Crisis Averted at the HHDA

Some recent events at the HHDA have left customers and otherwise alike shocked. After many, many months of troubles that no designer could figure out the cause of, a conclusion has finally been reached. In the midst of the end of an era of utter uncertainties, what's known is that both designers and customers are taking a collective sigh of relief today. Has the Happy Home Designer and Academy managed to rescue itself from total ruin? Could this mean everything will return to normal at last?

Word has already spread immensely fast about the HHDA's awaited triumph. Countless inquiries have arisen just as quickly: Is it over? What happened? How could it have ended so quickly? Both Lyle and Lottie, the official director and main manager, have been questioned about this issue, but it will remain a private solution for now. The information they were willing to reveal includes that the root of the problem has finally been narrowed down and they have taken the steps to ensure that it will not happen again.

With the vast lack of answers towards the sudden change, there are still aspects of the situation to be considered. After nearly two and a half years of work dedicated to the HHDA, the disappearance of designer Digby the Shih Tzu hasn't gone unnoticed. Multiple approaches have been made to the situation with this fact in mind, but no matter how many theories are composed relating to the shift, all signs point to Digby himself proving to be the cause of the problem in ways that have not yet been disclosed by the HHDA. With Digby out of the picture, it is hoped that the company will build up its reputation again in his absence. While the company stands another day, it's crystal clear that he won't be there with it for quite some time.

The corners of my mouth tightened in a frown as I raised my head from the article to allow my eyes a break from what was being said about my brother. After bringing such detrimental harm to the company he worked for, or rather used to work for, it was unsurprising how he would've gotten fired. To recall how purely enthusiastic he had been about landing the job when I was still living in my parents' house, I struggled to picture how crushed he must have been now. I supposed this was karma in its finest work for what he'd done to me, Lottie, Lyle, and the HHDA, but maybe he hadn't known the extent of his actions.

It was Mom who had sent the newspaper clipping. She had gotten the shop's address from Lottie and sent it through the mail. She neglected to offer the details of Digby's current situation, uncertain of how much I had already heard, and probably expected the article would let me know the context. She sent a folded sheet of various articles from the daily newspaper fastened with a tiny paper clip to a short note she had written herself, circling the referenced article shakily in red pen.

I slipped a paw into the envelope, withdrawing the square paper chunk that was the note. The silver paper clip she had used was still pointing outward from the top. I gently unclipped it and skimmed through the words once more.

Some unfortunate news over here.

We are devastated.

Well, Digby was going to be spending significantly more time at home now, that was for sure. I snuck a glance at the newspaper page again, noting the titled segments front to back to educate myself on what the outside world was now after closing myself off into a small campsite and even smaller shop for five months. Summer temperatures were reaching a record high, why animals had begun to collectively retire early, a protest that had occurred and flooded the space of a park nearby to my parents' house, and evidently the Mario brothers were seeking to fill positions at a company called Smash Ultimate.

"It's a very exclusive process," Mario himself said in interview. "We don't accept applications as most companies do. We wait for the right person to become known and then leap at the opportunity to bring that energy to Smash. I don't want just anybody, no, no! I want someone who has the strength and pure will to bring us all to greater heights."

The sound of gentle, rhythmic sweeping broke through the silence as I raised my head again, drawing myself back into reality. Tom was standing near the front of the room, tiredly sweeping an accumulation of dirt into a pile. Timothy and Thomas kneeled together on the center table amongst the display, one watching Tom while the other shifted around restlessly on the surface. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor at the side of the room amidst the scene, my back resting against the wall behind me. My eyes traveled across the room, taking in what lay in front of me rather than the images my mind generated from a text.

I'm okay, I assured myself, watching Tom sweep the floors and the twins adjust their seating on the table. I'm at work. The troubles over there are not what's happening here. I am still on the path to the future I'm working for.

No matter how many words I used to soothe myself, a twinge of anxiety tugged at my stomach. After the past several days, my eyes had been flung open to just how much one could lose. It wasn't entirely right for next to the first thing I did was question my own situation, but it was all that I knew. If I lost what I had now, I would have lost absolutely everything. I would have been exactly where I had been at the beginning, jobless and homeless with hardly any worth to my name. I wasn't sure how I could have possibly managed to go through something like that a second time.

I pushed out a heavy sigh, shrugging off the thought as I plopped the envelope onto the floor to fold the newspaper clipping back up. I slipped the paper clip back into place to fasten the newspaper and note together, abruptly tucking each back into the envelope where I wouldn't lay eyes on them for quite some time, if ever again. I eased to my feet and started off walking towards the storage room door in the back, holding the envelope loosely in my swinging paw, and abandoned it in my bag with the intention of never letting it come into play in my life again.

I tossed and turned in struggles to sleep for the rest of July. As the days crawled by, I struggled to unhinge thoughts of Digby and what had happened to him from my mind. It was truly a terrifying thing, having everything you dreamed of one day and having it all snatched from you another day. If I stayed out of it and avoided coming across the entire affair, then maybe I could manage to keep that unfortunate energy out of my life. And so, that was what I did.

It was a tense couple of weeks. There was a breath I was holding in which I wasn't fully certain that I could allow myself to believe that everything was fine. I didn't know what I was waiting for, maybe it was for enough time to pass so that I could feel confident about letting it go. Maybe I was simply waiting to feel a little bit better in general. I might have been the most anxious now than I'd ever been since I started working in the shop. Nausea was a factor that wedged into my routine, tossing up my stomach both while I spent the day deep in work and lying awake in my tent at night. The future was never so vast and uncertain as it was right now. A thin piece of paper that was just a bit too easy to tear.

In the nights when I'd finished my shift for the day, I couldn't find myself anywhere but inside of my tent. My body tangled up into the cool, puffy surface or my sleeping bag became a source of reliance. I tried to sleep off, or at least rest away the stress, but then again, I contradicted myself—There was immense effort in falling asleep as it was. Chatting and spending time with other animals residing at the campsite after hauling myself through a fifteen-hour shift was just not on the list of my plans to utilize for the limited free time I had. When I emerged into the grassy camping region to a lit and vibrant fire, upbeat music pounding through the space, and what must have been most if not all of the animals in the campsite scattered in groups of lively conversation, I nearly walked right past.

Pure exhaustion hung from my aching face as I shuffled along the rocky path that would lead me back into the campsite. My bag bounced lightly against my hip with every step I took, a touch of heat lingering in the still air from when the daylight had been around. It was the music that I caught first on my way, the first sign that something deviated from the usual. It started out softer, well in the distance, and the nearer I drew to my destination was clearer that was where it was coming from. The assembled variety of conversations came next, an evident implication that some kind of event was in place.

Oh, right. It was the night of July thirtieth, one of the final days of the month and a day in which mentions had floated around the campsite for about a week. The campsite managers had collectively decided that they wanted the residents to get to know each other better as a group and had arranged a public event for us all to come together with music and each other's simple presence. It held a set time frame of seven in the afternoon until midnight, or just until everyone had gone again, another reason to shut down my chances of attending—I was only arriving back in the campsite at eleven thirty and would only have had half an hour to attend. Enjoying music and offering my simple presence would have to be another night.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, passing through the group and shying from all of the gazes to avoid awkwardness. I was doing well to evade detection for several seconds as I crossed the gathering area, but just as I broke out of the crowd to return to my tent did a chorus of voices yank me back to reality.

"Oh, no, come and stay for a while!" an assortment of voices stopped me in my path, ushering me back into the event. My feet came to a stop and I snuck a glance back over my shoulder to find a group of four or five animals seated right near the fire happily gesturing me back into the group.

Well, now I had no choice. I slipped back into the wide cluster of animals, searching the faces under a dim atmosphere for something familiar. I could have sat down with Celeste, who was likely to be here for the time but less so for the gray clouds stretching over the stars, or even Blathers. I might not have known him very well at all, but I'd heard of him through his sister as well as had seen him once for myself and could have struck up a conversation about his museum. But after a thorough inspection of the faces that were present, it was clear that neither Celeste nor Blathers had even shown up.

The lively music still hammered through the space amongst the rumble of conversation as I drifted along the lengthy table at the front. If I was going to be bound to this event and held back from actually going to bed, then I would at least check out the snacks and refreshments that the managers had not-so-subtly hinted at when planning the gathering. There was nothing to snack on, no bites to eat of any kind, but pitchers of liquids I couldn't identify in the dark held labels of "sweetened iced tea", "unsweetened iced tea", "grape soda", "water", and more were set neatly across the surface. I helped myself to a clear plastic cup in a tall stack on the end of the table and poured a glass of sweet tea before my search ensued to locate an open place to situate myself.

All of the seats had been occupied on the log benches around the fire, but standing room remained along the outside ring. In the blink of an eye, I stood about six feet back from the dancing flames swallowing the charred wood, positioned stiff and awkward among blasted music and between unreadable conversation with my paw locked around my plastic cup as my only source of looking normal in such abnormality. Standing alone amidst animals chatting and laughing with each other without a care of my presence after asking me to stay, a single question screamed out in my mind.

What am I doing here? This was not how I anticipated my night to go in the slightest. I'd expected my night to end long ago.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" a dog at my left seated on the log bench asked me, sending my mind reeling as I was quite abruptly jolted right out of my thoughts, her voice bouncy and energetic like she had consumed too much sugar.

Still recovering from the sudden change, I managed a nod that I wasn't completely certain that I meant. "Mm-hmm," I stammered through an answer. "Yeah, it is."

The rigidity gradually melted from my shoulders the longer that I stood at the fire, sinking into the vibe as the minutes crept by. There must have been only about twenty minutes left of the entire event, so I figured that I might as well enjoy it while I could. The music rumbled through the ground at my feet and shot down my spine, holding me firmly to the reality I had stumbled into. I found myself tuning more into the music than any other sound, listening to the dance-calling beat and drawing myself into the stimulating sound. The knots in my stomach slowly loosened, presenting me with the truth that everything was fine and well as the sensation consumed me. Maybe I don't need distractions to enjoy what life has to offer, I realized. Maybe it's a mindset.

And it was then that I decided I was happy, genuinely happy. Both here at this event and in the life I had now. I was unsure if my true emotions followed the conclusion but confident that I would work to get myself there, no matter how much time it took. Someday the effort would have been worth it. As if by instinct, my mind had subconsciously begun to seek out what was good about the situation, noting how the music was enjoyable and judgment was void. The animals here were fond of me just as I was and that was enough for me. Yes, maybe I was happy, even if only by the little things.

After all, what the rest of the night held wasn't too bad at all. The music quieted towards the end of the event in the ending of a song and the opening of another, a spirited and electronic rhythm that appeared to be widely known and approved of by the group. Delighted gasps rose from the bunch, particularly around the fire, and my eyes quickly met the movement as they all sprung up from their seats. They invited me to join them in dance, a skill that I was not accustomed to, and proceeded to pull me into the group by the arm at my acceptance as if it were mine to begin with. Welcoming me into the community without a second thought. Just like that, a night of quietly standing in a crowd I wasn't familiar with and wondering when I would earn the opportunity to leave became a night of moving my feet along the grassy ground to the rhythm of music with a crowd who saw me as a friend.

For what was left of the gathering, I promised myself to appreciate the moment instead of caging myself in as per habit. The rhythmic music guided my feet, stirring to the sounds pounding through my ears in unapologetic dance with my family whom I didn't know too well just yet as if I wasn't fighting for the finances of a small shop I'd started working in almost six months ago, thousands of miles away from the home I'd grown up in for seventeen years, approaching a crucial moment in my life where every moment of my future was at stake. As if I was just myself for the first time in years. And because of that, even if it was only for tonight, the electrifying return of joy long-missing pulsed heavily underneath my skin.

Even as midnight and the closing of the event lazily crawled closer, the sense of an impending change swelled. First of all, I was happy. I was happy. And second, the searing burn of pure determination had struck me in full swing at last, like the movement of my feet had set the sensation into motion. Because of that, I was no longer just dancing for entertainment. I was dancing for the recovery from my struggles and my pain, for a better future.

Ideas were already brimming my mind when the campsite managers came around to let us know that twelve o'clock had arrived. Words rang fresh behind my mind as I crossed the campsite in brisk steps to return to my tent, paws itching to record and remember them. I refused to waste a single moment as I climbed into my tent again, ducking through the flap that was the doorway and settling myself into a seat on the fabric separating me from the rocky ground. My paws shook with the surging, chilling adrenaline that shot through me as I withdrew my notepad and pencil from my backpack, tearing past previous pages of writing to find the next clean sheet, and put my pencil to the page to begin writing.

Tom was delicately sweeping the floor as per usual when I breezed into the shop the next morning of the thirty-first. He was standing at the back of the room near the middle table, which was completely empty of display as I had yet to set it up for the morning, attentively running the bristles over the floor and sharply raising his head as the door swung open. With a hasty glance around the room, I failed in discovering the twins on the floor or any of the surfaces. They must have been exploring elsewhere.

"Good morning, Mr. Nook," I greeted as the door fell shut behind me. I dropped into a kneel at the wall, setting down the raggedy plastic bag at my feet to peer into it. My work would have to wait for now.

"Good morning, Isabelle," Tom mumbled in a distracted way, the lack of pause in the sweeping sound telling me he kept working through my arrival.

"There's something that I'd like to discuss that I think is important for the future of my work," I announced, stealing a glance behind me to watch Tom, casually sweeping the floor across the room. "Can I request a quick meeting to go over that before I begin working for the day?"

Tom raised his head from his work just as sharply as when I had pushed my way through the doorway. I had never formally requested a direct meeting before and he must not have been expecting that I would have at some point.

"What?" Tom said. For a moment, I wondered if he had simply misheard me before he added hesitantly, "A meeting?"

With a glimpse back into the bag at the floor, I found my notepad sitting as the weight at the bottom of the bag and withdrew it, perching it against my knees to scan the writing I had put together last night.

Work hours

More work

Iced tea?

"Yes, I think it would be beneficial for the direction of my work," I went on, rising to my feet with my notepad secured between my paws as my eyes flicked back to meet Tom's again.

Tom's answer didn't arrive right away. He had grown tense, gripping the pole of the broom in his paw as his weary blue eyes sliced through me. I could nearly see the gears turning in his head as he tried to come out with a response.

"I see," Tom mumbled after a long pause. Slowly, he set off into motion to shuffle over to the wall behind him, carrying the broom and placing it at rest as he took a break from his work. "Well, let's get this over with then, okay?"

Maybe he just wasn't in the best mood today. He might have spent the entire night looking after the twins again and the lack of sleep brought him irritability. He confessed of nights like that to me occasionally. Or maybe it was that meetings weren't particularly his way of progressing, which seemed likely that he would have mentioned to me from the very start.

I retrieved a few folded chairs from the storage room to set up the meeting, all the while Tom cleared a space on the table to wait and, by the corners of his mouth downturned in a distinct and unsatisfied frown, appeared to be mentally grumbling to himself of how he didn't want to attend said meeting. We joined at the table once the chairs were positioned around it, settling into our seats, and had launched into a discussion by the strike of ten past eight.

I clutched my notepad between my paws, eyes bouncing across the words as my train of thought rolled with ideas of how to bring each into discussion. Tom's impatient gaze burned through me from across the table as the seconds ticked by in my contemplation. The very second that the silence stretched a bit too long, I laid my notepad on my lap for reference and folded my paws in front of me on the empty table to perform professionalism. The influence of each passing second was nearly overbearing.

"First, I'd like to offer suggestions to be able to make the most of my work here," I declared to break the silence and initiate the conference.

"All right," Tom replied. "Such as?"

"Well, I've been doing some thinking and I've come up with some ways to ensure the most success," I began. "One of the possibilities that I came up with was potentially extending my hours of work in this building per day. I feel like more time at work will earn a better shot at some progress."

"So, you're saying that you'd like to work longer than from eight to eleven?" Tom echoed.

I restrained a wince from crossing my face—It did not sound appealing out loud. But then again, I did have a window of time before eight that could have been filled by some kind of work. Tom shifted in his chair slightly to adjust his seat, considering my request, before he offered his answer.

"Well... I'm not quite sure if that would be entirely possible," Tom admitted. "Those are the full hours that the shop is open and I'm not quite sure what you would even be able to do to help before or after hours, since I really need you most when the shop is open and customers are present. I'm not even sure if I would be able to pay you for overtime hours right now. What sort of thing would you have planned to do around here if I did grant you the opportunity to work longer hours?"

I hadn't planned this far. Last night, when I'd composed my list of discussion topics to bring to the table, my drowsiness-clouded mind hadn't gone as far as to direct full plans towards each idea. My mind reeled to discover a solution and the words leaped from my tongue.

"I can still find ways to promote the shop even while it's not currently open," I decided. "I can come up with more techniques to do that as well as the rest of my work."

"Well, if you think of anything that you think might be beneficial to the business, you can let me know," Tom said. "At the moment, however, I don't think there's much else I can say on that."

That was the cue to move on. It was time to transition into the next topic of discussion.

"I can definitely think of something to help. I'm on it," I declared, offering a firm and eager nod. A faint exhale escaped Tom and the impatience in his eyes melted away to some degree. The verbal determination must have helped. "So, is that part settled for now?"

"I suppose so, yes," Tom replied. Even the tension in his voice had eased.

"That's good." I snuck a glance down at the notepad in my lap to confirm the direction of the meeting and reentered myself into the conference. "There's a few more suggestions I'd like to make. Should I go ahead and do that now?"

Tom gave a short nod of affirmation. "Yes, go right ahead," he replied. "What else would you like to discuss?"

"I was thinking that, along with the extra hours, I could probably be doing more during the regular hours," I explained. Tom's gaze sat still in unity with mine as he listened. Quickly utilizing my learned lesson from the last prompting question, I added, "I haven't yet gotten any ideas of what more I could do, but I was hoping to hear your thoughts on the situation. Are there different responsibilities that I can take on in addition to the rest of the work?"

The pause that Tom took this time stretched longer than before. He sat quietly in his seat, scrutinizing every possible response he could use as the clock ticked in the new silence. After about seven seconds of consideration, he spoke.

"At the moment, I think you may be doing all the work I have for you and I doubt there's really anything extra you can take on," Tom admitted. "However, I plan to start shifting my focus to developing the foundation for developing the bank in the near future and move away a little bit from the shopkeeping responsibilities so when that change is applied to our routine, I think I might have you completely take over the shopkeeping and babysitting responsibilities while I work on my main career. That will include answering the phone, interacting with customers, stocking displays and contacting businesses to provide the stock for said displays, making sure the place is clean and presentable, feeding the children and putting them down for naps when necessary, and making sure they don't get hurt or into trouble. It's going to be a lot of work and I'm more than willing to help you where you need me to, but I've seen your work drive and I have no doubts that you will be able to overcome this difficult transition. Does this sound like something you'd be able to do?"

The words spiraled through my mind, giving life to a universe of images of the future. There was tons of new information to consider, but they were all crumbling down on me at once. Taking over the shopkeeping. Growing the business. Finally starting up the bank that we'd been working towards since I first arrived, and in the near future at that. This was exactly what I had initiated this meeting for, the ideal solution that I could have gotten out of it.

This was where everything was going to change.

"I can absolutely take care of that," I declared. A beaming smile had etched involuntarily into the surface of my face, a smile which Tom actually sent back in response, even if the crinkling in the corners of his eyes and the raising of the corners of his mouth was only a subtle shift in his weary expression.

"Excellent," Tom replied intently. "I look forward to seeing how you handle this change going forward. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"

Yes, in fact, there was. I dropped my head to examine the writing on my notepad once more, returning to the uncertain "iced tea?" at the end. It wasn't nearly as significant as the weighty topics we'd just ventured through, but something that had crossed my mind just last night at the gathering while delighting in a cup of iced tea provided by the campsite.

"It's a bit less important," I murmured shyly, lifting my head again.

"That's all right. We can still discuss it if you'd like to," Tom replied.

"Thank you," I said, managing a small nod in my gratitude. "This is pretty insignificant compared to everything we discussed before, but back at home, I used to enjoy drinking some fresh iced tea in the mornings and wanted to know, if I acquired the ingredients to make some myself, if I could bring in some to drink at the beginning of the day."

"I don't see any problem with that," Tom told me. "As long as you can find a place for it that's secure and out of the way, I don't have an issue there."

There really was a solution for everything I had in mind. Finding a place for my iced tea and the components that would create it was low in my concern. I wouldn't even have needed to leave it along the walls in the main shop area, I could have tucked it all away in the storage room. And just like that, with the answers to the questions I brought to the table, the conference was already over.

Tom and I agreed to close the discussion for now and until it would be needed again, if it was to be. We adjourned the meeting, returned to work, and advanced into the morning with heads high and the notion of imminent change for the better.

A new life had already begun. From the moment I stepped through the doorway on the humid morning of Saturday, August first, the path that once lay drowned in darkness had been lit. This was the birth of the changes I had been waiting for since spring and though I wasn't entirely certain if I was ready, given that I hadn't yet inched my way into the experience, I could hardly wait for it to begin. I ducked through the doorway of the shop in the morning with the thoughts of my expected future reeling in my mind.

Change did follow. I spent mornings, afternoons, and evenings in the shop, held to the task of supervising and tidying up the area as well as keeping an eye out for the twins and their needs. I was even put to the responsibility of answering phone calls, which I readily prepared for by blurting out any question I still had about the running of the shop to Tom while I had the opportunity.

By nights, I fulfilled my duty promoting the shop in ways I knew how. I brought up the shop in casual conversations and tried my luck at sales pitches. I struggled to see any shifts in visiting numbers for the start of the motive, but with my voice finally reaching the outside world, I sensed our circle slowly growing. Further along the month of August, it occurred to me how the numbers really were steadily rising, stops becoming more and more common during the day. Whether it be truth or the rose-colored lens of confidence that led me to notice, we were building ourselves up again.

Where I once had been dragging myself through what life had to offer, I now had climbed to my feet and pounded my weight against the ground in a run. Simply the idea that we were in the process of rising from our former status was enough to shoot a chilling thrill through my veins. For the first time, we were digging ourselves out of the hole we had stumbled into and carrying the business to new heights I hadn't pictured would become reality so soon. The unnoticed duo of Shih Tzu and tanuki were making names in the world.

By the start of September, we'd piled up enough money to reserve a new building. A bigger, more known, more official building. It was anticipated to take quite some time for developments to be finalized and for the building to open, so Tom proceeded with the assistance as quickly as he could. He was out of the shop significantly more often now, leaving the supervision under my care almost completely. I plastered my list of new duties onto my mind, holding myself to the change in task, and promised myself to prove how said change was our best approach.

The unforgiving heat of summertime eased up. In the cooling of temperatures, I packed away my warm-weather attire and resumed the routine of my sunny-yellow cardigan I'd worn in the wintertime when I had first been hired. Autumn snuck around and September inched along. On the twelfth, nearly halfway through the month, Lottie's birthday had arrived again in her newest year of twenty-two. I called the HHDA on the shop's phone that day—It was Lyle to answer first and he sounded notably more tired than usual—But other than that, it admittedly slipped my mind completely. I was finally reaching a steady point in my life with work and mental health and I couldn't risk any kind of disturbance now, whether that be big or small.

In the opening of the brisk-temperature month of October, Tom and I went on with our work as a team. We didn't cross paths nearly as much now, but as I grew to learn, absence was not loss in my case. I quickly lost count on the number of times my thoughts had strayed back to him, wondering what he was doing or how he was feeling or if he was experiencing success, at least to his standards. The thought of him was enough company for me. It was an odd situation, having him suddenly disappear from my schedule and feel as though he had never left my side at all, but I embraced the sensation. And so, although our separation was prominent and next to constant, our steady friendship and his cozy presence endured.

Around this point in time, most days tended to repeat themselves like the same text in a different font. I remained in the shop with the twins and the solitude of my direct supervision. I witnessed a multitude of visitors passing along the shelves. I engaged in cheerful conversation several times per day, answering questions, suggesting items, and more. October had passed in a flash, making way for the bleak November. Jolting shivers down my spine proved my only constant accompaniment during my shuffling walk to the shop. The trees bordering the campsite had been dipped in vibrant colors of yellow and orange, the spitting image of when I had first arrived here, and scattered cracked leaves across the grass. Nowadays, sunlight only visited me in faint rays through the shop window and was already gone by the time I set off at eleven. The days crept on.

December arrived. The first wintertime snowfall swept in, plunging me into a queasy dread to consider sleeping it in by no means of cover other than the tent walls. On more nights than I could count, I stacked up every piece of my belongings onto my sleeping bag as I slept and still shivered out of my skin by the creeping chills. After an eternity of picking myself up and carrying myself through each frigid day and night, my birthday came around again on the twentieth and turned me twenty years old. I heard nothing from Tom about it—Although that was because I had never considered mentioning such a small fact in our limited casual conversations throughout the workday. In the blink of an eye, my grasp on my teenage years had been completely ripped from me.

It was meant to be a special day—After all, such a milestone rarely came by—But it wasn't. It wasn't bad or unfortunate, just ordinary. I struggled to find reason in celebration during a normal routine. I didn't buy myself a gift or invest in a cake to launch myself into. My only gift this year was acknowledgment that I was older. It was fine. Considering I lived in a public campsite without a home, I didn't have much room to demand anything more. I walked to work, filled in my hours, and walked home amidst grim, cloudy skies, stomped-down snow, and an icy pinch in the air like any other day.

Toy Day came and went, though I hadn't realized it had appeared until three days afterward. I really was so separated from the outside world in both the little shop and the camp. The year ended and the new year of 2016 took its name. The first week, even the second developing into any other was enough to fool me that this was about to be a normal month. In the middle of January, unanticipated and unwarned, Tom rattled me to the core with a declaration of his decision to order construction of a house for me. An actual, proper house under my name. After building and decorating was finalized, I collected my belongings from my tent and crossed the distance to reach my new house with only the memories of my last house swimming through my mind.

It was a modest house, not nearly as extravagant as the last, but a house at all was still far more than I could have asked for. The furniture had already been moved in before my personal belongings and me and were limited only to the necessities such as a bed in a bedroom, some chairs and a couch in a gathering area as well as a prepaid phone, and a square wooden table in the dining room. There was something soft about the lights that settled in the rooms, something so welcoming. I didn't bother tucking away the belongings I brought from the tent at first as I collapsed into the bed—Smooth in texture, yet noticeably firm—And submerged myself into the surreal sensation of owning a house for the second time. I sunk into unconsciousness that night disregarding life as it currently stood and relishing in the moment.

As the month shuffled on, Tom's only mention of the house was to occasionally check on me to find out how I was settling in. Never once did he ever mention the fact of his decision to put the project of building into motion or the effort that it must have drained out of him. Although, once I considered it, I found that I struggled to come up with the words he might have used to bring attention to himself. If it were me, I likely wouldn't have restated my accomplishments either.

Still, the entire situation consumed my slow, waking moments in tangling myself up in the thick blankets of my bed and waiting for sleep to pull me under. I wasn't fully sure that the extent of his friendship towards me was tested as distinctly as it was in this particular endeavor. Lulled by the mystery of midnight's void, I was visited by the memory of his face again and again. His mind must have already been packed full of business-related knowledge and thoughts as well as his two children he had since left in my care, and yet he still made the space to remember me and my lingering need for a home. I was among his priorities. And yes, it was a massively thoughtful gesture, but in the swelling darkness my sore eyes were presented with in the frequently resurfacing reminder that tore me from sleep, I knew it was deeper than that somehow.

I had called us friends before, but the concept of the wall of professionalism that stood firm between us carried hesitance to claim the term with confidence. I rolled the word through my mind during sleepless nights, snuggled into the rigid mattress I almost still failed to process was my own. What created a friend? What created anything at all? Wasn't it easier to simply be? It would relieve the pressure of slapping on a label, at least. My connection with Tom was too obscure for something like a sturdy label. It was a binding, a promise. We supported each other. We lifted each other up. We pursued each other's ambitions and engaged in the exertion of each other's needs. That was just what we did and who we were. Even if I was the only one between us who noticed it for what it was, his consistency proved his unspoken agreement.

I reinforced the companionship and therefore I was reminded of my reason to move forward. It was just about an obligation to devote my time and effort for his success because there wasn't the shadow of a doubt that he would have done the same for me. That was how it worked out. For him and for his aspiring company, I would attend to all needs, push myself to be as present in the workings as I could manage, impress with my ability to take on several elements of work as he had asked me to, put my best foot forward, and overall work hard for the future that awaited us. But there was a question in persistent work such as that—A question in whether it would reach beyond Tom's eyes for becoming so prominent. After all, in the face of such dedication, one could never truly tell whose eyes could turn to watch.

. . .

A feeble shiver fell like a cloak over my shoulders as I took a break from restocking the seed packets at the window to turn my face to the outside world. Clouds buried the entire sky above, and yet a hope-like light still seeped through. Snow caked the road that I could see, even still making room for my deep footsteps that I had gouged in this morning. Even Tom's still joined mine as he had stopped by earlier on to retrieve materials before he was on his way again. Except for the brief, pleasant visit, it was just like any other day. Just any old February mid-morning. The day of February...

Twenty-first, the reminder surfaced in my mind within seconds. The thought was instantly followed by a different recollection. On this day, three years ago, Digby had first begun his work at the HHDA. He tended to leap at the opportunity to celebrate each yearly milestone, but maybe that was our parents' invitations at work. Surely he wouldn't have been celebrating today, not just because of the possibility of beckoning unseemingly memories but also because he was no longer actually employed at the HHDA to reach that milestone.

I perched an almost-empty box against my hip, transferring packet after packet in front of the glistening window. The snow outside dimmed as the breath of light slowly gave out like a cloud passing over the sun. A faint rustling crackled behind me in my steady efforts. It must have been from one of the twins, whatever they were doing. It was just about the time when I tended to settle them for a nap—The short period I allowed myself to eat lunch—And they had created a habit for themselves to stir up restlessness for about twenty minutes beforehand. I finished applying the display with only a pawful number of packets left remaining strewn across the bottom of the box and turned back to face the room, prepared to deliver the box back to the storage room and grab my lunch from inside, but the sight I was presented with stopped me in my tracks. The twins had each been situated in a seat on a cleared table at the back of the room, one intently watching his brother as that brother clenched the same type of seed packet as in my box to tear it open. An anxious glint shimmered in the round blue eyes of the watching twin as if understanding that this wasn't something that was supposed to be happening.

How did he get that? Maybe I had dropped it. I plopped the box down on the floor at my feet, crossing the room in short strides to reach the scene. The first twin turned his face to look at me as I approached, letting slip a faint whimper at his brother's actions as his brother didn't seem to realize my presence at all.

"No, no," I urged in a whisper, prying the packet from the tanuki's paw and easing him up into my arms. Securing him into a hold within my arms, I paused to recall which one I was holding—Across the weeks, a pattern had emerged for the older twin to easily grow curious at the bustle that occurred around him while the younger tried to restrain him. Nowadays, it was a simpler task to identify them. "No, Timothy."

Timothy distractedly murmured an apology as his tiny paws gripped the fabric of my yellow cardigan, but I hardly caught the sound of this as an unlatching click and a high-pitched whine informed me of the arrival of a customer. I would have to carry the toddler while I greeted them and settle him and his brother once they had left. I tossed a glance over my shoulder, cradling the tanuki close to me as my ears swung at the sides of my head at the abrupt motion, and expected a face that I had never or rarely laid eyes on before. Instead, I watched Pete the mail carrier pelican step politely into the room and brush the door closed again with his smooth feathers.

"Good morning!" I greeted, lightly patting Timothy's back as he twisted around to see who was at the door. The door latched shut again before Pete turned his attention back to me, his webbed feet tapping against the wooden floor. "Is there something I need to drop off with Mr. Nook?"

"Hey, just the animal I wanted to see!" Pete addressed me brightly, shifting his forest-green bag to his front and drumming his wing against the pocket as if drawing my attention to it. "Nope, not today. Not that I've received yet, at least. Actually, I've got something for you instead. A letter, in fact."

"A letter?" I echoed, diverting my focus to slowly lower Timothy back down into a seat on the table next to his brother. The most likely possibility of the animal writing to me was Lottie and even she hadn't done so in several weeks. We hadn't had a falling out, it was just that life had gotten in the way. "Who is it from?"

Pete had unbuttoned the pocket of his bag by the time I fully engaged in the conversation, fishing through the contents before he encountered my letter. He withdrew a pristine-white envelope, squinted at the back text for a few seconds, and a raging flame of surprise lit up in his eyes.

"Well, would you look at that!" Pete remarked, outstretching his wing to offer the envelope to me as I strayed closer to retrieve it. "It looks like it's from the Mario brothers."

An almost dizzying strike of shock descended sharply onto me like a brick for nothing longer for a split second before common sense seeped in and calmed me. A scam, unfortunately. It wasn't exactly a rare occasion that mail was dropped in by someone claiming to be someone famous or a popular company trying some unintelligent way to draw money out of us. I failed to recall a memory of collecting a letter "promoting" the Mario brothers, a duo of brothers named Mario and Luigi that managed a ridiculous number of companies together, though that didn't necessarily imply that it was impossible. But I had also never noticed Pete become so surprised to deliver a letter.

"Thank you for delivering it, Pete," I said, resisting the urge to mention its dishonesty as I plucked the letter from his wing. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

Having no more further requests, Pete was out the door in what felt like the blink of an eye once our goodbyes commenced. I flipped over the envelope in my paw just as the door swung shut and latched once again, skimming over the text on the back. It wasn't written text, but printed text in a particularly professional fashion, stating my name and the shop's location as well as the writers' names and their location. I struggled to pinpoint the location that was sprawled across the back of the envelope, though simply the sight of numbers and proper terms was more advanced than the scam mail I had collected over time.

Well, it certainly looked real. Could it have been real? Had the Mario brothers genuinely reached out to me? I tore open the envelope as the twin's eyes nearly burned right through me in silent attentiveness, peeling paper from paper with precision to keep from ripping apart the letter. If it was yet another scam toying with my emotions, there were a few clues that I needed to look after. Most of all, a catch was present every single time—To insist money out of me or the shop in some creative way. Typos also reduced the possibility of its legitimacy. The last thing I needed to look for was if the company name provided, if such was indeed provided, was a true company. Being involved in the workforce for a year now, I was slowly building up a confidence to differentiate what titles existed and what didn't.

I withdrew the letter from the envelope with a gentle tug and unfolded it from the neat creases to scan the text.

Isabelle the Shih Tzu,

I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Mario, though I would be surprised if you hadn't already known that. To provide a bit of context as to why I'm writing to you today, I supervise a quite large setup that you would know as the establishment of Smash Ultimate. Additionally, I have stumbled across your name perhaps two or three months ago and have been monitoring your progress in work since that point. I mean that in no creepy way, of course. I have simply been watching from the sidelines. To make a long story short, I have noticed your driven ability to work hard and have decided that this is just the quality that Smash has been looking for. Therefore, I extend the official invitation of part-time or full-time employment, if you so choose to accept it.

Smash, if you are unaware, is an operation for competitive combat and performance. No prior skill is required before attending work, as training will be completed as a part of the program. In the event that you decide to accept my invitation and begin work, I will now review the work you will be completing so that you can be well-informed of what you are signing up for. The Smash program is completed in three sections, known as phases. The first phase will include your training. The second phase is utilizing that training through practice and activity. The third phase occurs when you prove yourself ready to stand against another fighter at Smash, which is where competitive combat comes into the program.

Many have turned down this opportunity with the notion that it sounds too dangerous or too violent, but I promise you that with an exceptional medical team, paid training in medical scenarios, a carefully observed routine, and an adrenaline boost like no other, the reward is far greater than you may imagine, not to mention how far your name will be put out into the world from it. If you have such a powerful urge to prove both yourself and what you're capable of as I sense in you, then this is the place you want to be.

The location of the Smash Ultimate main headquarters is listed on the back of the envelope. If you desire to begin work here, I ask that you stop by directly for a registration process that I like to call an "initiation". The event of initiation will take place on the day of Monday, March 7th from nine o'clock to four thirty. Please stop by between those times and I will meet with you directly. To reach the waiting room, you will take the first door to your left after entering the building and follow the main path to a set of white double doors. I will meet you there personally, discuss a suitable working plan for you, receive some needed information from and about you, run you through your working day, and your employment will begin.

I urge you to consider my request. You will still be able to continue your work at the shop you are currently employed at if you decide to pursue both lines of work. You will truly be a valuable addition to our team here at Smash Ultimate. I hope to see you soon to make this happen. Please have a good day.

Mario Mario

Smash Ultimate Headquarters

Wait, this was real. This was real. My eyes flitted across the paper, taking in the words in front of me, again and again and again. It was as if the words were completely foreign to me, passing along them several times just to decipher what they meant. I should have been surprised, maybe shocked, but startled at least. It was as if the words meant nothing, plastering them across my mind like any other basic news. And then the truth struck me like a sudden slap in the face.

They want me at Smash.