billy was back. Mae’s heart had leaped up in her chest when she saw him being dropped off by a slim, blond woman at the gates that morning. He looked kind of different. His hair was shorter, and his clothes didn’t fit him as well as before. He looked skinny.
Mae left him a bag of cookies and an apple on his table. She’d been carrying extra food in her bag every day, just in case. It finally paid off.
On his first day back, Billy had a brown paper bag with him for lunch. Maybe that was why he stared strangely at the cookies and apple suspiciously. He didn’t eat either of them, but Mae had watched him take both foods with him when he left. He didn’t throw them in the garbage can not far from his table, so she took that as a good sign.
The next day, he began lining up for food in the cafeteria. Mae concluded that his parents must have paid their fees or talked to the school.
“Dad.”
“Just one minute, Lilibeth, I’ve got—you’re just going to get on my lap. Alright.” Her father resigned pretty quickly to her presence. He usually did. If he was ever busy with a huge case that took him away from home for more hours or stressed him, her mother always told her to give him space. Her father always made up for it by spending a whole day of her choosing to do whatever she wanted (“within reason”). “I suppose Mrs Lawrence can wait.”
“Who is Mrs Lawrence?”
“No one.” Harry smiled as he readjusted her on his lap. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“Is it illegal to give someone food if they don’t know where it comes from?”
Her father blinked twice. “Whom have you been giving food?”
“Billy.”
“Who?”
“He’s a new student at my school.” Mae clarified. “He didn’t have food from his mom or dad or the cafeteria, so I gave him cookies. Mom’s cookies.”
“.....and he doesn’t know you did that?”
“No.”
“I see.” Her father leaned back in his chair but wrapped his arms around her so she didn’t fall off. “How did you do that? Without him seeing you?”
Mae shrugged. “I just put it on his table - he always sits at the same table - then I, um, well, I—I run away.”
“You run away,” her father’s lips twitched. “And that’s a better choice than talking to him?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Harry hummed. “To answer your question, it’s not illegal. It would be if you put something in his food, like an ingredient he’s unaware of. But since you leave it out for him, he can accept it or throw it away. So it's his choice."
Mae scratched at her cheek. “So I can keep giving him food?”
“He still doesn’t have food with him?”
“No, he, um, does. He gets food from the cafeteria now.” Mae shrugged, cheeks turning hot. “But I just—I just thought it might be, um, nice.”
“Hm.” Harry lifted a hand to his face and scratched his jaw. Mae was convinced he was making a show of thinking it through just to tease her. “It is very nice, and I don’t see why not. I would be careful, though. You know some people have allergies.”
“He—he already ate them, um, once. He—he didn’t get sick.” He showed up to school as usual the next day. Mae had only thought about Billy having an allergy after she gave him the cookies so it was such a relief to find out he was fine.
“That’s good. Have you told Mom this?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“ ‘Go distract Dad. I want to eat this ice cream tub all on my own.’”
“Diana!” Harry yelled almost right away, head tilted towards the half-open door of the study. “Are you eating all the pistachio ice cream and using our daughter as a decoy?!”
From somewhere in the house, “Yes! I already laid claim to it, so piss off!”
Mae started giggling.
Her parents could be very silly sometimes.
“Very sneaky of you, helping your mother,” Harry tsk-ed and poked one of her cheeks which made Mae smile. “What happened to being on Daddy’s side?”
Mae shrugged. “Mom made me a Sundae. With extra chocolate syrup.”
“Fair enough.”
“I also wanted legal advice,” Mae said primly. She sometimes used that line as an icebreaker if she wanted to ask her mother for something but wasn’t sure she’d say yes, like asking her if they could keep the raccoon that sometimes visited their backyard (the answer was a very firm No). So she’d ask her father instead. He always knew what it meant.
Harry chuckled. “How about some Dad advice?” he suggested. “How about you go say hi to this Billy. Introduce yourself.”
Mae also made a show of contemplation. “I object.”
He smirked. “On what grounds, young lady?”
“I, um, prefer not to.”
Harry shook his head to himself. “Do me a favor, darling. Just think about it, alright? It might not be as scary as you think it is.” She nodded reluctantly. “How about you and I get food from Di Angelo’s?”
“That’s Mom’s favorite place.”
“Oh, is it?” He feigned ignorance. “I don’t think she’ll be hungry anyway. She must be full of all that ice cream.”
“I heard that, Harry!”
“Stop eavesdropping, woman!”
Mae grinned.
Silly, indeed. She always liked them the best when they were like that.
Oliver always laughed the most in those moments, too. It was almost as if he could sense that their parents were never serious, no matter how much they teased and bickered - sometimes even pranked each other! - and already knew how much they loved each other.
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Mae continued to leave her mother’s cookies and apple each day on Billy’s table.
He continued to eat them.
She didn’t talk to him. Why ruin everything, she told herself. She had to admit, she quite liked the secretiveness of it all—the anonymity. Billy always smiled whenever he found the cookies, which filled her with glee. He didn’t know she was. If he did, he might have decided not to eat anymore. What if he realized the quiet weirdo who wore clown shoes was the one who left him the food? Nothing good would come out of it.
It was her little secret.
Dennis and Felix heard all about it every day. One required more payments in snacks than the other.
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Billy was brave. She wished she had half of that bravery. Then, maybe, she would have stood up to Danny and the witchy Mrs Forst and the mean-eyed principal. Alas, she was not brave. All she could do was try not to dissolve into tears. Again. “Do you want to sit together?”
Mae was half-tempted to glance behind her, thinking he may have been speaking to someone else. But no, he wasn’t. She knew that. “T-to-together?” She stammered, heart pounding in her chest.
“Yeah,” Billy stared at her scrutinisingly, head cocked to the side. “By the way….I know you’re the one who left food for me.”
Oh. Oh no. Mae’s stomach swooped. “Oh, I–I didn’t–didn’t—”
“Yes, you did,” He insisted. “I saw you earlier too.”
Mae floundered. “Oh.” She wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t seem angry, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bothered by it, right? Then again, why would he ask her to sit together if he was bothered?
Gods, her face felt so hot she was starting to worry she was sick.
“Let’s go sit at the table outside! The one in the corner.” He proposed, then turned towards the buffet. “I’ll meet you there after I get food!”
“But—”
He was gone before she could stop him.
Huh.
What a strange boy.
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Billy talked—a lot. Mae was not sure she’d ever heard anyone talk that much. Not to her, anyway. At first, she was worried he might run out of breath, but he never did. Then, she was merely fascinated by his energy, how bright and animated he was. So bright.
Billy reminded her of summer, she thought quietly. Everything about him was summer: his golden curls, sun-kissed skin, and his eyes—his eyes were so pretty! They were like gems, reminding her of the clear waters in that Italian town she and her family vacationed in every summer or a cloudless summer sky.
And when he asked her a question, his gaze warm and curious, he waited patiently for her response, never rushing, never a hint of impatience in his voice. He never mocked her stutter, never made her feel self-conscious about the way her words sometimes danced and stumbled on their way out. Instead, he listened, his eyes shining with genuine interest, making her feel heard and seen.
It was so exciting.
She wasn’t sure she could be any more impressed by him.
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She was wrong.
First, as it turned out, Billy knew what it felt like to be anxious as well! She would have never guessed, given how outspoken he was. How he never hid himself like she did.
"My dad says I can't read because I'm dim," he confessed during their first shared tutoring session.
Mae frowned, exchanging a worried look with Maggie.
"Dim?" Maggie echoed, her voice filled with gentle reassurance. "Oh, I don't think so, Billy. I think you're a very clever boy."
Billy didn't seem convinced, and Mae's heart ached for him. She didn't think he was dim either. What a horrible thing to say! Why would his father say that?
"I—I—" Both Billy and Maggie looked at her expectantly. Mae blushed, her own anxieties bubbling up. "I…don't—don't think so either," she managed to stammer out.
Billy studied her intently, his ears turning bright pink. Huh. Look at that—another thing they had in common.
He ducked his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. "If you say so."
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Secondly, Billy was brave. Even braver than she initially thought. Although he was younger and smaller than the other boys, he didn’t hesitate to defend her. Even if it meant he’d get hurt in return. Even if he was, maybe, a little scared himself.
Thankfully, her father intervened before anything bad happened. Anything more, anyway. Her costume was dirty, and she’d cried enough for her mother to go through a whole pack of tissues to clear her congested nose.
However, the night ended on a positive note. Far better than she expected.
After all, now, she had a friend.
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“Billy?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have, um, a-a wish for New Year?”
“I guess so. Do you?”
Mae hesitated. “I hope we’ll still be friends.”
“We will.”