BOOMERANGED!
May Belle stormed out of Trenton's Diner, the door slapping shut behind her, a sharp contrast to the sugary smile she'd worn just minutes before. The bright afternoon sunlight hit her like a slap, doing little to warm the cold fury spreading in her chest. She didn't bother looking back at the curious faces she'd left behind, her gaze fixed ahead, boots clicking angrily on the sidewalk.
As she turned the corner onto Maple Street, the smile she'd clenched till now began to slip, her lips trembling in a mix of embarrassment and rage. May Belle stopped abruptly at a street lamp, gripping it hard as if to anchor herself. She took a slow breath, the metallic scent of the pole mingling with the sweet lilacs lining the street, and forced her features into a mask of composure. But her eyes betrayed her—narrowed, glinting with unshed tears.
She pulled out a coin and dialed a number from a public phone, her thumb tapping impatiently as it rang. "Mother," she said, the word coming out sharper than intended when Elaine's cheerful voice answered.
"May Belle, darling! How was your morning?" Elaine's voice was light, background music to the hum of a perfectly curated life.
May Belle hesitated, the urge to vent wrestling with a lifetime of conditioning to appear flawless. "It was...fine. Ran into some trouble at the diner," she said, picking at the lamp post's peeling paint.
"Trouble, dear? What happened?" Elaine's tone sharpened, ever the protective mother.
May Belle took a breath, replaying the scene with edits. "Leonie lost it, accused me of lying about Patches. In front of everyone. I was just looking out for Jo, you know." The words tumbled out, a blend of truth and spin.
There was a pause. "May Belle, maybe you should come home. We don't need any...unpleasantness. Your father's been stressed about the Town Bake Sale."
May Belle's grip on the phone tightened. "I don't need to hide, Mother. I was defending myself. Leonie's the one hiding something." The words came out colder, a hint of her simmering anger seeping through.
Elaine's sigh was soft but unmistakable. "Darling, perhaps we should discuss this at home. Don't engage further, okay?"
May Belle's jaw clenched. The word "engage" stung like a reminder of her failure. "I'll be home soon," she said, her tone measured, and hung up before Elaine could reply.
She clenched her fists into her pocket and started walking again, aimless, the neighborhood's quaint charm now feeling suffocating.
As she wandered into the small park on Elm, kids laughing on the swings, a jogger passing a Walkman, May Belle dropped onto a bench, the wood creaking softly. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, a mockery to her mood.
Her mind seethed. Patches, that stupid rabbit. She’d planned to make him the star of her little...experiment. A special soup, something to show everyone her skill. And Leonie had interfered, hidden him away. The bitterness burned hotter. Now the rabbit was gone, and it was all Leonie's fault.
May Belle's fingers drummed the bench, a staccato beat matching her thoughts. No one hid things from her. No one thwarted her plans. A sly smile twisted her lips, thinking of the next move. Leonie might have won this round, but May Belle knew where to hurt her.
The shadows under the trees grew longer, creeping across the grass like dark fingers. May Belle stood, her decision made. She smoothed her dress, a spark of anticipation in her eyes. The game was far from over.
Heading home, May Belle rehearsed her narrative, each word a shield. By the time she pushed open the front door, she'd almost convinced herself.
The foyer was cool, scented with fresh tulips from the garden. Oliver, her father, looked up from his newspaper in the living room, a hint of surprise on his lined face. "May Belle, what's wrong?"
May Belle crossed the room in a few steps, dropping onto the sofa beside him. "Dad, you won't believe what happened at the diner. Leonie attacked me, in front of everyone. Over Patches."
Oliver's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "What exactly did you say, sweetie?"
May Belle hesitated, picking the words carefully. "I just mentioned Patches, how he was missing. I didn't accuse her, I swear. But she went wild."
Oliver leaned back, studying her. For a moment, May Belle felt a flicker of something like disappointment, but he said, "We'll talk to her. Make sure she understands."
Make sure _she_ understands. The words were a spark of defiance. May Belle nodded, a small smile forming. "Thanks, Dad."
Elaine appeared in the doorway, eyes concerned. "Dinner's almost ready. May Belle, why don't you freshen up?"
May Belle nodded, rising, the movement mechanical. In her room, she locked the door and leaned against it, her mask solid again. No sadness, only calculation. Patches was gone, but the hunt was just beginning.
Tomorrow, she'd make sure Leonie knew the cost of crossing her.
As dusk crept in, the shadows in her room seemed to deepen, like possibilities waiting to unfold. May Belle smoothed her dress, a smile creeping back, sharp and determined.
****
After dinner, the house settled into that cozy, post-meal quiet, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken things. May Belle excused herself, citing homework, and escaped to her room. The wooden stairs creaked softly beneath her feet, a familiar sound that did nothing to calm the restlessness inside her.
Alone, she locked the door and leaned against it, letting the mask drop. The effort of smiling, of spinning the story just right, had left her feeling hollow. She crossed to her desk, running a finger over the scattered papers and cookbooks—reminders of the culinary dreams she’d had, the ones Patches was supposed to be a part of.
With a soft rustle, she pulled out a fresh notebook and flipped to a blank page. Her pen hovered, then began to scribble notes in sharp, angled lines:
Find Patches.
Make the soup.
Show everyone.
Show Leonie.
The words were a quiet defiance, a script for rewriting the humiliation she'd felt.
The night grew darker outside her window, the streetlights casting a pale orange glow onto the rooftops. May Belle's thoughts spun, each scenario ending with her walking into the diner, triumphant, the rabbit soup a hit. And Leonie, dumbfounded.
As the clock ticked past midnight, the house groaned and settled. May Belle slid into bed, her mind still racing. She stared at the ceiling, shadows dancing with possibilities. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, she'd make sure she was the one in control.
But as sleep began to slide in, a small, sharp whisper cut through her plans—a flicker of doubt. What if she wasn't enough? What if it all went wrong? May Belle pushed the thought away, turning onto her side with a quiet resolve. She knew what she wanted. And she'd make it happen.
*****
The thought of the Town Bake Sale, just three days away, sharpened May Belle's focus. It was the perfect stage, the kind of event where the whole town showed up, and she’d make sure her rabbit soup—Patches' soup—was the talk of it. She’d experimented with recipes before, impressing the family with her lavender-honey cookies, but this was different. This was bold. This was revenge.
May Belle tossed off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. She pulled out her recipe book and began scrolling through her notes, innovative ideas for wild rabbit soup swirling in her mind—ginger, lemongrass, a hint of smoky paprika. Something to wow them. Something to show Leonie.
But a pang hit her: where was Patches?_ Leonie had hidden him, no doubt to sabotage her. May Belle's fingers drummed the desk, thinking.
A plan began to take shape. Tomorrow morning, she would sniff out any leads on the rabbit. Meanwhile, she'd start perfecting the recipe, tweak the flavors until they were flawless. The Bake Sale was Saturday. She had only three days to find the silly rabbit.
May Belle's eyes landed on the small, framed photo on her desk—a family dinner, smiles all around, Patches the centerpiece in a playful rabbit hutch. A spark of determination flared. She wouldn't let Leonie win.
With a quiet click, she shut off the desk lamp, plunging the room into moonlit shadows. Sleep finally overcame, but her dreams were a simmering pot, ingredients swirling, waiting for the fire.
To Be Continued....
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