12 | Peanut Butter Muffins

These sheets smell salty.

Snuggling deeper into my covers, I resisted the impulse to lick the white cloth. The laptop perched beside my head, which I was facing now and on the screen was Mitch, who also had her head flopped down on a pillow. She was staring at a printed photo in her hands while her camera rested not far from her. I rubbed my legs together underneath the sheets as I waited for her to say something.

Saturday was equivalent to my day-off. That gave me the opportunity to finally rest my overwhelmed self and not see any of the Dales for twenty-four hours. Each day with them just felt like a reminder of the real reason why I was around. It constantly made me confused if I should entertain the fear of Jackson's lingering threat or the guilt slowly eating me up inside.

This is what you get for eating chips on the bed, I told myself when I took a whiff of my sheets again. My inner self was right; I should eat sweets on my bed so it will smell like cake.

Ah, but the ants.

Right again. My inner self was such a downer.

Mitch budged finally. She flipped the picture so that it faced me. "This one looks like a cat's ass."

I squinted at the photo of a cloud, round with a curved tail that seemingly jutted out of it. "Why were you taking pictures of cat butts?" I asked. "Which, don't really look like cat butts?"

"Ollie, I have played enough Neko Atsume to know what a cat butt looks like." Mitch went back to staring at the picture dreamily. But in my opinion, dog butts were better. "I was trying to get license plates yesterday."

"None?"

"They were too fast," she said with her stare flickering at the camera, "The other cars parked were nowhere near amusing."

"But anyway –" she began but stopped short and looked intently at me. "Why are you smelling your sheets?" By reflex, I pulled the sheets far from my nose and gave her a slight shake of my head.

"I bet they smell like food," she said, "But that's not what we're going to talk about. Are you back on your old job?"

"Just a pinch, actually," I brought my index finger and thumb together and showed it to her, "I miss it. But don't tell Mom that. She might drag my unconscious body to the bathrooms and tell me to scrub when I wake up."

"And no," I told her, "I'm not back yet. I told Mom I needed to rest and do homework." And by that, I meant rest and do nothing.

"Then what about Jackson Da – "

"No, no, don't mention his name!" I hissed, covering both my ears. For the rest of the work week, Jackson and I had avoided each other effectively and we barely spoke a word to each other. Most of the time, when Maira was busy and Walter wasn't around, Brennan fooled around with me while Jackson would be off reading or studying. Today, I just wanted a break from the loudest silence I have ever heard from him. Although he hasn't done anything, his presence was unnerving.

"From now on," I told her determinedly, "He shall be our 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Until this weekend is over."

Our last 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', or the person we mutually agreed to remain silent about, had been Mitch's uncle, who she claimed to smell of cigarettes and was a messy and wasteful pig. Ever since I told her about this boy who turned me down because he said he was gay – and I knew he wasn't – we initiated this tradition.

"Fine, but I was just wondering!" Mitch hopped off the bed and grabbed her phone faster than I could cut in line for ice cream. "If he stalked you online – which was a total offense and invasion of privacy – then why not do the same to him? I was planning to call Bernardo."

Zafra Bernardo was dubbed master stalker and hacker of Clevemore High. She was infamous for digging up the deepest secrets of our former principal, who was a ridiculous spawn of Dolores Umbridge, and finally got him toasted and fired. She made hundreds just by doing favors for anyone who asked politely. It was the most fortunate thing that she didn't sell what she knew to Rita Scott.

"No, absolutely not," I shook my head furiously, "We're not stooping down on his level. And I doubt she could find anything we can hold against him. It will just make things worse."

"Whatever, I'm telling her anyway," Mitch was now on her phone, her fingers flying through the keys.

"Mitchell!"

"No, this is for Brennan!" She looked up at me. "I can't believe I've never thought of this before. I'm going to ask her what she knew about him."

"I think you could know more about Brennan from me than from Bernardo," I told her bluntly, "And I say, please play it safe."

"Sent and read," she winked at me. "But I'm still wondering about You-Know-Who. If you don't get back at him, what will you do at work then? If you don't leave, he'll ruin you."

This girl definitely wasn't wrong. Jackson's threats and promises still stood, and I can't just play deaf or blind to them. Brennan already didn't have the power to help me out, and there was no one I could ask help from. This made me vulnerable, and in a tight situation. I was cornered.

"Shouldn't you tell your Dad?" Mitch suggested.

I frowned at the mention of my father. "I can't tell him," I said to her, "He'll be flipping livid if I told him someone found out. If he reacts more irrationally than I imagine right now, I could say bye-bye to Bridgeshade and hello to poverty."

"But he put you up to this! He should defend you and have you guarded. Is he crazy?" her eyes were wide.

"You tell me."

I turned away from the laptop, which I sneaked from Mom's room, but I'll put it back as stealthily later. My eyes glued to the ceiling and my arms spread out wide, I said to Mitch, "I'll come to him without anything today. I barely found anything this first week."

"What!" she exclaimed, "You're meeting him today? You didn't tell me right away!"

"Mom told me this breakfast. She said the news casually when I was eating meatloaf and waffles then she went away for work. The meatloaf fell from my spoon."

"That's stupid. You have to tell him something."

"And I will," I waved her off, "Suggestions?"

"No," said she, "But I suddenly remembered that I also stalked You-Know-Who a few days ago, before you told me you were going to your dad's." Unsatisfied with my bed position, I fell on my stomach and put the laptop in front of me. A pillow rested on my chin. Why wasn't there a comfortable bed position invented yet, that can last for more than five minutes?

"Did you find something?" Not that I wanted to find out deep dark secrets; I was just curious about the mystery that is Jackson Dale.

"Not much, actually," Mitch answered, "He has a Facebook, and it's full of school and family related posts. There wasn't a single interesting thing, except maybe Brennan's mouthwatering selfies . . . Oh, and no embarrassing middle name to call him. I guess their parents learned their lesson with Brennan." She stopped to chuckle.

"He has a Twitter, too," she continued, "But it hasn't been updated in years. Almost empty. His Google Results page has so little information about him. It could be full cobwebs and tumbleweeds and, you know, strangers with the same name as him."

"Tumblr?"

"I think he has none."

I gasped, "That disgrace!"

"He's untouchable online, Ollie," Mitch said in all finality, "Plan Get Creepy could still work, maybe?"

Groaning, I began nuzzling the fluffy pillow. "I'll try," I said hopelessly, "But I can't be sure it would work. I can't channel my inner weird if I'm so full of problems."

"I'll try looking him up again today," Mitch reassured, "You have to go to your Dad's now, don't you?"

I was still wearing pajamas with cupcake prints on them and a sweatshirt on top. I twisted my face, lazy, and pulled at my hair. "I'll go later," I put the laptop on Tumblr, "When I finish browsing dog butts or until Mom goes up to slaughter me."

"Dog butts," Mitch repeated, "Feline posterior is better, just so you know. Cats are both cuddly and sadistic."

"I think you just described me."

"And that's why I keep you."

♫ ♫ ♫

Reynold Records was a big name in the music industry, which produced famous celebrities, entertainment and Hollywood buzz. My father hadn't built the empire by himself – it was an old family business that grew to be rich and powerful. However, Dad proved that it was his own when it went bankrupt (I was just Harmony's age then) and he restored it to be more influential and resilient. Since then, money piled up constantly and my older sister was next to the throne.

Standing in front of the building, I suddenly wanted to go back to the shop and scrub toilets instead. The gigantic structure that loomed over you like a shadow easily made someone feel inferior especially if they were wearing loafers and bed hair – like in my case. I needed to throw back my head to barely look at the top. It wasn't a single building that stood rigidly; it was a wide edifice that stretched towards the end of the block.

After taking slow steps to get inside, I saw that its interior was just as crowded as the streets. I pushed through the running people and approached the front desk. "Oliver Ridge," I said right away, "Appointment?"

The man barely spared me a glance, "Up to the top floor."

The employees who worked in here also had no clue that this ombré haired girl was Grant Reynolds' own daughter. Let's just say Dad was picky of who to trust with that information. But judging by how You-Know-Who snatched that knowledge so easily, I didn't think it was well hidden.

Another suffocation session later, I was thrown in front of the elevator. The people were hurrying around like cars, and I was the poor human who crossed pedestrian and was ignored by them. I took a deep breath once I got inside the empty box and before I could press the button to shut doors, an old lady stepped inside with me.

I couldn't help but stare at her familiar face. She was shorter than me, slumping down, and was dressed like the queen of England. There was this noticeable mole at the corner of her mouth that made me look away. I stood tight against one corner while she had the other. I pressed the top floor for myself.

I began to fidget when the elevator slid up. There were tons of floors to pass by, and I wasn't particularly looking forward to sharing a small box with other strangers. Or worse – Brennan would get inside.

Brennan did belong to Dale Studios, but being Montana's boyfriend, he had a few works for my Dad's company. I knew he was always here because my sister was. I wished to disappear and fly towards the topmost floor myself.

To the second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on, more people piled in and got out. And upon reaching a floor I didn't bother to count, my sister stepped in.

And I didn't mean my sister Harmony.

It was mad. The other people stepped out to proceed to their jobs and only me, Montana and old lady stood in the elevator. She was covered in a getup that seemed to be adorned by feathers, fur, glitter and sequins. I bit my tongue to keep me from saying that only Magnus Bane can pull off that kind of look.

"Hello, grandma." She didn't notice me right away but instead acknowledged old lady, who grunted in response. I realized that this lady must be Glenda's mother.

Montana turned to her other side and her glossed lips curled in disgust as she saw me. "Hideous," she mumbled lowly.

Look who's talking.

"Is Dad around?" I blurted out in a tone I hoped was casual to keep me from firing a burning comeback. The last thing I wanted was a cat-dog fight between me and my sister in a vertical box.

She glared, "What, you're here to see him?"

I titled my head back, "I just assumed Brennan already told you about his little plan."

Her face went blank; I supposed she had no clue that I was working undercover in the Dales' residence. Almost instantly, she turned away and crossed her arms with a huff. My eyebrows rose – how childishly could she act?

The exchange between us was brief when old lady and Montana got off in the next floor. I was finally alone, and a few groups of people later, I was on the highest point of the company building.

I felt like it was selfish for Dad to take up this whole floor to be his office space. He wasn't the king – he wasn't the main reason this company ran. I hauled my feet with me as I marched up to Ezra, Dad's secretary, on her desk. I first believed her to be stuck-up with her round glasses and taut and long braid behind her back but she had proved me wrong when I had seen the Grumpy Cat memes posted on every corner of her workspace. Dad had hired her when she was fresh out of college, and he soon found her trustworthy enough to share the family secrets. Yes, she knew I was her boss's daughter.

"Oliver! Morning!" Ezra clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them. "Say, why isn't eleven called onety one?"

A smiled a small smile, "This is work, Ezra, not three a.m. Tumblr. And I don't know, really. Is my dad in?"

"In and ready for you," she nodded, "Now, why isn't twenty two called twooty two?"

I chuckled, "I'll see you later." Then, I disappeared through the double doors that led to my father's office.

The feature striking about the huge place was the whole wall made entirely of glass window. It looked over the city, and also had the Dale Studios building on view – perfect for his hawk-like sightseeing. Dad was on his large desk, typing away on his desktop. The doors swung closed behind me and I stood still, barely breathing.

"Oliver," he got off his computer and stood up, "Come on. Take a seat." I obeyed silently and sunk on a black plush chair. I tried to look anywhere but his eyes.

"I want to go directly to important matters," he took a seat again, "But . . . do you want a mint?"

I glanced down at the coffee table which held a bowl of Mentos and Tic Tac. No Mars Bars or Twix in sight – what a disappointment this company was.

"My breath isn't bad, so no thanks," I said nonchalantly. But I still breathed on my palm to double check.

"Fine," Dad said, "Did you find out anything? Anything useful at all?"

Well, let's see. I have found out that Maira Dale's cooking is poisonous, Walter doesn't care about the stupid rivalry, Brennan had a shameful middle name and Jackson was a tormentor.

"It's my first week," I protested, shifting uncomfortably on the seat, "Do you expect me to find something that quickly? Do you think I could just snoop around and sneak into Walter's office? No!"

"It's your job," he said lowly, as his fingers played with a fountain pen, "You must've heard something during dinner, or breakfast? The boys slipping out something? Walter mentioning his plans?"

"I want you to stop this insane thing," I was starting to get mad, "Look, Jackson Dale is starting to get suspicious and It hasn't even occurred to you that there's a possibility that I could get caught."

Suspicious, yes. He hasn't found out my inner motives and family background, Dad.

"I already added extra security for that. I hid you so well that if there's a possibility, it's a small one," he grumbled.

"Haven't you seen that you and Mom were already seen together?" I knew myself that Dad already cleared it up, but the news was still on danger zone. "What will happen to me? Do something about it before this whole thing blows up."

"I have done everything under my control, Oliver. You just don't see it. You underestimate the things I can do."

And you overestimated the effectiveness of your plan.

I slumped on my seat. Arguing with Dad was worse than fighting with Montana. Even though you're right, he always got his way. "Why do you hate Walter Dale so badly?" I scowled at empty air, "He doesn't care about you, you know. He's not part of this imaginary fight you're making up. What did he do to you?"

I sensed an enclosed rage he was trying to restrain. I knew for a fact that my father had a lot of secrets, buried deeper than I was, and these might be the root of whatever grudge he had on Walter. It was sickening how a person could hate someone that much.

"Why drag me into this bullcrap, Dad? You have Brennan by your side."

"You know about the contract," he said seriously, "I can't do that with him. And he can't help you either."

Zipping my lips shut, I held in the anger I was detaining for years. This man was unbelievable, I couldn't believe he was the reason I was born. This time, I was so grateful I grew under Mom's roof, and not in his tight grasp. I was fortunate not be like him and I was wishing to anything that Montana didn't end up the same.

"I'm asking you again, Oliver," Dad said softly, but forebodingly, "What did you find out?"

I almost choked on my words as I forced them out. He would be imprisoning me here if I didn't say something. And he would find out if I was lying. "He will be launching some kind of program soon. I don't know the details, but he was pretty serious about it."

I remembered that night. We were having dinner and Jackson's gaze was setting fire inside me as I listened to Walter and Maira's conversations about the company. Jackson didn't say anything after, but I knew he was watching – wary.

"A program?" Dad echoed, "I haven't heard about that. Anything else?"

I bit my tongue. There was. There would be a launching party about it the next month. It involved looking for new celebrities, producing music, movies and shows with a new tactic and all accomplished with the help of a new sponsor.

"No."

"You don't know what it's about?"

"No. He was too vague."

Dad was still for a while, as if contemplating about something. I started to sweat, wondering if he could read through my mind. The hushed tension was thick, and I was mentally choking on it.

"Alright. You can go now."

I tried to hide my surprised expression. A bit too hastily, I stood up and disappeared out the door, glad to be finally away from him. I met Ezra's surprised eyes as I released a breath, leaning on her desk.

"Threety three?" She stared up at me with her doe-like eyes, caressing a Grumpy Cat stuffed toy in her hand.

"I think you'll have luck on forty-four."

Before I knew it, I was back in the small box that was the elevator.

My stomach was complaining. I was hungry. I needed food. And not just a quick scent of salty sheets, but real tangible food. And I needed it now. I pressed a button to the floor where I knew there was a break room and lounge. On the rare times I was here in Reynold Records, I had gotten familiar with the rooms and the people bustling about. And my stomach couldn't fail to remember where the food was located.

The downside was that this was where Montana got off a while ago.

My footsteps were guarded as I hopped off the elevator and made my way to the bridge connecting this building to another. I also kept my head down in case someone found me familiar or in case I see someone familiar. It was a big place, but this was a small world after all.

Hearing childlike giggles, I suddenly perked up. There, I spotted my little sister weaving her way around people. She looked back and abruptly noticed me, and then she started to run back, going to my direction.

"Ollie," she hugged my waist. I gently patted her back, not expecting to see her here.

"Mony," I smiled, "How are things?"

"Really great," she pulled away and bounced excitedly, "I get to go to Washington next week! Stepmama says it's for a tour."

She was still so young, yet she couldn't enjoy a real childhood, but on the other hand, she gets pampered and got to places. If only Mom had chosen to keep Mony with us, I would be the sister she actually needed in her life. Regrettably, she was stuck in Montana's claws, and I had no clue what she was doing with our little sister.

"That's really nice," I told her, taking her hand as we continued down the hall, "Look at the White House for me, yeah? Send some photos. Mom would love some."

"Okay," she nodded, "Why are you here? Do you have cake with you?"

This girl was young me sometimes.

"Not really, sorry," I said, "But I'm going to the food lounge right now. Maybe they have something there."

"Food lounge," she said so pensively that I let a little chuckle escape my lips.

We rounded a corner, and I felt slightly thankful that she was with me or else I would've gotten lost, no matter how hard my food senses can work. She seemed to know where we were going as she led us through the winding corridors. I felt envious of her innocence to the bad world every time she tapped her cheek or chewed on her lip to concentrate.

"Monty says the plane ride will be long," she looked up at me for confirmation.

"Oh? Is she coming with you?"

"Just for a few days," she counted in her fingers, "She's busy. The ride?"

"It'll take some time, yes," I replied, "But you'll enjoy it if you sit near the window."

"And chew bubblegum," Mony added, "Ears pop."

"Harmony." We turned back to see our sister standing there, motioning for Mony. Montana looked back and forth between us with a rigid expression. I kept myself from shooing her away and cursing her from interrupting my precious time with my little sister.

"Food lounge," Harmony pointed the way ahead of us.

Montana's face softened just a bit, but she put her hands on her hips. "We'll order food later. You have a shooting session in a while. Stepmama's looking for you," she said. I didn't miss her discreet glower directed at me.

"Okay," Mony let go of my hand to grab Montana's. What an ouch.

Montana led her away from me as I watched with my lips pursed. My older sister started talking to her in soft tones, and I knew she was warning Mony about me. Heaving in a huge breath because of how my life could go to the downside in just a millisecond, I spun on my heel and continued down the hall to get the thing that cures me every time.

Food.

"I smell something sweet," I whispered to myself as I got inside. It was a simple green room with a fridge, kitchen counter and coffee maker. There was a plastic table in the middle, chairs surrounding it. I wandered into the place, wondering where the scent came from.

"And that must be yourself," a boy leaned against the counter, tipping his mug to drink. He winked at me, giving me a wide smile.

"Hello, Royce," I waltzed into the refrigerator to scan the contents. Royce Blakely was a fifteen-year-old who just wandered about in the buildings, helping once in a while. His father, apparently, worked in the third topmost floor and had a high position in the company so he got to visit whenever he wanted. I had met him in this same lounge, where he frequented.

He was a hidden talent who had unrealized potential, like me. I heard him sing a few times and his voice was pretty impressive. He had mentioned that he was going around in the buildings to learn more about the music industry, so he could be prepared for stardom. I marveled at his determination. He didn't know my father was his father's boss, but I had shared who my mother was.

"You got any food here?" I asked Royce, frowning at the lack of acceptable snacks in the fridge. He was claimed to be the guardian of this room, thus it was always spotless and I adored it that way.

"Muffins on the table," he pointed at the box, "That's it for the day. There's coffee, though."

"And I thought you always have food in here," I opened the box in a haste, took a muffin and smelled it.

"Sorry," he laughed, "Some others raided the room this morning. They didn't have breakfast, it looked like."

"How irresponsible," I murmured. "So what flavor is this?" I narrowed my eyes at the nuts decorating the top of the brown muffin. Food needed thorough scrutiny.

"Peanut butter."

"Peanut butter?"

"Peanut Butter."

I took a quick bite and smiled in satisfaction. "Okay, this passes." I flopped myself down on a seat as Royce sat down in front of me.

"What are you doing here now?" he asked me.

I brushed off the worry and my problematic emotions. "Just taking care of another order," I said as casually as I could, twisting the muffin my hand, "Nothing much."

"You know your Mom was seen with Grant Reynolds, right?" he asked, "Shouldn't you be more careful especially in a place like this? You know the paps are cruel."

I laughed, and it was a laugh that was exaggerated, "No one will bother noticing me here. I won't be too worried."

I sat back and savored the peanut butter cupcake. This day was officially part of hell week.

♫ ♫ ♫