MADELINE'S P.O.V.

Our stomachs were growling with hunger. We were in the mood for a scrumptious meal and agreed to visit our favorite restaurant. To be fair, it is the only restaurant in Forlot, but in our opinion, it serves the best food that our tastebuds have ever tasted. The workers are on top of things and kind.

The restaurant is big enough to fit over a hundred people. There are four televisions, one hanging at each corner. You know how most restaurants, if not all, play popular music in the background? Instead of music or songs, customers will hear the satisfying sounds of rain. The rain helps relieve stress, and because thunderstorms have been nonexistent in Forlot for years, almost all the businesses here play raindrops and lightning and thunder.

What makes this restaurant extra special is that anybody can eat here. If you demand scallops, you will receive them. If you are craving for spaghetti, consider it done. They have meats, pasta, and much more. Yes, they serve the most important meal, which is dessert.

Madison and I eat at the Forlot restaurant at least three times a week. The orphanage does offer food, but it is not as good as the cheeseburgers. Oh. My. Gosh. The restaurant's cheeseburgers are out of this world. It is both my and my sister's favorite meal. We do not order them every time because we want to be healthy. But we do get them with two sides of fries on special occasions. Today was one of those days.

Madison and I chatted while chowing down on our burgers. We mainly talked about Mr. Thorndike and what he did for us and our class. I wondered what he was planning on for tomorrow, and Madison replied that he maybe was taking us on a field trip to the circus. I stuck out my tongue and wiped my mouth with my napkin.

"What is the matter, Madeline? Is the cheeseburger not good?"

I tossed the napkin onto the table. "No, no. The burger is fine. More than fine. It is excellent."

"Then what disgusted you? Why did you stick your tongue out?"

I let out a giggle. "I hope that we do not go to the circus. Circus means clowns, and you know that I hate clowns."

"Even the ones with no makeup and are funny?"

"Who said that clowns were supposed to be funny?"

Madison reached over and patted my hand. "You will survive the circus. Clowns are illegal in Forlot."

All of a sudden, we heard sobbing. Soft crying. We stared at each other, our eyes widening, and realized that neither of us were sad. I concentrated on the crying and pinpointed where it was coming from.

Across from us sat a young man. I am guessing that he was in his twenties. He was by himself at a table with three empty chairs. He had an open menu, and his head was down. His body shook as he clutched a tissue.

I was both heartbroken and concerned. Was he okay? Physically, I mean. Why was he crying? I hated seeing people cry. It makes me want to cry! And there was no one to console him.

I was sliding out of the booth when Madison asked, "Where are you heading? The restroom?"

I gestured to the man. "I am going to comfort him. The poor thing. He is lonely."

She wrapped her thumb and fingers around my arm and lowered her voice to a whisper. "You cannot do that. Have you forgotten what the mistress said when we first became orphans? We are forbidden from speaking to strangers."

"He is not a stranger. Look at him. He is upset."

"We do not know him. He does not know us. That makes him a stranger. Besides, he is probably fake crying to lure innocent people like you into his white van."

I jerked free from her grip. "Why do you suspect that he owns a van? And why is the van white?"

"Most strangers who happen to be criminals usually drive around in a white van, Madeline."

"Do criminals wear badges?"

"Depends. What type of badge are you referring to?"

"The man is wearing a police badge on his coat."

She looked at him, and then back at me. She then slid out and walked to his table. So much for talking with strangers.

The man had short, brown hair. His brown coat was buttoned up, so we could not see his shirt. He wore black slacks and dress shoes. I assumed that he was an undercover detective. He just looked like one. Guess what? I was right!

My sister tapped on his shoulder. The man sniffed and lifted his head. "Oh. Hi," he greeted. "I suppose that you are here to complain about my sobbing. I have been getting that a lot lately."

"Your sobbing is the least of my worries," Madison stated, putting her hands on her waist. "I have a question that only you can answer."

"W-what is it?"

"Are you a cop? Like, the real deal?"

"Of course." He pointed at his badge. "You cannot get these just from anywhere. Heck, you cannot even get them. You have to earn it." He blew into the tissue. "Unfortunately, this badge will not be mine for much longer."

I scrambled to them. "Why is that, sir?"

"Please. Call me August. I am very informal. My full name is August Pence by the way."

"A pleasure to meet you, August. I like your name."

"Thank you. My mother named me August because it is her favorite month."

"Are you losing your job as a police officer?"

"I am more of an undercover detective, but I do work with the police. And yes." He sighed. "I will be losing my job until I crack a juicy case. That is why I moved here to Forlot. Unfortunately...I have not found anything weird."

Madison smiled. "Maybe we can help."