Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Marnye-bear,” she says, holding her arms out for a hug. She hasn’t called me Marnye-bear since that one time when I was five and she called me drunk and bawling her eyes out. I don’t move into her embrace, instead stepping back so she can come inside. She frowns at me, but she steps into the living room anyway, giving the scattered bits of wrapping paper a dirty look. The way she dresses now, you’d never know she lived here with her husband and daughter once upon a time. “Charlie.” Mom-although I’d rather just call her Jennifer-nods her chin in my dad’s direction. It’s painful, the way he looks at her, like he’s still desperately in love.

“Jenn,” he replies softly, and then he looks away, like he can’t bear the sight of her.

“So, how’s that academy treating you?” she asks, her blue eyes and blond hair nothing at all like my brown eyes and brunette waves. Well … I guess I don’t have brunette waves anymore, and I reach up to touch the short rose gold locks with a tentative gesture. Jennifer notices and smiles. “Love the hair, by the way, very chic.” She winks at me, like we’re old girlfriends or something. In reality, I barely know the woman.

“I’m top of my class,” I say with a shrug. My stomach and chest have gotten so cold that I feel numb now. Looking at Jennifer, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to think. Some little part of me, buried deep down and covered over, wants to fall into her arms and let her hold me like she did before she left. The rest of me knows that’d be a disaster waiting to happen. “And I got first chair for harp in the orchestra.”

Jennifer smiles, and I think it really is a genuine expression. Only … she’s happy for all the wrong reasons. She isn’t proud of me; I’m just an extension of her, my accomplishments becoming her own.

“See, I knew I had good genes,” she says, reaching out to touch my hair. I step back and she frowns, but that ice is melting inside of me, giving way to anger.

“Genes? This has nothing to do with DNA. It has everything to do with Dad working a second job to pay the four hundred dollar a month rental fee for a harp, so I could play at home.”

“Marnye,” Dad starts, rising from his spot on the couch. I haven’t told him about the fifty-five thousand dollars in my new account yet, but I did use some of it to buy a few Christmas gifts when I was out with Creed and Miranda. He’s got a new watch on his wrist that costs more than I’ve ever spent on a single item in my entire life. I’m not sure that he realizes how valuable it is. Pretty sure Dad thinks it’s a knock-off. “Your mother’s here to take you with her for Christmas dinner.”

“We’re going to Avondale,” she says, beaming, so supremely proud of herself for booking a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in the city. “You’ll love it there.”

“Is my sister going?” I ask, and some more of that ice melts, giving away to rage. I haven’t even met my sister yet. As far as I know, she isn’t aware I even exist, and we’re barely three years apart. Mom was already pregnant with her when she abandoned me at that rest stop.

Jennifer’s mouth turns down into a frown and she glances over at my dad. “Why are you looking at him when you’re the only one that can answer

my question?” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the counter, trying not to think about how Mom was missing when I … those two times that I … My throat dries out and I almost choke on a lump when I try to swallow.

“Go get dressed in something nice,” Jennifer says instead, not bothering to actually answer any of my questions. “If you don’t have anything, you can wear your uniform-” She’s not done talking, but I’m already pushing away from the counter and heading down the hall to my bedroom. Once inside, I slam the door, lock it, and pull my phone from the pocket of my pj pants.

Are you busy today? I text Zack, surprised when he starts typing right away.

FuFk no. This is boring as hell. You want to get out of here? Yes, please. PiFk me up at the road?NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

I don’t wait for him to respond, dressing in jeans, a t-shirt, the Bear Paws that Dad gave me as a present this morning, and my warm red wool academy coat. There’s a door behind my bed from the car’s original life as a train. It would’ve connected the passenger car I’m in to another passenger or dining car. If I stand on my bed and unbolt the top lock, I can push it open and climb out.

Closing it softly behind me, I hop down to the muddy gravel drive and take off for the road.

Since I don’t know how long it’ll take Zack to get here, I hide behind a tree, wondering if Jenn and Charlie will come looking for me. After a while, I hear them calling to me, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn it to silent, and then crouch low until Zack’s McLaren pulls up on the side of the road.

“Where are we going?” he asks as I climb in, huddling into the seat. Seat warmers are so underrated. I glance over and find his dark eyes on mine. When we look at each other, I know he knows what he’s done to me. He can never forget; I can never forget. How can we really be friends? Look how our dating life went.

“Anywhere but here,” I say, and I mean it. For the rest of the day, we just drive.

And it’s the best day I’ve had i

n a long, long time.