One-shot. Claire had never really talked to Jim Lake Jr. before the time he tried to speak Spanish in gym class. Except for the time that she did and didn't even know it.

This somewhat humorous little number has been bouncing around in my head and I thought I'd share it as I work on 'Fractured.'

Note – this story does feature some slight description of a quinceañera, or the fiesta de quince años as it is also known, a party to celebrate the fifteenth birthday of young women in many Latin American countries or of Latin American descent. Relatively similar to a sweet sixteen, there is a lot of fascinating tradition associated with the celebration that varies depending on country. I have done research on the modern parties which are all quite varied depending on the young lady in question, but if I do get a few details incorrect, I do beg the pardon of my good readers to understand that it is not intentional.

Chiffon, Leggings, and Cupcakes

Claire hated her dress.

She amended her thoughts as graciously as she could. It was a very pretty dress, and it had been really good of her auntie to put so much work into making it, and her mother was being very generous with having such a lavish celebration put on, but this dress was very, very difficult.

Claire had never really liked the idea of a huge party for a birthday. It was nice to hang out with her friends and eat pizza, maybe watch some movies or royally screw up some makeup tutorials that looked easy but really weren't. But she supposed that her quinceañera was something pretty important, even though inviting half the neighborhood wasn't her idea of a good time. Leave it to her mother to make a big to-do when she could actually remember Claire's birthday. She winced. That wasn't really fair. Mom's life was busy with her career, and pregnancy brain was a thing.

The gown was purple, a color she liked very much. It perfectly matched the butterfly mask Mom had selected to go with it for the masquerade theme. And it was made with loving stitches and incredible care. Aunt Margarita had spared no care, taken no shortcut. She would treasure it for years to come. But any sane person would have taken a look at her and decided very quickly that the skirt was ridiculously huge and made movement as dangerous as opening a can of soda after it had been brought to one's attention by a hyperactive five-year-old.

In other words, she was stuck. A layer of light chiffon wrapped the entire skirt, giving it a delicate, glittery sort of look – her aunt had taken care to add glitter because Claire used to like glitter when she was nine – and the hem was lined in handmade lace. Handmade. How did people even hand-make lace? And in a bid for five minutes of freedom before the dances and the songs and the exchanging of slippers, she'd stolen up to her room to scarf down a cupcake and breath. And in one of those cruel quirks of fate, she'd knocked over a stack of spare decorations, stumbled into her wardrobe, and now she was covered in a blend of tissue paper, flowers, and maybe even a pair of scissors, and she was sitting on the floor. Unable to stand. Because if she moved more than a few inches, she risked tearing the chiffon and lace to bits. And she'd be darned if she let anything happen to the stupid-but-beloved dress Aunt Margarita had made and brought all the way from Guadalajara where her father's family lived.

And she had dropped the cupcake in the corner. So no stress eating for her.

Claire sat on the floor of her room, contemplating her life and wondering how long it would take before her mother burst in with the carefully strained expression of a hostess with a perfectionism streak a mile wide. Maybe no one would ever find her, she mused with a small smile. She would burrow into the dress and create a cave of cloth and chiffon like a hamster snuggling into clean, fresh wood shavings. Longing forever for a cupcake.

Claire wished she could have smuggled her phone in her dress, but the top had been fitted to her so perfectly that there wasn't room there. And strapping it to her leg with a garter would have been moot because she couldn't swim through the ocean of fabric anyway. The door was half-blocked by the sea of chiffon, and Claire plopped her chin in her hands. "I wanted a Shakespeare themed quinceñera, but nooo, that's not traditional enough. And because my auntie likes bombastic dresses, I get to wear one of those instead of one I picked." She sighed. Maybe she could call for Mary or Darcy? But she really didn't want everyone to see her like this, like a duck that had flipped over in the water and was stuck with its duff in the air.

Feeling bratty and disappointed – and feeling bad for feeling bratty and disappointed – Claire set her head on her knees and sighed, receiving a mouthful of glitter chiffon for her trouble. "This is what I deserve for trying to eat a cupcake," she mumbled.

"Um…are you okay?"

Claire looked up, startled. A young man stood in the doorway, wearing a blue suit and tie. He had dark hair and blue eyes, but the rest of his features were obscured by a nondescript black party mask. Claire thought the masquerade theme a little goofy herself, but she had held her tongue. Because Mama, in addition to have a will as inexorable and strong as a hurricane, was really, really pregnant. And prone to tears. Bearing in mind her mother's face was a little puffy at the moment, she understood why the woman had leaned toward masks.

"I'm a little immobilized at the moment," she said at last, wondering if he could see her embarrassment under her mask.

"You have a cupcake on your floor," he noted.

"Ants have to eat too." He knelt to examine the chiffon and lace. "What are you doing on the second floor?"

"Avoiding someone. Steve Palchuk seems to think there should be a piñata at this party, and that it should be me. It was the only place I could avoid him, the bathroom was taken." He hesitantly pulled some tissue paper off her dress and carefully forged his way toward her. "Here, let me help."

Claire took the hand he offered and rose from the floor with his assistance. And from under her heel she heard the one sound she was so afraid of – a ripping noise of a piece of the dress being torn free. She froze. "Fudge knuckle." She turned in place and felt a little weak at the chunk of cloth that had come off the dress. It wasn't chiffon or lace thank goodness, just the silk that made up the main skirt. But it still left a gap in the gown, one that showed off the fact that she'd worn Papa Skull leggings under the darn thing to prevent the chiffon from rubbing up against her legs.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize-" he began.

"No, no…it's not your fault. I should've checked to make sure I wasn't standing on it. Why would a human being make a dress this big and frilly!?" Claire bit her lip as soon as she said it. What an ungrateful girl she was. A hungry, cupcake-less, ungrateful girl.

"I was kind of wondering that myself. I mean it's very pretty…but it's not very mobile." The young man studied the skirt. "I think I can actually sew this back in place if you've got a needle and purple thread."

She blinked, watching as he lifted the piece and held it up to her side. "You can sew?"

"Some. My friend's Nana taught me how so I can patch my Mom's scrubs or lab coat instead of her having to buy new ones every time there's a hole in them. Her mom got her the coat she wears now, so there's sentimental value. It should hold for the rest of the party depending on the thread." Claire thought hard.

"I've got some in the closet, second door on your left as you go downstairs. I was working on a…never mind." He slipped out the door and she was left alone for a few minutes, the sound of guitar rising from outside. It was muffled through the walls.

The young man returned with a sewing kit in hand and, in the other, a paper plate with a cupcake. He offered this to her. "You dropped yours, right?"

She stared for a second. This angel had brought her a cupcake. Prayers did get answered. "Yeah. I…thanks." Claire took it, sinking her teeth into the side as soon as she'd stripped off the paper. "I haven't eaten since this morning. Not going to lie, there may have been tears when the other one fell."

"Crying over spilled cupcake is acceptable," he said, kneeling and threading the needle with a pretty close purple string. "Hold still, I don't want to stick you."

Claire pulled back the chiffon as best she could to give him a clear view. Instantly she was glad she'd worn the leggings. "I'd offer to get out of my dress, but we've only just met. And I literally can't get out."

His ears turned bright pink and he laughed. "I, uh, don't fancy your dad coming up here and finding us in a compromising situation." She couldn't help but snort with laughter.

"Truth is, once I get out of this thing, I'm never getting back in. I'll like the freedom too much." She watched the needle dive into the cloth and come back out in a soothing pattern. He was making small, tight stitches. Not perfectly even, but considering the circumstances, she could hardly blame him. It would hold. "I didn't really want a big to-do, but my Mom is…well, she likes things a certain way."

"Y'know, I did think that a girl that sneaks away to eat a cupcake away from a huge group of people might not want half of the Arcadia Oaks suburbs at her house. What kind of party would you have done?" he asked, glancing at her face. His interest was real, not polite. His front teeth were just a little prominent, and for some reason it was absurdly cute. "I'm assuming something with a smaller dress."

"Oh, it's…it's weird." Claire finished the cupcake and he took the plate and set it in her waste basket, returning to his task.

"If it's weirder than wanting to go to a cooking class to learn how to make quiche, I would love to hear it. Because when I was nine, me, my Mom, and my best friend went to a cooking class and learned to make quiche."

She smiled. He was funny in a dorky, nice way. "Hey, don't knock cooking skill at any age. And don't laugh, but…Elizabethan era theme. Like…Shakespeare."

"The guy who wrote 'Romeo and Juliet'? That would've been cool!" He tugged on the cloth so far to test its strength. "You could've had a theatre themed party even. Red velvet curtains, maybe done the tragedy-comedy masks."

"I know! It would have been so amazing! And there could have been references to his plays. I had an idea about doing something with skulls for Hamlet…and I love Papa Skull, so it would have been a double entendre." She sighed, watching him work. "I love the theatre, and Shakespeare, and all of it. I was so excited to go to Arcadia Oaks High when we moved here. I start next week."

"That's where I go. It's not a bad school. Except when Steve is harassing people, but even he can't be everywhere." He smiled up at her and it was a warm, kind thing. Even with the mask. "And Ms. Janeth is really involved in the arts, so our plays definitely have a lot of passion in them."

"That's what I was so excited for. But my parents…well, they'd rather I study. If I even get a 'B' they analyze my free time to see if I've been slacking." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not trying to badmouth them, I know they just want me to be able to get into a good college and do what I want. I just…well, I really want to try out for some of the plays. And I already know they'll be disappointed."

He paused. "You want to get into the creative arts? Aren't people who like Shakespeare like, super smart? Seems like they wouldn't mind if you were into that."

"I don't know if they'd 'mind,' but they would rather me work on classes." Claire shuffled her feet. Why was she telling him this? "I was in some plays in my middle school and I really loved it. All the other kids were reading off cue cards, but I worked really hard to memorize my lines and perform them. I mean I was awful, but I tried!"

"I think everyone's a little bit awful as a kid." Again he offered that warm smile. "But I bet you were better than you think. You seem like you have a lot of passion for it, and that's half the battle, right? Whatever the value of a fifteen-year-old neighborhood invitee is, I think you should go for it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?"

"An idealist huh? It's a good trait to have." Claire put a hand on her hip, aware that he was not looking at her legs and was pleased that an adolescent male could focus on a task with a girl in even the mildest state of undress. "You're not bad at that."

"I didn't flunk Home Ec anyway." He tugged at the fabric. "Okay, I think you're good. Until the party's over."

"Thank you, you're a life saver." She slipped off her mask, wiping her bangs aside and enjoying the coolness of air on her warm cheeks. "I didn't even introduce myself. Name's Claire, in case you missed the five-foot high letters on the banner."

He blinked at her, as if he'd forgotten whatever he was about to say. Was her hair messed up? Claire felt for her bun and he quickly diverted his eyes and extended a hand to shake. "Well, it's nice to meet you Claire. I'm J-"

"Claire!?" She started at the sound of her mother's voice. "We need to do the slippers! Honey, where did you go?" Claire shot the young man an apologetic, grateful look.

"Thank you so much. You've got my permission to kick Palchuk's butt in self defense if the need arises. Whoever that is." He grinned and she swept out the door, aware that she was leaving a stranger alone in her room as she barreled down the stairs and out into the back yard, into the balloons and streamers and relieved expression behind her mother's fairy mask. She didn't see the kind boy again, even though she skimmed the crowd several times after that. But the rest of the party was a little more fun after talking to him.

"So how was the party?" Barbara waited for Jim to buckle the seatbelt before brushing some confetti off his shoulder. "I was surprised when they invited so many people. I would have come if I hadn't had to cover for Oscar."

"It was nice. Steve kinda put a damper on things." But he slipped off the mask and let the air conditioning cool his face with relief. "Tobes would have liked it, they had chorizo tacos. They seem nice. The daughter especially."

"Did you get to talk to her?" she asked, pulling away from the curb. Jim smiled a little.

"She got stuck in her room. The dress her aunt made was huge. Big as the car." Barbara tried not to laugh, pity tempering her chuckles into coughs. "She was smart and funny. I get the feeling she went along with the big party to make her mom happy."

"She sounds very nice…was she pretty too?" His ears reddened and Barbara grinned. "Jim Lake Junior, you are blushing."

"Mom!" he groaned plaintively.

"What? She's going to Arcadia Oaks when the new school year starts, right? There's no other high school around! Maybe you'll have classes together, get a chance to know each other." She beamed. "Just be your sweet self hon, that's always the best bet."

Jim didn't reply, looking out the window instead, fingers fiddling with the cheap plastic mask. "What's her name?" Barbara continued, pleased when he looked back with a smile that reached his eyes.

"Claire. Claire Nuñez."

The End