Madison’s World Redux Season 3 Episode 79

It was noon when Brooklyn called. 

The tablet rang with a cheerful little chime that cut through the habitat like a thrown stone. 

Greg startled first. 

He had been dozing on the little couch, one arm folded beneath his head, his breathing slow and even in the brief peace Madison had left behind. Cindy had been sitting beside him, not quite asleep, not quite awake, caught in that thin layer of rest where the mind still listened but the body finally gave up pretending it was ready for the next crisis. 

For a while, the silence had almost become comfortable. 

Almost. 

Then the tablet rang. 

Greg jerked upright, blinking hard. 

Cindy was already moving before she was fully awake. Her body had begun to understand the sound before her mind had approved the response. A ringing tablet meant attention. Attention meant someone larger. Someone with expectations. Someone who could turn their day in a new direction without stepping into the room. 

She hated how quickly she reached for it. 

The screen lit up on the little stand near the habitat wall. Brooklyn’s name appeared for half a second before she answered. 

Brooklyn Reynolds appeared on the screen, bright and perfectly at ease, her face filling the display at an angle that suggested she was holding her phone low while walking or leaning over a cafeteria table. The background behind her was loud with school noise: voices, laughter, trays, chairs scraping, the thick midday energy of students released from classrooms and convinced lunch belonged to them personally. 

Cindy smoothed her expression. 

“Hello, Ms. Reynolds.” 

Brooklyn grinned. “Hello, Littles.” 

Greg rubbed his face with one hand. 

Brooklyn’s eyes flicked across the screen and widened with delight. “Oh! Greggy is visiting. Adorbs.” 

Greg lowered his hand and looked at the screen with the tired patience of a man who had been called many things in his life and had not expected “adorbs” to survive into this phase of it. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Reynolds,” he said. 

Brooklyn beamed, clearly pleased by the formality but not weighed down by it. Brooklyn liked titles the way she liked accessories: they looked good on her, especially when they confirmed something everyone already knew. 

“So,” she said, drawing the word out. “I just wanted to let you know that you did so good on my homework.” 

Cindy felt her stomach sink. 

Of course. 

Not a check-in. Not concern. Not even curiosity after last night’s “breakthrough.” 

Homework. 

Brooklyn continued, “Like, genuinely, I could not have answered those questions better myself.” 

Greg glanced at Cindy. 

Cindy did not look back. 

“I’m glad it was acceptable,” Cindy said carefully. 

“More than acceptable,” Brooklyn said. “It was actually kind of scary? Like, you sounded exactly like me if I was more responsible and had, like, adult trauma about sentence structure.” 

Greg’s mouth twitched despite himself. 

Cindy’s eyes narrowed faintly. 

Brooklyn did not notice. “Anyway, I heard you had the morning off, so I held off sending you my homework until noon.” 

Cindy stared at her. 

A pause followed. 

Greg leaned back against the couch. 

“Your generosity knows no bounds,” he muttered. 

Brooklyn’s eyes snapped to him. 

For one dangerous second, Cindy thought she might be offended. 

Instead, Brooklyn laughed. 

“See, this is why I like you, Greggy. You’re tiny and sarcastic. Very charming. But also, I had an English test today, so nobody is living their dream right now. You help with homework, I survive school. That’s balance.” 

“Balance,” Greg repeated. 

“Exactly.” Brooklyn nodded as if they had reached a mature agreement. “Also, to be fair, I did wait until lunch. That is restraint.” 

Cindy pressed her lips together. 

The old Cindy would have had a great deal to say about Brooklyn Reynolds using her as an academic convenience. The new Cindy still had those things to say, but they now had to pass through the practical filter of size, access, titles, and Madison’s social world. Brooklyn was not Madison, but Brooklyn had Madison’s ear. Brooklyn had the group’s approval. Brooklyn had Trina. Brooklyn had the casual confidence of a girl who had grown up with the system beneath her feet and never once needed to question whether it would hold. 

A voice sounded off screen. 

“Brook, who are you talking to?” 

Greg and Cindy both looked at each other. 

They recognized the voice immediately. 

Evan. 

Brooklyn turned away from the camera. “Madison’s Littles.” 

A second later, Evan leaned into the frame. 

At first, only part of her face appeared beside Brooklyn’s, bright eyed and curious, her expression already halfway to amusement. Then she adjusted, taking in the screen properly. 

Greg felt Cindy stiffen beside him. 

Evan smiled. 

“Oh! Greg and Cindy.” 

She said their names lightly, almost sweetly, but Cindy heard the shape beneath it. Evan had a way of making friendliness feel like a hand resting on the back of someone’s neck. Not pressing. Not yet. Just reminding them it could. 

“Hi, Littles,” Evan said. 

Greg inclined his head. “Ms. Kingsley.” 

Cindy followed half a beat later. “Ms. Kingsley.” 

Evan’s smile warmed. “Good. Look at you two being proper.” 

Brooklyn shifted, making room for Evan in the frame. It became clear they were somewhere together at lunch, probably seated close enough that the phone had become a shared object without Brooklyn thinking twice about it. Behind them, students moved in blurs of color and noise. Human-sized lives. Full-sized hands. Full-sized cups. Full-sized trays. 

Evan’s attention settled on Cindy. 

“You had quite the breakthrough last night,” Evan said. 

Cindy’s jaw tightened. 

Brooklyn’s expression brightened. “Oh my god, yeah. I couldnt believe what i was seeing. Cindy wessen admitting and accepting her place.” 

Evan ignored Brooklyn’s interruption with the serene confidence of someone used to being followed back to the point. 

“I was telling Charity about it,” Evan continued. “She was so happy for you.” 

Cindy’s stomach tightened. 

Charity. 

The name carried its own atmosphere now. Not because Charity said much. Because Charity survived Evan. Because Charity had presence. Because Charity understood things from inside a leash Cindy had only recently begun to feel around her own life. 

“She said it was a big step,” Evan added. “Well, she didn’t say it exactly like that, but you know. Charity way.” 

Brooklyn nodded. “Charity does that intense quiet thing where you’re like, okay, tiny oracle.” 

Evan grinned. “Exactly.” 

Cindy said nothing. 

Evan leaned slightly closer to the phone. 

“And she’s right. Now you can really start experiencing all that your Little life has to offer. This is going to be so good for you, Cindy. Being our Little is honestly perfect.” 

The words landed incorrectly. 

Our Little. 

Cindy reacted before strategy could stop her. 

“I’m Madison’s Little.” 

The sentence came out sharp, defensive, and immediate. 

The moment she said it, she hated it. 

Not because it was false. 

Because it had become instinctive. 

Because some part of her had reached for Madison’s claim as protection against Evan’s. Because the hierarchy she despised had become the shield her mouth used before her mind could object. 

Greg looked at her. 

Cindy did not look back. 

On the screen, Evan’s smile changed. 

Not bigger. 

Sharper. 

“Oh,” Evan said softly. “Right. Madison’s Little.” 

Brooklyn looked between Evan and the screen, sensing drama with the immediate hunger of a middle-school girl at lunch. 

Evan tilted her head. “But, like, Cindy.” 

Cindy’s hands folded tightly in her lap. 

Evan lifted one arm slightly, showing the sweatshirt she wore. “See this? This is Madison’s.” 

Brooklyn looked down at herself. “And this cardigan is Emma’s. I think. Or Ava’s? Wait, no, Emma’s. Ava borrowed it last week.” 

“It’s Emma’s,” Evan said. 

“Right. Emma’s.” 

Evan looked back into the phone. “And the shoes I’m wearing today? Mine. But Madison could totally borrow them if they fit, which they don’t, because she has tiny little dance feet and I don’t.” 

Brooklyn snorted. “She would yell at you for saying that.” 

“I know,” Evan said cheerfully. “That’s why it’s funny.” 

Then Evan’s attention slid back to Cindy. 

“My point is, we share things.” 

Cindy went very still. 

Evan’s voice remained casual. That was what made it dangerous. She sounded like she was explaining friend group clothes, not the terms of Cindy’s personhood. 

“Madison has had Trina at your house how many times? Brooklyn lets Madison use her. I’ve let Charity hang with Madison. Ava used you for practice. Emma handled you. Krysi helps with food and stuff. That’s how our group works.” 

Brooklyn nodded along. “Very community.” 

Cindy’s throat tightened. 

Evan smiled. “You belong to Madison. Sure. Obviously. But Madison is part of us. Which means you’re kind of a group Little too.” 

Greg’s face hardened. 

Cindy spoke carefully now. “I do not think Madison would agree with that.” 

Evan laughed once, not unkindly. 

“Oh, Cindy. Madison agrees with things when they sound like love and friendship.” 

Cindy had no immediate answer. 

Evan continued, softer now. “And sharing is love in our group. Helping is love. Letting your friends practice with your Little is love. Letting Brooklyn borrow Trina, letting Madison hang with Charity, letting Ava learn on you, letting Emma correct everyone’s manners because she is Emma.” She shrugged. “That’s just how it is.” 

Brooklyn waved slightly. “Also, Madison would totally let me borrow you for homework if I asked right.” 

“She already basically does,” Evan said. 

Brooklyn considered. “True.” 

Cindy felt heat rise in her face. 

Greg shifted beside her. “Ms. Kingsley,” he said carefully, “I think Cindy is just saying Madison has primary responsibility.” 

Evan’s eyes moved to him. 

For a moment, Greg regretted speaking. 

Then Evan smiled sweetly. 

“Greggy, I like you, so I’m going to pretend that sounded less lawyer-y.” 

Brooklyn laughed. “It did sound lawyer-y.” 

Greg lowered his eyes. “Yes, Ms. Kingsley.” 

“Good.” Evan looked back at Cindy. “Primary responsibility is a cute way to say it. Madison is your main person. Obviously. But don’t get confused and think that means the rest of us are, like, optional.” 

Cindy’s heart thudded. 

Evan leaned closer, voice still light, still conversational. 

“If I wanted to, I could probably take you home tonight.” 

The cafeteria noise seemed to drop away. 

Cindy stared at her. 

Evan smiled. 

“Do you want to test that theory?” 

Greg went utterly still. 

Cindy could feel him beside her, every part of him wanting to speak and knowing he should not. 

The threat was impossible to categorize cleanly. Evan did not sound angry. She did not sound cruel. She sounded confident. A girl discussing a social fact. Maybe she could not legally take Cindy home without Madison’s permission. Maybe Madison would object. Maybe McKenzie would say something. Maybe none of it was as simple as Evan made it sound. 

But the problem was not whether Evan could do it. 

The problem was that Cindy did not know. 

And Evan knew Cindy did not know. 

Cindy swallowed. 

“No,” she said. 

Evan lifted her eyebrows. 

Cindy forced the words out properly. “No, Ms. Kingsley.” 

Evan waited. 

Greg’s hand twitched. 

Cindy lowered her gaze. 

“We’re sorry, Ms. Kingsley.” 

Brooklyn, who had been watching with fascinated delight, seemed to decide that was enough tension for lunch. 

“Okay, anyway,” Brooklyn said brightly. “Cindy, I’m sending my homework. Start on mine first.” 

Cindy looked back at Brooklyn. 

“Of course, Ms. Reynolds.” 

Brooklyn smiled as if the matter were settled. “Love that.” 

Evan leaned out of frame, then back in. “I’ll Tell Madison you said hi when i see her.” 

Cindy’s body tightened at the reminder that Madison could appear through the tablet too. 

“Yes, Ms. Kingsley.” 

Brooklyn gave a little wave. “Bye, Littles. Be productive.” 

Greg said, “Goodbye, Ms. Reynolds.” 

Cindy managed, “Goodbye.” 

Brooklyn turned away from the camera before ending the call. “Let’s go, Evan. I’m starving.” 

The screen went dark. 

For several seconds, neither Greg nor Cindy moved. 

The habitat was quiet again, but it did not feel restful now. The tablet sat black on its stand, a small, silent door through which any one of Madison’s friends might apparently reach them. Cindy stared at it, the echo of her own words still burning in her throat. 

I’m Madison’s Little. 

Greg turned toward her slowly. 

Cindy did not meet his eyes. 

“Do not say anything,” she said. 

Greg closed his mouth. 

Cindy stood very still, hands curled at her sides. 

She had meant the words defensively. That was the horror of it. She had not said them to appease Madison. She had not said them to manipulate a school readiness chart. She had not said them because a dozen eyes were waiting and praise would follow. 

She had said them because Evan had said our. 

And some part of Cindy had reached for Madison as shelter. 

Madison’s claim had become the lesser threat. 

The room seemed to tilt around that realization. 

Greg spoke carefully. “Cindy…” 

“I said do not.” 

He stopped. 

Cindy stared at the dark tablet. 

Brooklyn’s homework would arrive soon. Another assignment. Another use. Another way the friend group reached into Madison’s habitat and pulled labor out of it. 

But that was not what made Cindy feel cold. 

What made her cold was Evan’s smile. 

Madison is your main person. 

The rest of us are not optional. 

Cindy looked toward the closed bedroom door, then toward Madison’s bed, then toward the wooden box that held her outfits. 

A community Little. 

The phrase slid beneath her skin and stayed there. 

Madison’s cage had felt unbearable enough when Cindy believed it had one owner. She hadn’t been loaned out and she also wasnt aware that Madison had brought Trina and Charity home and not said anything.  

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