by Ariella Moon
Meaning she will spoil your dad and undermine your mom, thus making for great holiday cheer? I replied.
Exactly. Expecting a full house. Mom invited her brother and his family to come from NY.
Escape while you can!
Ha ha. Bye.
Nice knowing you. I closed my phone and rolled over on my bed. It must be nice to have grandparents and cousins — at least, cousins your own age. Little kids gave me the heebie-jeebies. I stared at the ceiling with its glow-in-the-dark stars. Maybe my parents' troubles had started earlier than I thought. It could explain why I was an only child.
"Go, go, go!" Dad's shout migrated down the stairs. "Yes!"
Guess his football team is winning. I imagined Mom holed up in her study, immersed in another online continuing education of the Bar course. Last month she had attended a legal conference in San Francisco, which had seemed odd, since she had stopped practicing law when I was three years old. She's preparing to go back to work. Which means she's readying for divorce.
I rolled into a sitting position and fought the urge to wash my hands. My former therapist, the one Dad had fired after she had told him his actions contributed to my anxiety, had suggested I distract myself with counting. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six… breathe." Anxiety drop-kicked me to my feet. "Five, four, three…" Stress sparked down my arms. My fingers twitched. "Two, one…"
I sprinted to the bathroom and used my elbows to swivel on the faucets. I jacked the soap dispenser up and down. Pump, pump, pump, and wash. Pump, pump, pump, and wash. The citrus-scented foam bubbled between my fingers, stinging my dry, cracked skin. I brushed my tears with my forearm. I couldn't control my parents. I couldn't control my OCD.
I couldn't control anything.
Chapter Four
On Monday morning my parents' voices, low and feral, wafted up from the first floor. A familiar queasiness stabbed my stomach. I strained to extract their words from the murmur. Is this it? Have they decided to divorce? My meager hopes for a happy day vanished like a comet streaking across a raw winter sky.
I tiptoed across the three feet of hotel-grade carpeting that separated my bedroom doors from the white railing overlooking the first floor. My parents were in the kitchen. Together. Talking. The possible repercussions launched like missiles in my head. Someone might declare the marriage was over. Then what?
Half of me wanted to hole up in my moonscape bedroom, stick in my ear buds, and pretend nothing was going down. The other half of me was like a looky-loo passing a pileup on the freeway; I had to see the carnage. I had to know everyone's fate. So I hefted my backpack and snuck down the main staircase.
An oily film of orange-scented furniture polish clung to my palm as my hand skimmed the oak banister. Left, right, left, right, left, landing. My right spiked stiletto heel snagged on the sage Berber carpet and caused a small tearing noise. Wincing, I spied the half-open kitchen door on the floor below.
Left, right… The corner of a textbook inside my backpack jabbed my shoulder. Reaching the bottom step — left — I jumped to the Persian rug in the entry. Right. I cut across it in three quick strides, then leapt to the dining room area rug. My ankles wobbled as my spiked heels sank into the dense pile. I skirted the chairs huddled around the gleaming oval table with its rare wood inlays. There was just enough room for me to teeter along the rug's floral border. Each pale woolen blossom brought me closer to the bitter coffee smells snaking through the kitchen doorway. I still couldn't process my parents' words. My eardrums threatened to burst.
My cell phone beeped. I froze, not breathing. My parents cut off their conversation mid-sentence and retreated into hostile silence.
Guess I'm not ninja material.
Busted, I pushed the half-open kitchen door and slinked, chin down, across the threshold. Mom and Dad sat across from each other at the circular kitchen table. Mom's raven hair was twisted up in a haphazard knot, and dark crescents shadowed the skin beneath her pale blue eyes. Her left arm was tucked across her waist, supporting her right elbow. She had one fingertip pressed to her lips.
Dad leaned forward when he spotted me. He smelled of expensive aftershave and his thick blond hair, still wet from the shower, was meticulously combed and gelled.
"Morning, Ains," Dad said. "Sit down for a sec."
Foreboding knuckle-bumped me. "We have to get to BART, or I'll miss the bus." We lived equal distances between the two Bay Area Rapid Transit stations where the Athenian Academy bus picked up students. If I missed the bus, I'd be stuck in the car with one of my parents for the forty-five minute commute.
"I'll drive you," Mom said.
I lowered my backpack to the tile floor. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. This isn't about you." Mom threw Dad a look, implying it was about him.
I pulled back one of the painted chairs, hoping against hope this wasn't the Big Announcement. The loud scrape of wood against imported Italian tiles set my nerves twanging.
As I sat, the breath I'd been holding escaped like a long sigh out my nose. "Are you getting a divorce?"
They exchanged an intense look.
"We hope not." Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "I know the timing isn't great, but we've decided to go away for a little bit, just the two of us."
"Go away?" My insides rushed into a galactic black hole.
"To try to work things out," Mom explained.
"Where are you going?" My real question — What about me? — stuck in my throat.
"We've booked a South America cruise," Mom said. "A second honeymoon."
Dad attempted a grin. "Forced confinement."
Mom shot him a furious look. "We leave on Saturday."
"This Saturday?" My brain freeze-dried, and a wave of vertigo threatened to knock me from the chair. "You'll miss the Winter Showcase." The look they exchanged propelled my worry meter into the stratosphere. "When do you get back?"
Dad frowned. "The day after Christmas."
"I have to spend Christmas alone?" My voice rose like I was five, not fifteen. I clutched the table to keep from toppling.
"Of course not." Dad reached for my hand, but I jerked back. He angled his head. "You're going to Palm Springs to stay with Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun." His tone was flat, indicating this was not his idea.
"Are you serious? You think they're crazy."
Dad avoided my gaze and fingered the newspaper.
I did quick calculations in my head. "For the whole three weeks?" I pushed back the chair and stood.
They both nodded their heads like demented bobble dolls.
"I can't. I'll miss school and the Winter Showcase." I eyed the kitchen sink and the soap dispenser. "Why can't I stay with Jazmin?"
Mom's gaze flicked to Dad before returning to me. "I've already talked with her mother. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jackson has her hands full. They have family coming for the holidays, and her husband is scheduled for surgery next week."
"Skiing is stupid." Parents are stupid.
Dad's eyebrows arched.
"And Jazmin's grandmother, aunt, uncle, and cousins are coming for Kwanzaa," Mom continued. "So it's just not a good time."
"We should have checked with them before we booked," Dad admonished.
"You should have checked with me!" My knuckles whitened from gripping the chair.
My cell phone rang.
"Don't answer it," Dad warned. "This is important."
My fingers twitched. Mom and Dad glared at me. A square of blue light from my phone seeped through the thin black fabric of my backpack.
Mom's lips tightened. "I spoke with the dean. You'll only miss one week. The rest is Winter Break."
"I'll miss finals! You'll destroy my grade average. I'll never get into Columbia." In a flash, I saw my career as an astrophysicist explode like the Space Shuttle Challenger. I'd never get a chance to study with the elusive string theory expert, Professor Sean Mackenzie.
My phone beeped again.
"Ains, we're not destroying anything
. Since you are an A student, your teachers have agreed to let you take your finals when you return."
"Except AP French," Mom corrected him. "You have to take it on Friday."
"Are you insane? I have rehearsals Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday after class! When am I supposed to study?" I rushed to the oversized sink and opened the faucet. Warm water stung the cuts on my cracked skin.
"We're sorry," Dad said.
"Yeah, right." Pump, pump, pump, and wash. The soap foamed between my fingers. Pump, pump, pump, and wash.
"Ains, that's enough." Dad handed me a used hand towel.
My hands remained dangling over the sink. Hot tears scoured my cheeks.
"Let her get her own towel," Mom told Dad.
"Stop enabling her," Dad snapped.
My cries morphed into howls. I reached for the soap dispenser.
"I can't take this." Dad threw the towel on the counter and strode out of the room.
Pump, pump, pump—
"Sweetie, I think you have enough soap."
My nose ran. Would this nightmare never end? The soap and water cascaded over my hands and wrists.
"Shall I call the school and tell them you won't make it?" Mom asked in a calm monotone.
"No!" I shrieked. "They'll lower my grade if I miss too many days."
Mom didn't argue. She shut off the water, then stepped back so I could tear off several paper towels. When I finished, she handed me the tissue box. I blew my nose, stepped on the trash compactor pedal, threw away the used tissue, and then washed my hands again.
"May I go to school now?" I asked after I had dried my hands.
"Of course."
Exhausted, my mind racing, I followed Mom to the garage, where the temperature was at least twenty degrees colder than inside the heated house. Mom jabbed the black button, and the garage door in Bay One rose, clacking and rattling along its tracks. I checked my phone. Text from Jazmin: I want to stay in bed. Missed call: Mrs. Abbot, our neighbor.
Mom and I climbed into the Mercedes and buckled our seat belts before Mom backed the car out of the garage. Morning fog enveloped us, obscuring the hills and the seven luxury spec-homes that constituted our neighborhood. The automatic wipers swished across the windshield.
"When do I leave for Palm Springs?" I asked.
"You got the last seat on the eight o'clock flight, Friday night."
"Great. I'll miss both nights of the Winter Showcase. Tanaka is going to kill me."
"I'm sorry, love bug. I wish there were some other way."
I could think of about a hundred different ways. Ways that wouldn't trash my life. I texted Jazmin: My parents are abandoning me at Christmas.
Christmas tunes played on the radio. I silenced them. Sighing, Mom drove to the freeway. I don't know why this part of Lamorinda is named Happy Valley. I sure wasn't feeling the joy.
Once we merged onto Highway Twenty-Four, my thoughts darted like cars changing lanes. "I have a life, too, you know. People count on me."
"I know, dear."
I rode the indignant fury train further. "I'm the stage manager. I hold the whole showcase together. Do you have idea how many set changes there are?"
"A lot?" Mom asked.
"Nine." I shook my head. "It is going to be chaos backstage."
"Isn't Jazmin in the showcase? She could help out."
"Jazmin is in the show band. She'll have her own worries." My phone beeped again. Mom emitted an exasperated sigh and transferred her full attention to the road. I read Jazmin's message: Are you kidding? What happened?
My thumbs flew across the keypad. They're leaving on a three-week cruise!
I glanced at Mom. Her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel didn't mesh with the slow but smooth traffic. Maybe she wanted to escape my anger dump. I clamped my jaws together and checked myself in the car mirror. Crying had left me blotchy and swollen. Everyone will ask me what's the matter. My body felt heavy and jumpy — not a good combination.
Finally, we reached our freeway exit and merged onto the tree-studded back roads. "Can you call the church and tell them I can't cover my Holiday Bazaar shift?"
"Of course." We reached the school as the two mustard-colored school buses, empty save for the drivers, rumbled out of the parking lot. Mom pulled into the drop-off zone.
I unclicked my seat belt and reached for the door handle. "Be sure and tell them you're dumping me at your sister's weird mystery school where they train shamans, light warriors, and vampire slayers."
"There are no such thing as vampires, Ainslie."
"Oh, excuse me." I grabbed my backpack from the car floor. "Way to throw me to the werewolves, Mom."
"I'm just trying to hold my marriage together," Mom said.
"Guess Dad can't run from your problems if he's on a ship. Oh, except there are how many bars on board?"
Mom jerked as though I had slapped her. I climbed out, slammed the door, and stomped off, for once not caring if I beat the tardy bell. Jazmin waved from the Founder's Oak. Speed-walking toward her, I burst into tears.
Chapter Five
"Seriously? Your parents are ditching you at Christmas?" Jazmin asked as we headed to the Performing Arts building.
"Yes." I extracted a tissue from my purse and blew my nose. I detoured to the nearest trashcan, tossed the used tissue, then doused my palms with hand sanitizer from a squeeze bottle in my purse. The gel burned into my cracked skin, and antiseptic smells sharpened the air.
"My parents never said a word." Jazmin scowled. "Probably because I would have begged them to let you stay with us."
"Don't be mad at them. My parents screwed up, not yours."
Jazmin shook her head. "The Winter Showcase will be a disaster. I mean, I like Rayne, but he relies on you to do all the thinking."
"She. Rayne's a girl now."
"Sorry. I still slip up sometimes."
"Rayne's a sweetie. Don't stomp on her feelings while I'm gone."
"I won't as long as she doesn't mess up my cues or lose my stuff."
"She won't." I hope.
"Just to be sure—" she held her guitar case aloft, "—I'll take this to the bathroom with me if I have to. I will not be stranded on stage."
"Word."
We thudded across the wooden footbridge. "Want me at your side while you tell Tanaka?"
"No thanks," I said. "Distance yourself so you don't get hit with guilt by association." Jazmin was the only sophomore in the show band. Technically, Mister Tanaka couldn't kick her off the band because the music director was her teacher. But why take a chance?
Jazmin pulled open one of the heavy double doors and preceded me through the reception room. The inner door to the auditorium had been propped open. Mister Tanaka stood below the stage, his electronic tablet in hand.
"Places, everyone!" Mister Tanaka called out as the first period bell blasted.
"Good luck." Jazmin joined the musicians onstage and unpacked her guitar. The drama students gathered their props and met backstage, right. The dancers fled backstage, left.
While everyone was in flux, I seized the moment to break the bad news. "I'm sorry, Mister Tanaka—"
"What is it, Ainslie?"
"I have to bow out of the Winter Showcase."
His stricken expression did not bode well. "What do you mean, 'bow out'? You're the stage manager." His voice carried backstage. "The showcase is fifteen percent of your grade."
The musicians lowered their instruments and stared. Jazmin glanced at the drummer, then fiddled with her guitar strings. Gravity and despair dragged my gaze down to my blue suede stilettos. "I want to be here, but there's been a family crisis. I'm so sorry. But Rayne knows the cues. She can fill in for me."
We both glanced at Rayne. Today she wore a ribbed black top and purple skinny jeans.
"This is terrible." Mister Tanaka pressed his lips together as if to hold back vomit.
Students parted the curtains and gaped at us from backstage. Shock and panic were etched on
each face.
This is so going to wreck my final grade.
"Go over the entire script with Rayne and your crew. Promote someone to assist her. Rayne can't manage the entire production by herself." His expression hardened before he glanced away, dismissing me.
"Yes, sir." The knowledge I might fail my one easy class stung like a slap. I'm going to kill my parents.
****
As the day progressed, my teachers dumped extra reading assignments on me. My Algebra II Honors instructor made a sly comment about my "upcoming extended vacation." I wanted to say, "Yeah, I can't wait to be dumped on relatives I haven't seen since I was three." But pride and embarrassment sealed my lips.
I had totally forgotten our neighbor, Mrs. Abbot, had tried to reach me. At lunch, she left me a text: Can you babysit the twins Friday night?
I texted back: Sorry, I'm leaving town on Friday.
"Have you ever sat for her?" Jazmin asked, stealing one of my sweet potato fries.
I reached for my bottle of designer water. "No. Little kids give me the hives."
Jazmin rolled her eyes. "They do not."
"I'm serious. Remember when we were at the bookstore, and your parents' friend got off the elevator?"
"Mrs. Spinelli and her five children?"
"Yes! She pushed the baby in the stroller and the other four kids hung on to it. They moved as a unit. It was spooky. I shuddered."
Jazmin shook her head. "You're certifiable. What about all the fundraising you do for foster teens?"
"That's personal."
"How so?"
"Promise you won't say anything?"
"Of course not!"
"My best friend in elementary and middle school was a foster kid."
Jazmin threw me a sideways look. "Was a foster kid? Did she get adopted?"
I swallowed back the hurt rising like bile in my throat. "No. Sophia disappeared."
"Crap, Ains. I'm so sorry. Was she found? Is she okay?"
I shrugged, unable to speak. My fingers trembled as I lined up my fries like pickets in a fence. "I keep hoping I'll find her."
"Would you still recognize her?"
"Absolutely." I stared down at the fries. One, two, three, four, five, six—
