She was making brownies. Or would be, once she got together her ingredients and actually did s#^+.

Being a teenager with zero responsibilities sucked. Being holed up in the mansion while she tried to figure out her new powers and hid from reality and people who might know her adult self... sucked. But brownies didn’t suck.

Amelia didn’t pay much attention to who else was in the kitchen when she walked in and started gathering things. As she worked, she sang a little song.

“And I’m dancing with myself~” She sang. Her voice wasn’t bad.

Oh oh, dancing with-a myself~

Oh oh dancing with myself~

As she spun to slap a carton of eggs down beside the oven, she noticed the boy reading in the corner. And stopped.

She sang the next line of the song, just to spite him for being so silent and for her not noticing him right there.


“Well, there’s nothing to lose and there’s nothing to prove~ Well. Dancing-a with myself. Hi.”

The kitchen was a nice place to be alone. Sure, it was noisy sometimes and everyone passed through, but people were only passing through to get a snack, and nobody stayed. So it was here that Beau decided to sit in the corner, back to the wall, and read, curled up in his grey hoodie with a novel. This one was different from his usual books of choice; it was more of a fantasy element, and he had to admit, he was really enjoying it.

He heard movement, and picked up on singing. It sounded like someone was working, and singing while they worked. No matter, as long as they didn't bother him. Then again, most of the people he'd met so far hadn't been all that bad in the end.

"...Hi."

He nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke to him, and he looked up, standing to his feet and memorizing his page number before putting the book into his hoodie pocket. "H-Hi. W-whatcha makin'?" he asked in his odd mix of squeaky-pubescent teenager and Cajun accent.

The kid was definitely startled. Had his voice gone up an octave, or was that just his voice? And what was that in the mix? It sounded almost French.

He’d been reading, in the corner. She’d glanced right over him due to her own self absorption. The bland grey hoodie probably had nothing to do with it, if she were being honest with herself. It certainly wasn’t his fault.

Also, was he blue?

“Brownies.” Amelia said. After a beat, she added. “If you want to help, I’ll share. Unless you were busy, reading... whatever you were reading?”

She could extend an olive branch. Even share baked goods. She would just ignore the fact that for a moment, she had been embarrassed. That was just what she wanted to do that day.

He stood to his feet, rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie, revealing that he was definitely blue, and his fingers had little webbing between them. "I...I like b-brownies..." he said with a nod, yellow eyes peering at her from under the hood of the big grey sweatshirt.

"I was, yeah. But I'm usually reading, honestly,' he admitted. "This one was a fantasy. Normally don't read those but it has elves, dwarves, dragons...and one of the main characters is some sort of merfolk, and...that really makes me happy," he added, his voice growing more sheepish as he looked down at his feet for a moment.

"I...i-I'm Beau," he said after a moment, still leaving the hood covering his head. Maybe he'd let it down, but right now, he still felt safe.

He, too, was a member of the human race. He liked brownies. True, he was bluer and with more webbing than your average human being. But she’d finally placed the accent. He sounded Cajun. And that counted for a lot.

The book he was reading, it wasn’t one she had read. It sounded diverse, though!

“Elves. Dwarves. Dragons. All good.” She agreed. “I like Lord of the Rings, myself.”

Was he a Merfolk? Or just aquatic-based? She’d heard about a sudden influx of people from Atlantis. And that was just kind of awesome.

Beau seemed kind of shy. Could be.

He introduced himself. Didn’t extend a hand. She let him stick with what made him comfortable.

“I’m Amelia.” She said.

Then, she eyed him. “So are you from Atlantis? Because I heard about these new kids at the mansion who are literally Merfolk. And that’s pretty interesting, that they discovered something from a myth.”

"That's a good one, too!" he exclaimed. "I wish they'd make a movie of this one," he said, forgetting to be nervous in his excitement, "but...maybe I don't. The movies are never really as good...They always change everything."

Beau shook his head. "No. I get that a lot, but I'm just a fish-kid from Louisiana," he replied with a sheepish smile that was barely visible behind the hoodie as he peered at her with yellow eyes. "It is cool, though. I met someone from Atlantis; she's pink and she's really cool," he said with a nod.

After a few moments, he pulled the hood down and looked around the kitchen to see what she had going on. "You have a recipe or are you just doing this from scratch? Or do are you using a box of mix? The mix actually sometimes doesn't taste like it came from a box." He flashed her a grin. Brownies made everything better.

Movies did sometimes lose something in translation. “Like Eragon.” She agreed. “Or Percy Jackson. Or the Hobbit 2-3.”

She had fallen asleep in Hobbit 3. Who cares about fake dwarves fighting fake orcs and goblins?

—

He wasn’t from Atlantis, then. He wasn’t even from Atlanta. Louisiana. Which explained the ragin’ Cajun accent he had going on.

Beau did know (heehee) a person from Atlantis, however. A pink girl?

Amelia smiled and nodded. “I’ll bet. Maybe I need to meet her, too.”

Never hurt to have more friends.

He asked what sort of recipe she was using. In answer, Amelia rapped her head. “Up here. Scratch. I bake enough at home, brownies should be no trouble.”

“So you can help mix, then.” She decided. “And taste test for me.” Okay.

Amelia turned and started gathering what she would need. As she did, she directed the boy to gather mixing bowls and tools.

“So Louisiana. Long way from home. You miss it?”

"Exactly. Some of them weren't bad movies, but only if you didn't read the book first. Or so I've heard. I always read the books first..." he admitted.

"Yeah, meeting people can be fun. Sometimes." Not always, but he liked to think he'd made a few friends since he'd moved here. "Oh, that's neat! We always cheated and used the box stuff, but I can help," he said with a nod. The word 'taste test' made him beam, grinning from ear to ear. That...sounded really fun. And she was nice. That always helped.

He was a good helper, going and getting everything she asked for; he knew his way around, not perfectly but enough to not fumble around forever. It usually only took him one or two tries to get what he needed.

Once he'd gotten everything, she asked him a question that made a lump form in his throat, and he nodded. "Yeah...I haven't been here long. My parents thought it was a good idea to send me here because....I mean...they still love me, as do my siblings, but they said I needed to learn about my power, and they couldn't help me. It was fine, but I accidentally hurt a bully...put him in the hospital. I mean...I like it here, but....it ain't back home..." His eyes lowered as he idly organized the materials he'd gathered.

“Reading books first is best.” She agreed. “The original rarely lets you down.”

There were exceptions, of course. But there always are.

—

Beau and Amelia worked well together. Good teamwork. Great hustle! Go team! Let’s make brownies!!!

Once she had it all, she got to work. She talked as she worked because baking was second-nature to her. She’d been in the kitchen since she’d been little. How can you not when your parents have a restaurant?

Her question got a somewhat emotional response... if verbal pauses and ellipses were any indication.

He got sent away because... his mutation, he need to learn to control it. Learn about his powah (gogo Cajun accent marks!), and they couldn’t help him.

He’d accidentally hurt someone. She frowned.

And he missed home.

Amelia set down what she was working on and walked over to pat him on the back. The back of his super large hoodie. Was one of his siblings a linebacker for the New Orleans Saints?

“That’s no fun. I’ve got a brother. If I didn’t live in the same city as him, I’m sure i would miss him dearly.” Even if she was avoiding him because of the whole ‘losing several years to a grenade’ thing.

“My power activated... like... just the other day for me. Or was it last night?” She paused, frowned. “For me, it was... see... I was fighting zombies on Halloween with my girlfriend, 8 years ago or something... and she nearly got hit by a car. So I pushed her out of the way. With, like, a psychic clothing blast. And saved her. And that was last night for me but 8 years ago for everyone else because somebody threw a grenade at the mansion and I dove on it... and it shrunk me down to itty bitty 17 year old me.”

“Guess I should be grateful. That it didn’t blow me up. But I don’t know a fskkking thing about my mutation now and I totally get you. It’s scary and difficult. And this topic is heavy like lead. Let’s bake some brownies.”

That said, she stopped patting his back and making him uncomfortable and started baking.

Had she really told him all of that?