For Better or Cursed

by Kate M. Williams

  I pulled out the gift card and handed it to the cashier. “I think there’s five hundred on here,” I said.

  “With an employee discount,” Cassandra added.

  “But you don’t work here,” he said, but Cassandra didn’t look up from playing Animal Crossing on her phone. With the sound on so I could tell she was turning her campsite into a gym.

  “Just ring up as much as you can,” I said, “and we’ll take whatever we can afford.”

  “So, you really think the other Sitters will like this stuff?” I asked as I shoved handfuls of wigs into a plastic bag.

  “Well,” Cassandra said, not looking up, “I like it. Do you like it?”

  I had to admit that I did, especially the tropical bird curtain that I planned to take home after this whole thing was over. “Yes,” I said.

  She pocketed her phone. “We’re Sitters and we like it, so I think the other Sitters will like it too.” Cassandra’s words made me stop for a minute. I hadn’t been thinking about it like that at all. I’d been thinking about how different all the other Sitters were going to be, whereas Cassandra was assuming they were going to be just like us. She held up a blow-up doll of a very hairy policeman in a very skimpy uniform. “We’ll just have to keep it all out of Coach’s sight until the weekend.”

  * * *

  —

  It turned out that five hundred dollars, with an employee discount, will buy a lot of crap at Party Town, and we only had to leave one shopping cart behind. Dion helped us load everything into his van. Or, to be precise, he did most of the loading. Cassandra took shotgun again, so I sat in the back with the plastic palm trees, wedged next to a canister of black gumballs that rattled every time we turned a corner. We hit the drive-through to get burritos, and when we pulled up in front of my house, Cassandra came around to open the door and pull me out from the party supply abyss.

  “So, I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” I asked Cassandra.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not,” she said, which wasn’t a surprise.

  “We should meet up and go to the Summit together,” I said. The idea of walking into this thing on my own made my chest grow tight, yet I could imagine Cassandra not even thinking twice about rolling up to the Summit like it was no bigger deal than going to the store for chips. But I didn’t need to worry—at that exact minute, both of our phones dinged with a text. It had to be Brian.

  I take it you got all the supplies?

  I was about to text back, but Cassandra beat me to it.

  Yes. Xtra vases 2 in case some get broken

  Good thinking. We’ll meet at my house tomorrow right after school, and we’ll all go together.

  Cassandra wrote quickly:

  Wut if I hav other plans?

  Brian responded:

  Unless it’s a spelling lesson, you don’t.

  I swallowed to turn my laugh into a cough before I waved goodbye and headed inside.

  * * *

  —

  When I walked in, Dad was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. Neither of us really cooked, but we blew through spoons and coffee mugs like we were trying to tunnel out of here. I felt like Dad and I needed to have a talk, but I didn’t know where to begin. “Are we running out of money?” was a definite opener, but one that might not steer the conversation in the right direction.

  “How was your day?” I asked instead.

  He picked up a coffee mug, looked in it and grimaced, then put it in the top rack.

  “Just fine,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Good,” I said. “A few adults tried to educate me, and then I babysat. Same old, same old.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, clearly not listening as he tried to shake some detergent out of a nearly empty box.

  “What about you?” I asked, casually. “How’s everything going with work?”

  He pressed a button on the dishwasher. Nothing happened. He pressed it again, then mumbled “Damn it” before pressing all of the buttons, several times, and something finally started up. “It’s good,” he said. “I mean, it’s okay. I’m thinking about looking for a new job.” He turned around and gave me a smile, though it was clearly a fake one.

  “That’d be cool,” I said. “In the new year?”

  “Nah,” he said. “I figure I might as well start now. No time like the present, right?” Then he yawned and stretched. “I’m bushed,” he added before I could say anything. “Figure I’ll head to bed early and read for a bit.” He came over and gave me a squeeze on the shoulder, and then headed out of the kitchen. “Oh, the school called!” he yelled from down the hall, and I stiffened. “They said they didn’t have a permission slip on file, but I told them it was fine.”

  “Oh, really?” I called back. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He appeared in the doorway again, toothbrush in hand. “I’m surprised you’re going,” he said. He had a tube of toothpaste that had been rolled all the way up, and he was using both thumbs to try to squeeze out a dab. “A school trip to the capital is not how I would imagine you wanting to spend your weekend, but I’m proud of you for expanding your horizons.” He gave up on the toothpaste and tossed the tube into the trash.

  It was starting to dawn on me what he was talking about. “I forget when we’re leaving,” I said, and Dad gave me a funny look.

  “Tomorrow, right after school,” he said.

  “Ah yes,” I said. Dad ran his toothbrush under the faucet and walked back to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with water. I couldn’t help but feel both relieved and creeped out. I was glad the Synod wasn’t planning on taking care of my absence with another mind erasure, but it also made me uneasy to know that while I was ensconced in the Riverbend, less than a mile away, doing goddess knows what at the Summit, Dad would think I was in Topeka, taking selfies in front of the capitol building. What was my life anymore?

  I planned out my day-to-Summit outfit, and decided to keep it subtle and comfy, since I had no idea what the Summit would entail. I settled on my floral Doc Martens, my black cropped bootcut jeans, a black ribbed turtleneck sweater, and my That’s So Raven hot pink corduroy fisherman’s vest, the one I thought Janis was going to fight me for when I saw it before she did. I called it “Quoth the Raven…Oh snap!” Thinking about ravens made me think about crows, and that made me shudder. I still couldn’t believe that the crow in Janis’s car was just a run-of-the-mill avis, so maybe that was something I could figure out before the weekend was over.

  It was getting late and I was exhausted from my after-school double feature of hip-hop babysitting and party shopping, so I set my alarm for extra early so I could get up and pack everything I needed for the weekend, which would be a fairly difficult task since I had no idea what I needed. Fortunately, the Docs went with everything, and I figured I’d pack one skirt—to get semi-dressed-up for the closing event/disaster—and stick with pants for everything else. I’d been burned too many times before by wearing a miniskirt to something that ended up requiring sitting on the floor.

  I followed Dad’s lead and brushed my teeth with water, swiped my face with a wet washcloth, plugged in my phone, and then crawled into bed. When Pig started to garumph outside my room, I used my powers to open the door and let her in. I was asleep before she’d even settled into bed with me.

  When I woke up the next morning, the house was quiet and bright. Quieter and brighter than it should have been. The sun was coming in my window and hitting me smack in the face. My alarm hadn’t gone off yet, so I rolled over and grabbed my phone to see what time it was. I clicked the button, but nothing happened. It was dark because it was dead. Which meant…Crap!

  It was so bright outside because I’d overslept. I threw off the covers and jumped out of bed, startling Pig. Worried, she followed me down the hall and into the kitchen. But the clocks on the stove and microwave weren’t
even blinking. They were just completely off. I walked to the wall and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. The power hadn’t gone off in the middle of the night. It was still off. That was why it was so quiet. Not even a whir from the fridge or a sputter from the coffee maker. Ugh! No power meant no coffee, among other things, and I still had no idea what time it actually was.

  I walked back down the hall and knocked on Dad’s door. I heard a grunt, and then a muffled “What?” I pushed the door open to find him sitting up in bed, looking confused.

  “Dad, the power’s out!” I said, not yet sure whether I was mad, annoyed, confused, or all three. He rubbed his face, then looked over at his bedside alarm clock, which, like everything else, was off.

  “Huh,” he said, reaching out and giving the alarm clock a slap. “I just bought this thing.”

  “It’s not the clock, Dad,” I said. “It’s the whole house.” I flipped his light switch to illustrate.

  A look flashed across Dad’s face, but he recovered quickly and hopped out of bed. He went to the window, opened the blinds, and looked out. “I bet it’s just a power line out somewhere.” I joined him and looked at the houses across the street. The Wilsons’ blow-up reindeer was still inflated, and when I squinted, I could see that its LEDs were glowing.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it’s just us. I don’t even know what time it is.” Dad held up his wrist to look at his Casio watch.

  “Eight-fifteen,” he said.

  “My first class started fifteen minutes ago!” I groaned, and swallowed a lump of panic. I really, really hoped the bad start wasn’t a sign of how the rest of the weekend was going to go. “And that means you’re late for work!” Dad made a big deal about the fact that he was at his desk by eight every morning.

  “It’s okay,” he said, seemingly unfazed. “I can be late for once. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” I knew this was all somehow Dad’s fault, and his being oh-so-chill about it was just making me angry, but I didn’t have time to argue with him right then. I didn’t have time for anything. So much for waking up early to plan my outfits for the weekend.

  I raced back to my room and threw some stuff into a weekend bag and got dressed. I met Dad in the kitchen, to find him wearing sweatpants and slippers. “That’s what you’re wearing to work?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s casual Friday. No one else will be in the office today anyway.” This was weird, but I was too concerned with my own inauspicious start to the day to press him. Pig looked at the keys in Dad’s hand, and the bag in mine, and let out a mournful whimper. I crossed to the pantry and pulled out her dog-food Tupperware, but it was still empty.

  “We’re out of dog food!” I said, slamming the pantry door behind me.

  “I’ll get some after I drop you off,” Dad said, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Dad, what is going on?” I asked, exasperation leaking into my voice. “We’re out of everything! Even electricity!” Dad just turned and started to walk out to the car.

  “I’m surprised you noticed,” he said. “Considering you’re never here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped. “I have friends, and I have school, and I have babysitting. I’m doing all of the things I’m supposed to be doing. I’m the kid here, remember?”

  He stopped halfway to the car, and I could tell by his shoulders that he was taking a breath. He turned around so that he was facing me again. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. This…” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, his forehead wrinkled. “The job search has me stressed. It’s not your fault. And I know you’ve got a lot going on, and that you’re growing up and that you’re not going to tell your old dad everything anymore.” He held up his hands and smiled. “And that’s okay. That’s what’s supposed to happen. It’d just be nice if we could hang out more.”

  Here I was, late for school on the day of the Summit, and my dad was about to make me cry in the driveway. “If it makes you feel any better,” I said, smiling to keep the tears from flowing, “I never told you everything.”

  He smiled back. “Haha, I know,” he said. “But how about this—as soon as you’re back from this trip, let’s get dinner. I need to talk to you about some things, and I want to hear more about what you’ve been up to lately.” Then he held out his arms and motioned me in for a hug. When I pulled away, I looked up at him.

  “I’m serious, Dad,” I said. “Figure out this electricity stuff. Teenagers need to charge their phones.”

  “I will,” he said. “And teenagers also need to get to school.” We walked to the car and got in, Dad blowing on his hands to warm them before he put them on the cold steering wheel, then he turned the key to start the car, and pulled out of the driveway.

  At the intersection, I, momentarily forgetting what time of year it was, leaned over to turn on the radio. The sounds of “Jingle Bell Rock” filled the car.

  “Jesus Christ!” Dad said, reaching over and turning the radio right back off. “Every time I get in the car, this song is on.” He looked at me and smiled. “I’d rather listen to your music than this Christmas crap.”

  “Same,” I said. “I would rather listen to your music. What do you like again? Football anthems?”

  “Hey,” he said, “those football anthems are classics, and they are way better than your music, which as far as I can tell is the sound of someone howling into a bucket.”

  “It’s called noise rock, Dad,” I said as we pulled up to the high school. “I’ll make you a playlist.” I gave him a hug when I got out of the car, and then, halfway up the sidewalk, I turned around to wave to him again. I half expected him to still be watching me, but instead he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead. Then, after a couple of seconds, he drove off. Sad Dad mode was in full effect, and I couldn’t help but feel like the whole thing was my fault since his brain had been hole-punched on the reg for my entire life. But he was right. I was never home, and when I was, I was lying to him. I couldn’t help but wonder—had Mom lied to him this much too? I added “Be better daughter” to my mental to-do list as I walked up the stairs and went into the building.

  I was late for first period, so I made my way to the first outlet I could find and plugged my phone in. Phones were a serious no-no at school, and blatantly charging one in the hallway was like sacrificing my lunch-hour freedom to the detention gods, but at this point, I didn’t really care. It took a few seconds for my phone to turn on. I had a couple of texts from Janis asking me what I was wearing, and then asking if I was okay. Blergh—Janis! The Synod had covered for me with Dad, but what was I going to tell Janis about why I was going to be MIA all weekend? At least I still had a couple of hours before I had to come up with a plausible excuse, so I quickly texted her back that I was fine, and I’d fill her in at lunch.

  Then I texted Dad in the language that he understood: all caps. LOVE YOU BUY DOG FOOD SEE YOU ON MONDAY!

  I watched as the message tried to send and then eventually turned to green. Crap. Of course, his phone was dead. I sighed and pulled my charger out of the wall right as the bell rang. So much for first period.

  I didn’t have to wait for lunch to see Janis. She was waiting for me at my locker. Sure enough, her nostrils flared as soon as she registered my That’s So Raven vest. Seeing her outfit, my mind flashed to one of her texts from this morning, which I had seen but had not digested: “college dropout.” Now that she was standing in front of me, I could clearly see it was a nod to pre-Yeezy Kanye—she had on a knit Polo Bear crewneck and a pale-blue oxford button-down under a tweed blazer with brown leather elbow patches. She had on big tortoiseshell aviators (fake, because Janis had perfect vision) and a chunky gold chain that hung almost to her waist. Skinny jeans, argyle socks, penny loafers, and she’d swapped her backpack for a briefcase.

  “How many books can
you fit in that thing?” I asked.

  “Only one,” she said. But cute, right? So, what’s the drama with your dad?”

  “I think he forgot to pay the electric bill,” I said. “So I overslept and woke up to no power.”

  “Well, you look good,” Janis said. “Even if that vest is a little too big.” I pretended not to hear her and started to shove my weekend bag into my locker. “Oh, good, you brought your stuff. You want to just come over right after school?”

  It took me a second to realize what she was talking about, and then I remembered with a panic. Somehow, with the events of the week, I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to spend the weekend with Janis while her parents were out of town, a hard-won freedom she had spent weeks negotiating. I wasn’t going to have to just lie to Janis about being gone all weekend, I was going to have to flake on our plans. Big-time. And she could read it on my face.

  “What’s up? You’re still staying with me this weekend, right? My parents left this morning.”

  “J, I’m so, so sorry,” I said. “I completely forgot. My aunt is sick, on top of everything, and now my dad and I have to go visit her. I just found out this morning. I would never cancel, but this might be the last time I get to see her.”

  I could tell that Janis was waffling between being mad and being worried, and my heart twisted at yet another abuse of her kindness. “You have an aunt?”

  I nodded. “Great-aunt. In Oklahoma. I’m so sorry, J. I should have told you as soon as I found out.”

  She shifted. “That’s okay. I mean, there’s nothing you could do about it anyway. I guess I’ll just Home Alone it.” The warning bell cut through the hallway chatter.

  “Are you sure?” I said. “You’ve never stayed by yourself before.”