by J. C. Allen
Rick and Anna’s rooms were identical to Alex and Jessie’s, and directly below them. Anna’s room was originally Rick’s study until she turned thirteen and decided she required her own room instead of sleeping in Alex’s room on the pullout bed. That was nearly two years ago, and Rick had been using a corner of the basement rec room as his office since then — always promising to build a wall around it but never finding the time.
Anna was nearly fifteen now. She had been living with the Williamsons since she was five, when her mother, Rick’s cousin, abandoned her to his care. All Anna had known of her father was that he was black, which anyone could guess from her dark skin and kinky hair. Rick had finally told her about him when she turned fourteen. Anna’s father was jailed for life for murder before she had even been born, leaving her mother with a drug addiction problem and no help raising a baby. Anna had no desire to seek out her father since he had never yet bothered to try to contact her. As far as she was concerned, Rick was her dad now, and she was totally proud to be considered his daughter.
Anna was extremely tall and very skinny. She kept her hair straightened, past her shoulders, and shiny with a dozen chemicals, as if hiding from her ancestry. Just a hair shy of six feet tall, she nearly looked Rick in the eyes now. He figured she would surpass him before she turned sixteen; one thing he had never told her about her father was that he was 6’ ll”.
Headstrong, often moody, belligerent, and even mildly violent at times, Anna listened to and respected only Rick. She often called him Dad at home, but always ‘Uncle Ricky’ in public — because it embarrassed him.
“Time to get up!” Rick yelled through the door as he banged on it. Nothing. Anna either woke up at the drop of a feather or joined Jessie at ground zero — it was a crap-shoot. Rick was always leery of barging into Anna’s room. Not only did he feel like he was invading her privacy, but she also had matured physically in the last couple years, often creating awkward moments when he had to wake her. Thank heavens today wasn’t one of those embarrassing days, he sighed in relief after opening the door to see her well-covered with a knee-length nightshirt she often wore around the house. He shook her shoulder and her eyes opened wide, but the rest of her didn’t move for a few seconds.
Awareness finally registered on her features and she jerked her face up out of a puddle of drool and blurted, “Oh my gosh! What time is it?”
“It’s 7:35, sleeping beauty. When are you going to start setting the alarm clock?”
“When you stop waking me up, which I know you’ll always do right after you get Jess up,” she stated matter-of-factly, as if he were a dolt for not recognizing the rules of the game.
Rick thought he sensed a pattern here. He sometimes felt he was their servant, but they enjoyed it, and truthfully, so did he. But he recognized they really needed to start learning some responsibility. As he sat on the edge of her bed he chided, “You know, you’re almost fifteen. I think you can start getting yourself up soon.”
“Soon,” she repeated. “Soon, like when I’m 29?”
“You have to grow up sometime; lord knows the rest of you is…”
She moaned. “Yeah, it’s because I’m growing so fast that I need more sleep,” she hypothesized.
Rick patted her on the leg. “Right,” he said as he rose from the edge of her bed and headed out the door. “Breakfast will be waiting, your highness.”
He headed to the kitchen, where most of the breakfast was ready, keeping warm under a heat lamp. He had bought the restaurant-style food warmer for this purpose; he had gotten tired of fixing breakfast twice every morning — once for Alex, and then a second time for Jess and Anna. Now he could cook almost everything at once and keep it steaming hot for the next shift. All he had to do was fry some eggs because they didn’t keep well under the lamp. But that only took a minute.
As he started cracking the eggs in the skillet, Jessica came down the stairs. She had put on a pair of jeans and t-shirt, ignoring the outfit Rick had laid out for her. Oh well, he thought, if that was her way of rebelling against authority, he might just make it through her teenage years.
Her long dark brown hair was now neatly brushed back into a ponytail and stuffed through the hole in a ball-cap. She was very slender with long legs which were well-muscled by her two different dance classes which were each held twice a week. She loved Barbie dolls and stuffed animals, but for some reason dressed like a tomboy at school. Rick thought, Why try to understand her? She’s ten. Enough said.
Anna came out of her room, still in her nightshirt, as he was cracking the second egg, her timing impeccable as usual. “How many eggs do each of you want?” he asked.
“One,” Jessica replied instantly.
Anna considered her answer a moment before answering, “Four.”
“Wow,” Rick commented under his breath, but knew his growing girl was apt to eat like a truck driver quite often. He finished cracking the eggs into the skillet, loaded a plate with the previously cooked vittles for each of them, flipped the eggs over easy before adding to the plates, and delivered the finished product to the table. As he set each plate in front of the girls he kissed them on top their heads. He then poured each a glass of juice, and sat down to join them.
I pamper them too much, he thought, then smiled; he wouldn’t have it any other way. He watched a few minutes in silence, enjoying his orange juice. “You girls need to hurry up, it’s 7:50 now,” he said as he rose from the table and headed back downstairs.
“Why don’t you just take us to school, then we could sleep another twenty minutes every day!” Jessie asked.
“No thanks!” screeched Anna, holding her hand up in the classic ‘Stop’ pose.
Rick chuckled and shook his head before continuing down the stairs without comment. He had quit taking them to school because it embarrassed them; they were far too mature for their daddy to take them to school.
Girls!
Anna finished eating first and went back to her room to get dressed and put on some makeup. She thought Rick didn’t know she wore makeup, but he did and had let her do it anyway so she’d think she was getting away with something. He had always told them they couldn’t wear makeup to school until they were sixteen, but had realized that was a silly rule because girls just love to wear makeup for some strange reason. He never bothered to tell them he’d changed his mind, hoping to use it as a bargaining chip one day. But nobody had ever questioned the rule!
Anna and Jessie left the house at 8:05, after running downstairs to give Rick hugs and kisses. It took twenty minutes to walk to school. The tardy bell rang at 8:25, but somehow they always got there on time.
Anna was forced to walk with Jessie, and of course this was torture for the older girl, but still better than the horror of being driven by a parent. Anna was all about appearances. Every morning she managed to turn a grumpy, sleepy teen into a fashion model in the brief time she spent in front of the mirror, an art of which she was extremely proud.
Chapter 3 — Kaylie and Christy
At the age of eleven, Christy Stapleton was a perky little firecracker. Already in seventh grade from being double-promoted, she was very short and skinny as a rail, so she looked even more out of place with the twelve- and thirteen-year-old kids. Her short blonde hair framed a face with deep blue eyes and a spattering of freckles on her bony cheeks. She had been in gymnastics since she could walk and her entire tiny room was covered with various gymnast posters, except for one: Albert Einstein. Christy was also a math and physics whiz-kid, capable of understanding mathematical theories and computations most college students flee from.
At 7:15, Christy pushed down her covers and turned off the alarm clock. She got up early each morning to perform her stretching ritual, which she performed in her bed since there wasn’t room in the floor to spread out. She stretched out into a full split, with her feet hanging slightly over each side of her small bed, and watched herself in the mirror on the wall to make sure she was perfectly symmetrical as she p
roceeded to bend down, left, right, middle — checking each muscle in her legs, stomach, side, arms, and even her neck. Every stretch had to be perfect as she slowly and methodically went through back-bends, splits, and all other sorts of pretzel twists.
At 7:30 she was done and got up to inspect herself more thoroughly in the mirror. She checked every inch of her body as if she were afraid some fat monster had come in the middle of the night and deposited fifty pounds of lard on her legs, arms, chest, stomach or butt. Nope, still skinny, just the way she liked it. She was not dangerously anorexic or underweight, but she teetered on the edge of it. She smiled, satisfied, and proceeded to change into her school clothes, which she had laid over the back of her chair the night before. She grabbed her shoes, socks, and book bag, and headed downstairs for breakfast, which would be cereal, Pop-tarts or some other form of cold food. This precise routine was followed every day, to the second.
Her parents were never home in the morning. Her parents were never home in the evening either. She often wondered if they even existed. She mused that she hadn’t really seen them since she was eight and had always gotten herself to school, practice, and fixed all of her own meals as well since then. She headed out the door for school after breakfast.
Kaylie Monroe was an average-looking girl of medium height, medium weight, and medium appearance — just a plain ordinary thirteen-year-old girl. She had straight thick black hair that hung just past her shoulders, which she kept tucked behind each ear. She wore a constant mischievous smirk on her face that somehow managed to appear cute instead of sneaky. She loved soccer more than anything, and dreamt of playing for the Duke Blue Devils someday. She played in spring and fall leagues and year-round anywhere else she could.
She turned back her covers at 7:45. Wearing a pink tank-top, she stood in front of the mirror and stared at her chest as she pulled the shirt tight, making sure the boob fairy didn’t visit her the night before; she worried constantly that she would not be able to play soccer if that happened. She turned sideways and inspected herself for several minutes before smiling happily, content that she had escaped another day.
She went to the bathroom with her clothes and came out a couple minutes later with knee-length white pants and a blue ‘Duke’ sweatshirt on. Her lips were full and bright red now and her brown eyes were deeper and darker from careful application of make-up. She loved to make the much older Anna jealous with the fact that she was allowed to use make-up.
Kaylie never ate breakfast at home before school; she simply drank a glass of milk while putting on her shoes. She finished her glass and put it in the sink, then grabbed the marker on the dry-erase board and wrote, “Going to Alex’s, cya Monday.” She grabbed her book bag and headed for school at 8:20; she lived just two blocks away.
Chapter 4 — An Interesting Assignment
Both arms came out of the water at her hips as her legs thrust her almost completely into the air. She literally dove back in and coasted with another dolphin kick. That was her dad’s secret to the butterfly and she employed it beautifully. She extended her arms fully in front of her and pulled as much of the liquid as she could down to her sides before stretching her hands out for the lunge to the finish. Both palms slapped into the side and she touched both feet to the bottom as she stood in the waist-deep water to wait for Chelsea. A full two seconds later, Chelsea popped up after jabbing her own fingertips into the same sensitive wall surface. She immediately looked up to the electronic timer.
“Don’t you ever look at your time, Alex?”
“I have a clock in my head. Was it good?”
“I’d say so — it’s 28.05!!”
“What about you?” Alex asked expectantly, seeming oblivious to her own accomplishment.
“Don’t you know what that means, Alex?”
Alex looked at her blankly, and then peered up at the scoreboard, “Your time is 30.02! I told you 29 seconds isn’t far away for you!”
Chelsea put her hands on her hips and glared at Alex. “You really don’t care if you just set the best time of the year in our age group, do you? You make me sick, girl!”
Alex just shrugged and hugged her.
Chelsea was fifteen and eight inches taller and 25 pounds heavier than Alex. Her short black hair and bushy eyebrows stood out on her otherwise plain face. Last year she had won every event, but this year she had placed second whenever she had competed with Alex. A distant second. She had started entering back- and breast-stroke just so she could win something other than relays this year. Alex could beat her in those too, but chose to enter the distance races for freestyle and butterfly. Chelsea didn’t mind second place, even a very distant second place, because she knew Alex would be something special.
Chelsea also knew Alex had made her better, teaching her and pushing her to the point that she might just pull off some blue ribbons next year and more the following years, in the sixteen to eighteen age group… at least she’d have a chance then because she would be competing against someone other than Alex.
“I told you you’re going to Nationals with me this year. I can’t go without you. Two more hundredths puts you in the top ten, and two more tenths could land you in the main heat,” Alex said calmly, ignoring her praise.
“You don’t get it. That girl from California posted a 28.38 as her best, and you beat that all four times we raced today!”
Alex shrugged and replied, “I posted 29.15 nationally, so she could be half a second faster now, too! I’ll be more confident when I hit 27… or 26.”
Chelsea laughed, “My dear, you’d be on the podium in the Olympics with a 26.”
“Well, for now, you’re going to Nationals with me, and that’s final. Next year you’re going too.”
Chelsea raised the corner of her lip as well as an eyebrow at her.
“Don’t give me that look, you’re not done improving. By next year you’ll be clawing at 28.”
Chelsea snorted in disbelief, “Right. Let’s go get dressed; it’s already past 8:00.”
“Race you to the shower!” Alex yelled.
“You don’t stand a chance against me on land, Flipper!” Chelsea teased.
Both girls jumped from the water and sprinted to the shower room, with Chelsea arriving yards ahead. “If they ever drain the pool at the Olympics, I’ve got a shot to beat you!” Chelsea panted as she entered the shower room and hurriedly peeled off her suit.
“They call that track and field, dork!” Alex laughed back at her as she followed and did the same.
They sped through their showers and left on their bikes ten minutes later — again racing. Chelsea winning again too. They took a paved bike trail that cut through the woods, and after about half a mile they crossed a bridge over a nearly flooded stream of chocolate water. It was still raining slightly but the stream seemed to be slowly dropping, evidenced by the patterns on the edge of the banks. Another mile through the trail put them in the middle of town, one block from school. Chelsea slowed up and waited for Alex to catch her. Alex took advantage and sped by, claiming victory and taunting her as they stopped to chain their bikes.
“That wasn’t fair!” Chelsea argued, not truly upset by it.
“Your fault! Do I ever let up on you in the pool?”
“So I’m a sucker then, eh?”
“Yep! You goin’ to practice after school?” Alex asked.
“No it’s Friday; I go to my dad’s house this weekend.”
“Oh. OK, see ya Monday then!” Alex said as they hugged. Chelsea walked across the street to the high school; Alex rushed into the junior high, the first bell ringing just as she entered.
Alex was almost to her locker where Christy and Kaylie had been waiting for her. She grabbed her books and headed for class with them. They had all their classes together this year, which had made the year much easier for the trio.
“Anderson’s going to have a pop quiz today,” Kaylie announced as they marched lock-step toward their first class.
“Yeah, right,
” said Alex skeptically. “It’s Friday. He never gives tests on Friday. Plus we’re not done with Caesar yet, he’s still alive, you know?”
“Who cares about Rome anyway, that’s like two centuries ago,” joked Christy.
“Millennia, dork, centuries are a hundred years, a millennium is a thousand,” corrected Kaylie.
“I want to know what life was really like back then, not what some stuffy old farts wearing blankets did. Why don’t we ever learn what’s important?”
Mr. Anderson was following closely behind, eavesdropping. Unofficially retired, at 72 years old, he was fairly tall and still well built. He was bald with a fluffy white ring of hair that always seemed to stick straight out. His hair was matched by his huge, bushy, white-as-snow eyebrows which rested over wide eyes and a big red nose. Anderson loved to teach and loved history. The kids all joked that he was alive when history started. That amused him.
As the kids filed into the classroom, Anderson grabbed his book and came around to the front of his desk where he kept his stool, and opened his book to a marked page.
Kaylie sat in the closest seat, Alex behind her, and Christy to the left of Alex.
“Open your books to page 217,” said the veteran teacher in a soft, but still strong voice. He paused as the kids reluctantly did so, mumbling dislike. He suddenly looked at Christy, who seemed pitifully bored with the idea of more book study. “No. Close your books, class,” he decided spontaneously.
Eyebrows raised, foreheads crinkled. Many kids could be heard murmuring about the rumored pop quiz.
The old man swiveled his stool, placed the book on his desk, and slowly turned to face the class.
“Told ya! Pop quiz,” Kaylie whispered to Alex.
“Class. I want to do something different. I heard an interesting question this morning on the way to class,” he nodded at Christy. “What Ms. Stapleton here asked was what everyday life was really like back in the days of the Roman Empire for normal people. Now I’ve read a lot of books about that period of time, and as you may know, it’s one of the most fascinating to me. Most every history class will tell you about the senate and the treachery of Caesar, or the military tactics of Rome’s imperial soldier legions, but never do you hear what life was like for the everyday Roman.” He then motioned to Christy, “Ms. Stapleton, would you please come forward and state your inquiries?”
