Ending to the canceled story "Bothersome Birthday" by B. Bandit21.

Red faced and panting, his brow slick with sweat and his shoulders heaving like quake-tossed mountains, the boy burst through the door; it hit the wall with a thunderous report that echoed through the expectant stillness like a celestial cannonade. Action figures, startled by their master's wrath, dove from the dresser to hide amongst the toys and piles of clothes - dirty and clean - plastering the carpet, and the lamp on the desk fell over in a dead faint, its cord stretching tight and keeping it from dropping to the floor. Ace Savvy stared down from the wall, frozen in his most heroic pose - one arm thrust into the air, left leg bent. His smile, normally proud, strained at the corners and if you looked closely, you could almost see worry in his eyes.

It was a mild summer afternoon and bright, golden sunlight cascaded through the open window, bathing the room in rich hues that stood in such stark contrast to the boy's mood that he sneered. The tones were happy, he was not; the day was placid, he was seething. A faint breath of air pushed the mesh screen back and forth, lending it the appearance of a chest rising and falling in frantic, death-bed desperation, each inhalation labored, every exhalation pained. The curtains stirred like restless spirits and from somewhere without, a lawnmower droned, its low hum setting the boy's teeth on edge.

Hands clenched, nails biting into the padding of his palms, Lincoln stormed into the room and lashed out, kicking a paperback novel like a misshapen football; it hit the leg of his chair, spun, and disappeared beneath the desk. He sucked hissing intakes of air through his teeth and ground his teeth together with a loud grating sound. Spinning, he slammed the door so hard it shook in its frame then hit it with the flat of his palm. A jarring vibration ran up his arm and he relished in it. Adrenaline, or maybe it was something else, pumped through his veins, and every nerve ending in his body crackled with electricity. He could tear down the entire house with his bare hands, he could rip a tree from the ground, roots and all. Barely suppressed fury crashed against his temples like pounding, storm-driven surf and his vision tinged gray at the edges.

He stalked to the desk, wheeled around, and marched to the door, fuming, shoulders squared, fists balled and shaking. His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed; his body burned from head to toe; his chest smoldered like a bed of embers.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn't that big a deal. It urged calm, restraint, and understanding.

But it was a big deal. It was a big deal and…

And his feelings were hurt.

Lincoln's step faltered and some of the hot rage drained from his face. Burning tears brimmed behind his eyes, and he blinked them away. He swallowed thickly and wetted his dry lips. His heart beat a frenetic tempo against his ribs and his breathing began to slow. He reached out and tried to hold onto the anger like a drowning boy clutching a life ring, but it faded, leaving him with only sadness and disappointment.

Sighing deeply, he sank onto the edge of the bed and hung his head. Across the room, a One-Eyed Jack action figure (with nine points of articulation) favored him warily from a pile of socks, and a foam basketball wedged itself into the relative shelter between the wall and the dresser. Lincoln looked up and scanned the room. Bun-Bun, his beloved stuffed rabbit, sat atop the dresser, unmoved and unfazed by his owner's outburst. He had had Bun-Bun for as long as he could remember; every time he looked back through the forest of memories, Bun-Bun was always there, eternal and unchanged like the sun, the moon, and the stars. The plush knew him as intimately as he knew himself, had seen every side and facet of him from sadness to anger to joy to fear.

Bun-Bun was family.

And right now, Lincoln hated his family. He hated how selfish they were, how pushy, how demanding. His sisters dragged him in ten different directions, each wanting him for her own purpose: Leni wanting him to model outfits, Lola wanting him to watch her model outfits, Lynn wanting him to play football with her. Luna snagged him every time he passed by her room to play her latest song; Luan tested every mind-numbing routine on him and never even said thank you; Lucy read him her poetry; Lisa used him as a lab rat; Lana stuck him with her rat when she needed a "babysitter". Every time he turned around, one of them wanted something from him, and if he didn't want to do it, they got mad, as if he were somehow obligated to tend to their every whim...as if he were nothing but a servante and not a member of the family at all.

And you know what? He did all of those things without complaint. He let Lynn cream him at football; he let Leni dress him up in frilly, girly clothes, then post pictures of him to her Instagram; he let Luna play him whatever clumsy and generic rock song ripoff she was working on that week; he willingly sat in Luan's beanbag chair and clapped for her ventriloquist act even though he could totally see her lips moving; he tried his best to give Lucy advice on writing better even though he didn't know the first thing about literary composition himself; he spent hours of his time letting Lola parade before him in the same six outfits and told her she was beautiful even though he really wanted to tell her to leave him alone. He did all of these things and more because that's what families are supposed to do. They're supposed to love and support each other. They're supposed to lift each other up and help one another out.

Only they never did those things for him. When Lynn came out of her room painted blue and gold and looking like an idiot because her team was playing that day, no one said anything. Yet when he came out in his Ace Savvy cosplay, every single one of them teased him. They called him names, tugged his cape, insulted his intelligence and masculinity. He was used to it...their words didn't bother him...the fact that they said them, however, did. The fact that they each had their eccentricities and didn't make fun of each other did. The fact that they could never be bothered to help him when he needed it or do things for him the way he did for them did. He couldn't even put in a pair of noise cancelling earbuds and read a comic book without them getting upset. Why? They didn't do that to Lucy when she crawled into her dark place to read. They didn't get mad when Luna or Luan shut their door and asked for privacy. No, they only did it to him.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair and he was sick of it. He was sick of them.

Then, to top it alllll off, today was his birthday and they forgot. Clyde forgot. Ronnie Anne forgot. His own parents forgot. He remembered their birthdays...but out of fourteen people, not a single one could be bothered to remember his.

He was starting to wonder if he even mattered to them.

If he was important, they wouldn't drag him around like a slave. If he was important, they would respect his time and his privacy and his wishes the way he respected theirs, because to him, THEY MATTERED. He helped them and did for them because they meant something to him. All logic told him that because they wouldn't do likewise, it was only because he wasn't important to them. He was just dumb, white-hair Lincoln, living in the linin closet like a vacuum cleaner, an object to be used a thrown away, then not thought of or cared about until the next time it's needed. He was a tool to them. He was a piece of sports equipment to Lynn, grammar software for Lucy, a test audience for Luan, a mannequin for Leni. They used him and took advantage of him and never thanked him or apologized. Why would they? Do you thank a shovel for letting you dig a trench with it? Do you thank a bulldozer for knocking down a stand of trees to make room for a highway? Did you thank someone for doing what they were supposed to do?

No, you took it for granted and moved on without a second thought. That's what his family did to him. That's what everyone did to him, even his so-called friends. How many times had Ronnie Anne forced him to do something that he didn't want to? How many times did she use him for something, then completely blow him off when he needed her? How many times? Too many, and he was tired of it. He was done being the boy everyone could order around, the boy whose thoughts and feelings didn't count. He was done - done - doing things for them. He was done letting them take advantage of him. He was finished. They were ungrateful and didn't appreciate him.

They didn't care about him.

A knot formed in the center of his stomach and his mouth went dry. His chest tightened and something like panic closed around him. The air was suddenly too hot and the walls too close, threatening to squish him like a bug. He took a deep, shivery breath and let it out in a shaky rush He was being stupid, he told himself; he was acting like a whiny crybaby. All they did was forget his birthday. That didn't really mean anything, did it? And his sisters were pushing and demanding, so what? They're girls, that's how girls are (to the best of Lincoln's knowledge). It's not like they made him live under the stairs and do all of their chores Cinderella style. Was it really that bad?

He sighed.

He was making excuses for them. That was something he'd gotten good at over the years. Every time they mocked him, turned their backs on him, and brushed him off like a nit, he dredged up every excuse he could think of. He let them get away with a lot. More than they ever let him get away with. He couldn't even go into his room and be alone without them acting like he was committing some terrible crime. How dare he not be at their beck and call, right? How dare he not be right there with a cloth draped over his forearm like their personal maitre d.

Now he was depressed, his anger evaporated and turned to ash. He slumped his shoulders and blew a weary sigh that bespoke defeat. They didn't care about him. Did they? They only cared about what he could do for them. Even his parents. Even his friends.

Was it something about him? His personality? Did he secrete some kind of doormat scented pheromone? How could everyone in his life be like this? How could all of the people he loved and cared for treat him this way?

Self-loathing rose like bile in the back of his throat and he clamped his mouth shut lest he vomit. He swallowed and blinked away the tears beginning to bead at the corners of his eyes. He started to lay down, but his gaze fell on Bun-Bun and on a whim, he got up and plucked the rabbit from its spot.

Its fur was threadbare and matted from a thousand different spills and mishaps. Once upon a time, Lincoln held Bun-Bun possessively to his chest through every step of the day, from the moment he woke up in the morning to the moment he fell asleep at night. Bun-Bun was his friend, constant companion, and protector from all enemies, both real and imagined. Lincoln crossed the room, dropped onto the edge of the bed, and turned the rabbit over in his hands, his fingers brushing over its gray and dusty fleece. One button eye was loose and frayed pieces of fabric stuck out here and there like a cartoon character's hair after sticking their finger in a light socket.

How long had it been since he held Bun-Bun? The plush had been sitting in on the dresser, head cocked quizzically to one side, for so long that when he picked it up, cobwebs tickled his fingers. He tried to remember the last time he took Bun-Bun down but couldn't. He was eleven going on twelve, what did he need with a stuffed animal?

One day, maybe two years ago, maybe longer, he told himself that he was too big for Bun-Bun, that he no longer needed him. He couldn't bring himself to throw the rabbit out, though, nor could he give it away; there were so many memories attached to him, so many snuggles and smiles and happy times. He sat him on the dresser with the intention of putting him somewhere more permanent, perhaps the attic, but there Bun-Bun had sat ever since like a watchful sentinel, keeping vigil over the master who thought he didn't need him anymore but really did, his love and loyalty never lessening, never abating, even as every passing day took him farther and farther from his master's heart.

All at once, Lincoln was glad he kept him.

Curling up on his side, knees bent, Lincoln held the rabbit to his chest like a little boy cowering in the dark. The distant whine of the lawnmower cut out and silence crashed down around him. The curtains danced quietly in the breeze, resembling the passing flutter of ghostly wings, and the screen puffed in and out, in and out, moving but producing no sound. Lincoln inhaled through his nose, pressed his lips tightly together, and stared absently at the lattice work of sunlit shadows tattooed to the wall. "What should I do?" he croaked. His voice was small, hollow, and cracking. A single tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a hot, salty trail, and sucked his lips into his mouth when they began to quiver.

Bun-Bun didn't answer. He had no pearls of wisdom or words of comfort. He was accustomed to fighting imaginary creatures of the night; Lincoln's current problem was just a little out of his range. "Am I being a big baby?"

He thought back to earlier in the living room, his family and friends clustered before him on the couch, their dumb expressions exacerbating his anger. They had no idea why he called them together. They had no freaking clue - his birthday meant that little to him.

He meant that little to them.

Standing there with them staring dumbly up at him, realizing that they weren't going to remember even with him standing right in front of them, hot rage exploded from the depths of his stomach like a jet of scalding steam. His vision grayed, blood roared against his temples, and his hands balled into fists. He opened his mouth, and all of the hurt and betrayal that had been simmering inside of him all day spewed forth. He didn't remember what he said, but he knew he cussed and called them names. The more he spoke, the hotter the fire in his belly grew; at the end of it all, he was utterly consumed, his skin fevered, his heart blasting. None of them spoke as he sulked off; they gaped at him with slack-jawed astonishment, and in that moment, he almost hated them.

That disdain came back to him, clutching like an angry fist in his middle, and he sighed. "I wish I wasn't even related to them," he said flatly. The world blurred and he blinked his eyes. Maybe he was overreacting, but he couldn't help it. He tried so hard to be a good son, brother, and friend, and what did he get in return? Used. Made fun of. Forgotten like a piece of garbage on the sidewalk. He put so much into his relationships but he got nothing back.

No more. He was tired of putting his heart and soul into people who didn't appreciate him. If they wanted to be like this to him, he would never help them again. No more poetry reading, no more half-baked comedy routines, no more wearing stupid, poorly-made dresses and letting pictures of it wind up online - he wasn't doing it anymore. If Lynn needed someone to play football with, she could ask Lola. Guaranteed Lola wouldn't do it because each and every one of them was selfish and never did things for the others. Lincoln was the only one who would and they weren't even appreciative. Why should he continue being nice to them? Why should he keep on helping them? They didn't do the same thing for him. It was only fair. Tit for tat.

"Should I?" he asked Bun-Bun.

Again, the rabbit made no reply; he simply went on staring sightlessly into space as he always had, whatever life Lincoln's imagination may have imbued him with gone as surely and completely as all childhood magic must one day go.

Bun-Bun was never going to answer him because Bun-Bun wasn't real and never had been. All those scary nights that he clung to Bun-Bun for comfort, he was alone. All the times he sat on the floor and played with Bun-Bun, he was alone. Right now, lying in his bed and bathed in the warming rays of the late afternoon sunshine, he was alone. No one could decide for him, this and every other choice was his to make; it was up to him and only him.

He favored Bun-Bun with a contemplative expression, then sighed and tossed him away; he landed in the dirty clothes hamper in what Lincoln couldn't help but take as a sign. He rolled onto his back, propped his legs up in an M, and laced his hands over his chest. He'd do it, he decided. He wouldn't be sullen, he wouldn't be nasty, he wouldn't be resentful...he'd just never have time for them, like they never had time for him.

From now on…

His family mattered to him only as much as he mattered to them.

For a long time after he fled, the slamming of Lincoln's door resounded through the house like a dying scream. It lingered in the air even after it had faded away, and for those gathered in the living room of the Loud house, would echo for weeks, maybe even months. Once he was gone, they sat in stunned silence, fourteen of them shrouded in a heavy funeral pall, their expressions ranging from shock to perplexion, as though they had just witnessed a tragic event and hadn't finished processing it.

Ronnie Anne stared down at her lap, thoroughly scolded, and Clyde released a pent-up breath that he had been holding since Lincoln started his tirade. Lily, not understanding the tension in the air, snuggled close to Lisa for comfort, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Crimson shame blazed across Luna's plain, freckled features and Lori lowered her gaze, chastised. Lucy looked as she always did - pale, drawn, slight frown - but her audible "Sigh" revealed her emotional state. Lynn Sr. sat there, stiff and unmoving like the shellshocked survivor of a great calamity, and Rita pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Lincoln's bitter words ricocheted through her skull like shrapnel from a bomb and her heart squeezed in a miserable vise grip. Cliff the cat poked his head out from under the entertainment center and looked warily around to see if the danger had passed, then slithered out and slunk away with his tail tucked literally between his legs.

None of them, from Rita down to Lily, had even the slightest inkling that Lincoln was upset; his cutting accusations came as a complete surprise, making them all the more difficult to register. Rita's hand fell away from her mouth and she shot a stricken look at her husband, seeking a supplication she was already beginning to realize she didn't deserve.

Lincoln was right. She forgot his birthday. One of the eleven most important days of her life and it managed to somehow slip her mind. She knew it was coming up, but she swore it was on Thursday. In fact, she knew it was on Thursday, because she and Lynn were talking about it last week, then over the weekend, she slipped away and bought his presents. Her head spun. Thursday, his birthday was on Thursday. Today was only…

She didn't know what day it was.

Dread swelled in her stomach. She fumbled her iPhone from her pocket and swiped her finger across the screen.

Thursday.

Today was Thursday.

She thought it was Tuesday.

She was two days behind.

It wasn't her fault, though, there was so much going on. She'd been working doubles at the office, the mortgage was due in three days and she and Lynn didn't have enough to cover it (again), there was a mountain of bills and past due notices on hers and Lynn's nightstand, the van's engine block was clunking and ticking like it always did before bogging out and needing an 1,800 dollar repair. She woke up at 5:30 every morning and hurried out the door, then made a mad dash home to ferry everyone to their after school activities - Lynn to football drills, Lola to ballet, Luna to band practice, Lucy to Young Morticians Club. Her life was an endless headlong sprint and sometimes she got so mixed up that she thought one day was another and confused things that happened earlier that afternoon with things that happened weeks before.

But she never, never, forgot one of her children's birthdays.

Until now.

She pressed her hand to her temple as is to keep her aching brain from breaking through her skull. How could she have forgotten? How could she have overlooked Lincoln's birthday? Por thing, no wonder he was upset with them. He must feel awful.

Her stomach twisted into knots and a sob bubbled up in her throat at the memory of the hurt in her son's eyes. She held it back and sucked a deep breath through her nose. Beside her, Lynn rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. That was a nervous tic he had had since before they married. It meant he was uncomfortable. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, then closed it again and shifted his weight, the couch groaning beneath him and the rustle of his movements deafening in the perfect hush. Rita watched the others from the corner of her eye, too ashamed to face them full on; no one looked at anyone else, and she imagined they, too, were embarrassed. Lincoln was such a good boy and he meant the world to his sisters; they were always spending time with him, more than they ever spent with each other, and when it came time for her to pick Lincoln's presents up from Wal-Mart, Lori handed her 150 dollars that they managed to scrape together. Get him something really nice, Lori said. They didn't do that kind of thing for Luan or Lucy or anyone else, but they always did it for Lincoln.

She was surprised that they forgot as well, even though she supposed she shouldn't be. Each one of her daughters had a schedule that was nearly as full as her own. They had a thousand and one things to do every day of the week and they were kids, it wasn't their responsibility to keep track of these things. It was hers.

And she failed. She failed them, she failed her husband, and worst of all, she failed her special little guy.

The first one to speak was Luna. She turned to Luan and narrowed her eyes to slits. "This is your fault, dude," she said.

"Mine?" Luan cried indignantly.

"I told you to mark it down, man," Luna said.

Luan's face darkened. "Well...it's Lori's job to remember since she wants to be in charge of everything."

"Excuse me?" Lori asked, offended. Despite her challenging tone, guilt flickered through her eyes. "I'm busy working and studying for finals, I can't do everything. Even though I have to because none of you will do anything."

Before she was even finished, everyone was talking at once, Lana blaming Lola, Lisa blaming Lily for spilling juice on her daily planner ("I had to throw it out and failed to properly transfer its contents"), Lucy blaming Grandma Harriet, dead these past sixty years ("She was supposed to tell me"), and Ronnie Anne blaming Clyde on the basis that he had known Lincoln longer. Rita called for order, but there was no force in her voice, and it was easily drowned out by the others.

Finally, Leni jumped to her feet and turned to face the melee. "Guys," she said. Everyone paused in the midst of battle and looked up at her. "Like, we all forgot," she continued. "It's not more anyone else's fault than anyone else's. All of us let Lincy down and that totes not a buck you can pass."

Everyone looked at each other, then away when they saw their own blame reflected in one another's eyes. "I should have remembered," Lori sighed. She brushed her bangs out of her face and crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"Yeah," Lynn Jr. said, "me too."

"I take full responsibility," Lisa said, "as I am the most intelligent member of the family unit."

Rita shook her head. "It's my fault," she said. "You kids didn't do anything wrong. Your father and I are the ones who should have known better."

Leni rolled her eyes. "Don't you guys get it? It doesn't matter. We made Lincy sad. What matters is making him cheer up."

"But how?" Luan asked.

"Yeah," Lana added, "what can we do? We really messed up this time around."

Leni crossed one arm over her chest, cupped her elbow in her hand, and tapped her chin with her index finger. "Hmmm...I don't know, but whatever it is, it has to be big. We need to show Lincy how much he means to us."

And as the afternoon light began to recede from the world, the Louds, Clyde, and Ronnie Anne put their heads together and began to plot.

A bar of feeble red light fell across Lincoln's face, bathing it in dull color. His eyelids fluttered and he stirred, lips smacking mindlessly together. He turned his head away from the source of his vexation and started to drift again, but his mind was already clearing, each synapse firing up like dominoes falling in a row. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could in the hopes of reversing the process, but it was useless: For better or worse, he was awake.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 7:15. Yesterday, he spent his birthday wrapped in a suffocating black cloud of depression. He didn't leave except to use the bathroom, and just as he thought, no one came to check on him. Why would they? They were probably mad at him for saying what he did. They thought he was in the wrong, but that was nothing new. Everything he did was wrong to them. Asking everyone to put down their phone, smile, and stop being jackasses long enough to take a nice family photo? How terrible. You're asking us to not be our literal selves, Lincoln, you're such a bad person, how dare you?

Nothing he did was right to them. He was always wrong. Unless they were in the middle of using him. Even then they had nothing but complaints. Lynn got mad when he dropped the ball (hello, I don't even like football), Lori criticized the quality of his work when he did her chores for her ("You're going to get me in trouble, Linc, do it again, and this time, do it right"), Lola thrashed him for not using proper table manners at tea parties, and Lisa treated him like he was stupid because he didn't know what zinc-zerconium 39 was.

Fine. If they thought he was so stupid and clumsy, he'd show them. Guess I'm too much of a derp to do anything for you guys. Go to someone else next time you need help. I'll just be over here drooling in the corner. Alone. Unloved. Unwanted.

He sighed again and sat up. If they wanted to be that way, he'd be that way too. Every time they came running to him for something, he'd look down his nose at them and turn them away just like they did him. This was a Loud eat Loud world and he was done being timid and letting them walk all over him. It was every kid for themselves. Let's see how they did without him. Not well, he imagined. They needed him more than he needed them.

Deep down, he didn't believe that. Deep down, he didn't want to be mad, he didn't want to be mean to his sisters, he just wanted them to remember his birthday. Was that really so much to ask?

Apparently so.

Sighing again, he threw the cover off and swung his legs out over the side of the bed. His bladder twinged and his back gave a creaky groan. He leaned forward, wincing as his muscles stretched tight, then sat up straight. He stood, shuffled to the door like an old man, and laid his hand on the knob.

He didn't feel like facing his family.

But he couldn't hide in his room forever. He took a deep, fortifying breath, twisted the knob, and left his room.

The hallway stood empty save for dust choked sunlight streaming through the open doors along its length. Lincoln looked around, half expecting his sisters to be crouched and hiding, but no one bothered him on his journey to the bathroom. Inside, he closed the door behind him, relieved himself, and applied deodorant to his armpits, a chore that he had been carrying out more or less every morning since March, when he mysteriously began to smell. His health science book said that was a symptom of puberty - if so, it was the only one he had, nothing cool like facial hair or a deepening voice. Because of course not.

Done, he brushed his teeth, spat into the sink, and replaced his toothbrush in the holder. He snapped the light off and started back to his room. At the top of the stairs, the warm, good smells of bacon found his nose and his stomach gave a deep rumble.

He was hungry.

Any other day, he would have allowed the aroma to pull him lovingly down into the kitchen like an insistent lover pulling her beau to bed, but the thought of walking in and being surrounded by his parents and sisters - after what happened yesterday - sent a ripple of disquiet racing through his center. His first instinct was to slink back into his room, close the door, and hide, but he wouldn't let them do that to him. They already ruined his birthday. If they had a problem with anything he said, they could get bent.

Decided, he went into his room, dressed in a pair of jeans and an orange polo shirt, and yanked his tennis shoes on. Early morning bird song drifted through the window and the paperboy sped by on a green ten speed, slowing only to wing a rolled paper from a knapsack around his shoulder.

Maybe after breakfast he'd go for a bike ride, Lincoln reckoned. Anything to get him out of the house and his mind off the events of the previous day.

Time to do this.

Holding his head tall and proud because he had done nothing wrong, he went downstairs.

In the dining room, the table was laid with platters and serving bowls of food. Lincoln saw sausage, bacon, waffles, bagels smeared with cream cheese, homemade hashbrowns, and a plate at the head bearing a fat western omelet filled with green and red peppers and covered with melted American cheese.

All of his favorite breakfast foods.

Everyone sat in their usual places, save for Dad who perched next to Mom on one of the chairs from Lola's playset. They looked up at him, and his heart crept into his throat. Were they mad at him? They had no right to be, but he found himself dreading them being upset at him nonetheless: The icy stares, tense silence, dark vibes…

He suddenly wished he stayed in his room.

Mom stared at him for a bemused moment, as though she wasn't expecting him to come down, then broke out in a sunny smile and got to her feet. "Good morning, honey," she said and kissed his cheek.

"Morning," he said guardedly.

"Happy Birthday."

"Uh...thanks."

My birthday was yesterday, he thought but didn't add.

"Happy Birthday, Linc," Lana said.

"Yeah," Lynn added, "Happy Birthday."

"Happy Birthday, bro," Luna said.

"Happy Birthday, Lincy," Leni greeted.

Lincoln waited for everyone to repeat the mantra, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. So they were trying to butter him up. Happy Birthday, Linc, we made your favorite stuff for breakfast, sorry about forgetting your birthday.

That was too little, too late.

But they're making the effort, a small, hopeful voice spoke from the back of his head.

Yeah? That's like performing emergency surgery on and gallantly saving the life of the guy YOU JUST SHOT.

Okay, maybe not that extreme, but he wasn't happy, and he had half a mind to take their lame attempt to make things up to him as an insult and walk away.

The food looked really good, though.

He wavered for a second, then took his place at the head of the table and dug in. As he ate, each sister recounted a special memory she and Lincoln had made together. Lynn brought up the time she needed to practice for the state championship and Lincoln was there to help her every day. Lucy recalled him staying up until midnight to help her write a poem for her creative writing class, then finishing it after she fell asleep at her desk. "You really saved me," she concluded, "if not for you, I would have failed. I'm not a very good poet."

Lisa adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. "I would be remiss if I didn't mention the incident where I inadvertently inhaled chloroform and lost consciousness in the hallway." She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke; she was too proud to acknowledge her failings in the lab. So much so that he was surprised that she even bought it up. "The others left me lying there, dead for all they knew. You, however, performed mouth to mouth resuscitation and assisted me to bed. I perhaps have never properly expressed my gratitude but I do appreciate it."

Mom and Dad gaped at her. "You did what?" Mom asked.

"It was unimportant," Lisa said.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mom demanded.

"I don't record every single boo-boo I amass in the course of my daily routine. These things happen."

Mom pursed her lips together, unamused, but didn't push the matter.

"You're, like, the biggest part of my fashion show," Leni said. "Without you, my clothes wouldn't have anything to be on and no one would be able to look at them." She leaned over the table and pinched Lincoln's cheek hard enough to make him wince. "You're the best, Lincy."

Lincoln didn't know how to respond. On the one hand, he was touched, on the other, he was kind of offended. Did they really think this made up for yesterday? Did they really think they could forget his birthday, then start over the next day like nothing happened?

Just as he was finishing up, the doorbell rang. Lori got up to answer it, and came back a few minutes later with Bobby. "Hey, bro," Bobby nodded to Lincoln, "happy birthday."

"Thanks," Lincoln said.

"I got you a little present."

He reached into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt and whipped something out. Lincoln squinted his eyes, and when he realized what it was, his jaw dropped.

A ticket to Six Flags.

"You, me, Lori, and Ronnie Anne are gonna have the time of our lives," Bobby said. "We leave when you're ready."

Lincoln had been to Six Flags once, when he was younger. He remembered having a blast and had been wanting to go back for years, but it never happened because his parents couldn't afford to take everyone.

Excitement filled Lincoln and his anger and depression were both blown away like smoke on the wind. He jumped up and hugged Lori and Bobby. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he chanted.

Lori ruffled his hair. "Go get ready so we can."

"Alright! I'll be right back."

With that, he ran up the stairs, falling twice on the way in his haste. When he was gone, Rita looked at Lori. "How long will you be gone?"

"Well, they're two day passes," Lori said.

"My aunt manages a hotel a few miles from the park," Bobby said, "she hooked us up with a couple rooms. I figure we'll stay over, then come back tomorrow afternoon.'

Rita hummed. That was more than enough time for her, Lynn, and the girls to do what they needed to do. "Alright. Text me when you're on your way back."

"I will," Lori said.

Lincoln rushed down the stairs and threw open the front door. "C'mon!" he cried. "Let's go!"

Bobby laughed at the boy's enthusiasm. "You ready, Lori?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Have fun," Rita called after them. When they were gone, she turned to the others. "Everyone knows what they're supposed to do?"

They did.

"Good," she said and got up, "let's get started."

Six Flags Over Great Lakes City was just north of Uptown off I-93, its location marked by six flagpoles rising above the trees crowding the shoulder of southbound lane. On the ride there, Lincoln sat next to Ronnie Anne, so excited he could hardly contain himself. Ronnie Anne was stoked too: She thrummed with barely suppressed anticipation. "I wanna go to the water park first," she said, "no, wait, I wanna ride a roller coaster. Actually, I'm kinda hungry, maybe we should eat something."

"I'm gonna ride the Ace Savvy," Lincoln said.

The Ace Savvy was one of the largest rollercoasters in the world. It was 220 feet tall and reached speeds of up to eighty eight miles per hour.

Ronnie Anne scrunched her lips. "Yeah, maybe we should start with that." She socked his arm. "Good thinking, lame-o."

"Thanks," Lincoln said and rubbed his arm.

A vast parking lot fronted the main gate. Lori pulled the van into a spot facing the highway and cut the engine. "You guys ready?" she asked.

"Yeah!" Lincoln and Ronnie Anne cried in unison.

After presenting their passes at the ticket booth, they went inside. Rides, attractions, restaurants, and gift shops lined a wide cobblestone thoroughfare thronged with people in light, summery clothes. Kids ran back and forth like maniacs released from the asylum and street performers juggled, played music, and did magic tricks for groups of awestruck tourists. Lincoln's head whipped around in every direction and he thrilled at the sights, sounds, and smells of paradise. Ronnie Anne looked left and right, agog, and whistled appreciatively. "This place is awesome."

"Have you ever been here before?" Lincoln asked.

She shook her head. "Nope, never been here."

Lincoln grinned. "You're in for a treat."

Their first stop was The Ace Savvy, which towered over the park like a modern day monolith, its loops, twists, turns, and drops as intimidating as they were imposing. The line stretched away and wrapped around the corner of a gift shop, and a couple times, Lincoln almost gave up in favor of going somewhere else. There was so much to do and so little time.

When their turn came, a dull-eyed operator strapped Lincoln and Ronnie Anne into one of the cars and Lori and Bobby into the one directly after. He checked to make sure their safety harnesses were secure and pulled down the lap bar. He stepped back and threw a switch; the cars began to move along the track, climbing higher and higher. The world fell away and Ronnie Anne craned her neck to see. She uttered a nervous laugh. "This thing's really high."

"Scared?' Lincoln teased.

"No," Ronnie Anne said a little too quickly. "I just never been on one this big."

The car reached the top and grinded to a halt. For a moment it teetered on the brink, then went over. Lincoln's stomach rocketed into his throat and Ronnie Anne screamed in a mixture of terror and exhilaration. The wind blew against their faces and stirred their hair. Behind them, Lori howled and Bobby let out a cheer. The track dipped, then curved sharply to the left. Lincoln threw his arms over his head and looked at Ronnie Anne. Her face was ashen and her hands curled tightly around the bar. He opened his mouth to offer some words of encouragement but wind filled his lungs and he closed it again lest he drown.

Left, right, left, the track wound, rising and falling, soaring high above the park and hugging the ground, trees and metal fencing on either side. Ronnie Anne squeezed her eyes closed and gritted her teeth, her chest rising and falling with panic. She gripped the bar so tightly that her knuckles turned white and turned her head away as if from a terrible and unbearable sight.

After two passes, the cart rolled to a stop at the platform. Ronnie Anne shook and trembled, eyes clamped shut, and Lincoln caught his breath. His lungs burst for air and adrenaline coursed through his veins; he was weak, shaky, and felt like he was going to throw up.

In other words: Awesome.

He turned to Ronnie Anne. She was still holding the bar and quivering like a plate of jelly. "It's over," he said and nudged her side.

She peeled one eye open. "I-I survived?" she asked. Realizing what she'd said, she added, "I mean...it's done?"

"Fun, wasn't it?"

For a moment, she didn't reply...then she grinned. "Let's do it again."

They rode The Ace Savvy two more times, then broke for lunch at a cafe where everything was overpriced and undersized. After that, they went to the water park. They spent most of the afternoon splashing, inner tubing, and wading in the wave pool. Later on, as the sunlight turned bright orange and shadows grew long, they made their way to the open air pavilion on the park's western edge for the daily fireworks display. Then draped towels on the ground and sat under the budding stars as the commons filled with people. Just past dark, it began, bursts of color and flat, hollow thumps that reverberated over the audience like summer thunder. Lincoln and Ronnie Anne sat side by side and craned their necks to see the explosions. "I'm really sorry about forgetting your birthday," she said after a while.

Lincoln had totally forgotten about that.

Now, so far removed from yesterday, it didn't seem like such a big deal, but for better or worse, things like that never do once you've had a chance to cool down. You shouldn't hold onto grudges, but you shouldn't forget the wrongs people have done to you just because your scars have healed; they still inflicted them, and if you turn the other cheek and let your guard down, they will almost always add new ones.

"It's really not that they forgot my birthday that bothers me," Lincoln said, "it's that...I always do things for my sisters, you know? And they don't do the same things back. It's like they use me and take advantage of me."

Ronnie Anne nodded. "I get that. I don't think they mean to, though. They just...lose sight of things. I do it with Bobby sometimes. I don't always think before I speak and act and...I wind up not being 100 percent fair. No one's perfect. Remember that time you kept saying you'd rather lick the bathroom floor than kiss me?"

He groaned. "You had to bring that up."

"How do you think that made me feel? My best friend acting like I was gross and disgusting and calling me a weirdo. It made me cry."

Lincoln sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she said. "We all make mistakes and step on each other's toes. That's life."

Her words echoed through Lincoln's head for a long time after.

The fireworks ended around eight. They had dinner at a truck stop Waffle House three miles from the park and from there went onto the hotel, a well-lit Holiday Inn. Bobby's aunt had arranged for them to stay in two adjacent rooms on the third floor, Lincoln and Lori in one and Bobby and Ronnie Anne in another. On the way up the stairwell, Bobby joked that he'd switch places with Lincoln so "we can spend the night together, babe." He quickly added: "But the place is full of cameras and my aunt will check the footage. It was part of our deal."

Lincoln had never been to a Holiday Inn before and was surprised how big his and Lori's room was: Two king sized beds separated by a nightstand faced the dresser and the wall mounted plasma screen TV and a table and chair set occupied a space next to the heavily curtained window. Lori threw her bags onto one of the beds and sat down with a weary sigh. "I am literally beat," she said.

"Me too," Lincoln admitted. He was wired when they pulled into the parking lot, but now the day was beginning to catch up with him.

They took turns showering, then went to bed just before eleven. Lincoln was just beginning to fall asleep when Lori spoke from her bed. "Linc?"

"Yeah?" he asked.

She was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, and he was just about to ask again when she said, "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday."

What Ronnie Anne said at the fireworks came back to him. We all make mistakes and we all step on each other's toes. Wasn't that true? And wasn't it true that he once hurt her feelings just as badly, if not more so, than his sisters did his? Forgetting his birthday, being pushy and selfish...even teasing him...none of those was as messed up as what he said about Ronnie Anne.

People said he was sensitive and that he thought too deeply about things. He always countered that most everyone else doesn't think deeply enough. They only saw what was in front of their eyes, like whale watchers glimpsing a passing iceberg whereas he saw what was below the surface.

But did he really? When you overthink things, your mind is liable to jump at shadows and spin things in ways they weren't intended to be spun. The mind that never stops working is like CNN or Fox News filling time with speculation and conjecture.

Was it fair to judge someone's actions without taking their intentions into account? Sometimes, maybe, but not always.

Did his sisters mean to bully and belittle him? Did they consciously set out to make him feel the way they made him feel?

He didn't think so. They were kids and kids do dumb things. Kids are self-absorbed, kids are petty, and, yes, kids are even cruel on occasion. Being the perpetual thinker that he was, he sometimes forgot that.

No, his sisters didn't do the things they did on purpose. That didn't mean they were okay, though.

"The thing that bothers me," Lincoln said, "is that I feel like...I get taken advantage of. I help everyone with their stuff, and no one helps me. You guys...kind of treat me differently. Like when I had those ear buds and you got mad. Like, you guys don't do that stuff to each other, and you don't pick on each other like you do me."

His words hung heavy between them like a cloud of dense smoke. He could sense, perhaps through some telepathy, that Lori had a reply but was considering it carefully. The covers rustled and the mattress creaked as she presumably rolled onto her side to face him. Lincoln glanced at her, and in the darkness, she was a vague outline. "Don't take this the wrong way, Linc," she said haltingly, "but you can be kind of a...pushover."

Lincoln's brow furrowed.

Forestalling his reply, Lori went on. "You never really say no and if you do, you don't put your foot down about it. You eventually cave. You can't be like that in our family. Everyone's stubborn and they want what they want. Remember when you guys tied me up that time because you thought i was too strict?"

Lincoln sighed. Another one of his failings back to haunt him. "Yes," he said.

"You saw what happened," Lori said. "The moment my back was turned, everyone went crazy."

He started to argue that that was different, but realized that it wasn't. His sisters knew full well that Mom and Dad entrusted Lori with taking care of things while they were gone and that tearing down the house would reflect poorly on her, yet they did it anyway, and with glee.

'Why do you think I was like that in the first place? I literally had to be, and so does everyone else. You have eleven people and when there're that many, things get crazy."

"I guess," Lincoln said.

"You just need to be a little more assertive. You can't be timid. Our family's like a pack of dogs. You have to establish dominance."

For some reason, that made Lincoln laugh. "I tell you what," Lori said, "I'll give you a few pointers and we'll turn you into an alpha in no time."

"Alright," he said.

A few minutes later, he said, "I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. I was wrong to."

"Don't worry about it, Linc," Lori answered, "I understand. You had every right to be upset."

Lori fell silently shortly thereafter, and her breathing grew shallow and rhythmic. Lincoln laid awake and stared contemplatively into the darkness. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but she was right, he was a pushover.

Near midnight, he had an epiphany.

That was why he had always felt out of place in his family. His sisters were dominant, and he wasn't. They were willful, he was not. Suddenly everything made sense and his eyes widened at the revelation spreading through his head like the first rays of the rising sun. His sisters were like a pushing, shoving mob, and he was a poor sucker with a bum leg; they knocked him over and trampled him underfoot without meaning to, and it was kind of his own fault. He needed to get his feet back under him and keep going. The going might be exactly easy, but things rarely are in life. The current seldom pushes you along, it works against you, and if you let it sweep you off your feet, you will drown. He didn't think he was particularly timid, but looking at it objectively, when you put him next to his sisters, he kind of was.

But no more. From now on, he would be forceful and self-possessed. He wouldn't let them run over top of him any longer. He would stand strong and firm in his resolve. If he didn't feel like playing football with Lynn, he wouldn't. If he didn't have time to stop and listen to Luan's act, he wouldn't. If he was busy and Lucy asked him to read one of her poems, he would make her wait until he was finished with what he was doing. He had to show them that he wasn't a welcome mat. He was Lincoln Loud and he demanded respect.

At peace with himself for probably the first time in his life, Lincoln slept.

Rita Loud balanced herself on an unstable kitchen chair, tacked one end of the banner to the wall, and waited for Lynn to secure the other side. Her arms started to quiver and her back muscles strained; the chair wobbled beneath her feet, and she lowered her head, as if by doing so she could force it to be still. Lynn speared a thumb tack through the top corner then bent slightly forward and did the same to the bottom. Rita's shoulder blades caught fire and a pained grimace spread across her lips. She turned her head to the side, closed her eyes, and held her breath. "Are you almost done?" she asked.

"Almost," Lynn grunted.

A second later, "There."

Exhaling sharply, Rita let go and climbed down. She looked up at the banner and admired hers and Lynn's handiwork. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, it said, every word in a different color - red, yellow, green, blue. Lynn put his hands on his hips, considered it, and nodded, pronouncing it good.

It was Sunday afternoon and the house bustled with activity. Luan, Lucy, and Lisa manned the kitchen, from which the warm smell of baking emanated like a pleasant childhood memory; Lola, Luna, and Leni set up folding tables in the backyard; and Lana and Lynn directed guests and vendors to the back of the house as they arrived. Through the dining room window, the clown and magician stood by the punch bowl and idly chatted in the shadow of an elaborate, Lincoln-shaped ice sculpture, Leni fought to unfold a metal chair, and Clyde went from station to station with a clipboard. He stopped at Leni, who shook the chair in frustration, and then hurried off as though standing too close to her might result in serious injury. Nearly a dozen guests - the first to trickle in - milled around, talking, drinking punch, and waiting for the party to begin. Flip (here only for the free food, Rita suspected), Mr. Grouse, Girl Jordan, Stella, Rocky, Rusty, Liam, that little Sid girl with the shoulders, Polly Pain, and Sam. Others were on the way and would be arriving shortly.

Rita blew a puff of air that stirred her bangs and pressed her hands to the small of her back. She had been working almost non-stop since Lincoln left yesterday afternoon - running here, running there, doing this, doing that - and she was sore.

"They should be here soon," Lynn said and glanced at his watch.

It was just past three. Lori texted half an hour ago to say they were leaving: They forgot their sunscreen and all of them got sunburned. Rita didn't think it was possible for Hispanics to get sunburn, but apparently 'they' included Bobby and Ronnie Anne.

"I'll check on the cake."

She shuffled into the kitchen just as Luan leaned into the oven and removed the cake. She sat it on the counter, and Lucy poked it with a toothpick to check if it was done or not, a trick Rita herself had taught her. She waited a second, pulled it out, and held it up so Lisa could see. Adjusting her glasses, the little genius nodded. "It's done."

"How's it coming?" Rita asked.

"We just have to frost it," Luan said.

Next, Rita went outside and checked on things there. Leni had gotten the chair unfolded and was now setting platters of food on one of the tables: Deviled eggs, smoked cocktail sausages, horderves, and bowls of chips and salsa and other various dips. Flip came over, fingers wiggling like feelers sensing the air, and plucked one of the deviled eggs from the tray. Clyde continued his circuit of the backyard, and when he was close, Rita snagged him. "How is everything?"

"All good, Mrs. Loud," he said, "we're right on track."

Good.

Lynn Sr. came out the back door, paused to tie the strings of his KISS THE COOK apron behind his back, and fetched the propane grill from the garage. While he got it started, Rita went back inside, grabbed a package of hamburger meat, and separated them into patties. Luan, Lisa, and Lucy took turns frosting the cake, then Lucy added twelve candles while Luan carried a plate of patties outside, along with a pack of hotdogs.

When she was done, Rita washed her hands on a dish towel and checked her phone. Lori had texted that they were almost home.

Slipping her phone into her breast pocket, Rita went outside. "Alright, everyone," she called, "they're almost here."

Everybody got into place and quietly waited. Rita's phone buzzed. Here, Lori texted.

Rita unconsciously held her breath.

A moment later, the gate leading to the side yard opened and they came in, Lincoln at the head of the pack.

"Surprise!" everyone yelled.

Lincoln startled and looked around. When he registered what he was seeing, he shook his head like a cartoon character who couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. "Happy Birthday, honey," Rita said. She went over and hugged him.

Next, each one of the girls had her turn with him: Lynn socked him playfully in the arm, Luna gave him an affection noogie, Lola and Lana hugged him, Lisa took his hand and gave it a quick pump (the closest she came to showing affection), Leni kissed him on the cheek, Luan hugged him from the side, Lucy presented him with a poem she had written, and Lily got to her feet and embraced his leg like it was her favorite teddy bear.

"What's all this?" he asked and nodded to the tables, chairs, and guests.

"Your party, duh," Lynn Jr. said. 'It's a few days late, but it's pretty awesome anyway."

Lincoln took it all in, a sheen of tears creeping into his eyes. "Yeah," he said, "it is."

"Come on," Lucy said and grabbed his hand, "I wanna see if that magician can raise the dead."

"Well, I wanna see the clown," Luan said and took his other hand.

Lynn blocked them. "I wanna see him open his presents."

"Guys," Leni said firmly, "this, like, isn't about us, it's about Lincy."

Everyone lowered their heads in contrition. The previous night, Leni called them into hers and Lori's room and read a text from Lori. We've been really selfish with Lincoln, it said, and it's not fair. We need to do something about that. None of them wanted to own up, but in their hearts they knew it to be true. They could be selfish, and at the end of the meeting, each one vowed to work on it.

Old habits, however, die hard.

Really freaking hard.

"What do you want to do, Lincy?" Leni asked.

Lincoln thought for a moment...then he hugged Leni. "I want to thank you," he said. Tears of gratitude streamed down his cheeks and raw emotion welled in his throat.

Everyone else joined the hug until it was a mass of Louds barely distinguishable from one another. "We're sorry," Lynn said.

"We can be really selfish sometimes," Luna added.

"Me too," Lincoln said.

It wouldn't always be easy, but from that point on, Lincoln and his sisters tried their best to never step on each other's toes ever again.

And for the most part...they were successful.