Stepbrother Obsessed

by Devon Hartford

  “Him?” Catarina barks. “Him is my son, Gordon.”

  Everyone stares at Dad.

  The room bristles with restrained rage.

  Someone is going to explode.

  Dante’s eyes are locked on my dad. He no longer waits in the shadows leaning against the wall. He’s on the balls of his feet, ready to react in a split second.

  Dad pivots toward Dante. “I saw the photo, Dante,” he growls. “Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

  Dante stares at Dad from under his own feral brow. He doesn’t answer.

  “I’m 18, Dad,” I scoff. “I can sleep with whoever I want to.”

  “Not in my house you can’t,” he jabs.

  “Fine!” I shout. “Then I won’t sleep here and screw the stupid SAT!”

  Dad turns on Dante and shouts at the top of his lungs, “I WANT YOU OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!!” He shoots a stiff finger toward the front door.

  “No, Gordon!!” Catarina yells. “You can’t kick my son out of this house!”

  Dad yells in Dante’s face. “YES I CAN!! GET OUT, DANTE! OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE! DON’T THINK I WON’T!”

  Dante sighs heavily, shifting from foot to foot, shaking his arms loosely at his sides like he’s ready to throw a punch or block one if necessary.

  Catarina grabs Dad’s arm and hisses, “Gordon, stop this! You’re acting crazy!” She takes a deep breath. “Calm down. We can talk about this tomorrow. After Skye takes her SAT.”

  Dad rips his arm from her hand and grumbles, “We’re dealing with this now. I’ve had enough of your rebel son. He’s turning my daughter into a loser, just like huh—” he stops himself short.

  “Just like who, Gordon?” Catarina drills with icy calm. “Like him? Like my son? Is that what you were going to say, Gordon? Is it?”

  “No, I wasn’t—” Dad stops himself and his eyes dart around at the three of us. He reeks of guilt.

  Just like her…

  I flash back:

  “Fuck you, Gordon! Fuck you!” my mom shouts at Dad, throwing another glass, aiming for his head. It shatters against the wall, spraying shards in every direction.

  He ducks this one, but the last one cut blood. He shouts back, “You’re a loser, Crystal! A low-class loser! Get out of my house and don’t come back! Don’t ever come back!”

  I shivered then and I shiver now. I wrap my arms around myself, but it doesn’t stop the shivering. The chill in my heart has never thawed.

  Catarina glares at Dad and seethes in a low and dangerous voice, “God damn you, Gordon. I won’t have you—”

  “Fine!” He throws his arms up in the air. “You win! What do I know? I’m just her father!” He grabs his car keys from the console table next to the laundry room door.

  “Where are you going?” Catarina demands.

  “Out.”

  “Gordon…” she calls apprehensively. “We can talk this out…”

  Dad stops in the laundry room with his fist around the garage doorknob. He glares at her, “No, Catarina, we can’t. I can tell when I’m not wanted in my own god damn house.” He whips open the door leading into the garage then slams it behind him. The walls vibrate as the garage door opens. A moment later, the BMW engine rumbles to life. It fades as the car backs out of the garage and drives off.

  Catarina looks at me with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry, Skye, I…”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  The pink cocoon of my room is not enough to put me to sleep.

  Dad never came home.

  To my surprise, it’s making me anxious. Catarina tried calling him, but he never answered.

  It’s now 4:45am and I still haven’t slept.

  I whip the covers back and pad toward my door.

  The hallway is somehow more quiet than usual. It feels lonely. I walk up to the guest bedroom door and hold up my knuckles. Instead of knocking, I try the doorknob, twisting it silently. It’s open.

  Dante lies on his side, his back facing the door, asleep.

  I tiptoe across the carpet and climb into bed. I spoon up against his back and circle my arm around his chest.

  He turns to face me and whispers, “Mi Cielo.” He kisses me sleepily and envelopes me in his warmth and scent.

  I fall asleep instantly.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “Skye! It’s 7:20! Wake up!” Catarina whispers frantically. “You’re going to be late for the SAT!”

  My eyes crack open creakily and I sit up in bed, disoriented. I’m in the guest bedroom. With Dante. I blink away sleep.

  “Get moving,” Catarina insists, her face harried.

  My adrenalin kicks in. “I need to shower!”

  “There’s no time. Get dressed and grab a yogurt. I’ll drive you.”

  For a moment, all I can think about is the fact that Catarina hasn’t said a single thing about the fact I’m sleeping in bed with Dante. In case you still haven’t noticed, Catarina rocks the awesome sauce by the gallon.

  “What are you waiting for?” she demands. “Move it, Skye!”

  “Yeah, okay.” I jump out of bed. My head is foggy and I’m super groggy.

  Dante stands up, “I’ll come with you.”

  I glance at Catarina, “Is Dad home?”

  She lowers her eyes and shakes her head.

  Oh. That’s not good.

  “I’ll worry about your father,” Catarina encourages. “You worry about the SAT.”

  Ten minutes later, the three of us are in Catarina’s Lexus. I shovel raspberry yogurt into my mouth while Catarina drives us to the test center. It’s at Herbert Hoover High School in Glendale, not North Valley. She drops me off in the parking lot out front.

  I jump out of the car.

  “Take these,” Catarina calls, leaning over the center console, holding out two energy bars.

  “Thanks.”

  Dante hops out and gives me a big hug. He kisses me on the lips briefly. “Remember, stay relaxed. Breath in and out on a five count if you get nervous. If that doesn’t do it, sit up straight and wiggle your arms. You’ve got this, mi Cielo.”

  Him believing in me makes it twice as easy for me to believe in me. I feel warm all over. “I’ve got this, mi Tierra,” I grin.

  I dash up the front steps with my calculator, number 2 pencils, admission ticket, and snacks in hand. A bunch of printer paper signs taped to various columns and walls lead the way. The signs read SAT and have pointing arrows. I end up in an empty classroom. A woman sitting at a desk looks up my name on a sheet and points me toward Building 10, second floor.

  Inside a random classroom, which is entirely unfamiliar, the test administrator checks my Driver’s License. Then he points me to my assigned seat and I sit down. I watch other kids dribble into the room over the next ten minutes. I don’t recognize any of them. Just like last time. The administrator closes the door at 8:00am. After he reads the instructions like a robot, we start the test. The first section is writing. I’m going to ace this.

  The reading section is first. I breeze through sentence completion with ease. All the vocab studying I’ve done pays off. The questions go something like this:

  27. Whoever wrote these questions didn’t know that Skye Albright is _____, and she’s totally going to _____ the SAT.

  A) a leopard .. eat

  B) a doorknob .. fail

  C) a genius .. kill

  D) a dimwit .. bomb

  E) a battleship .. sink

  The obvious answer is C, although I am half tempted to chose E, because it sounds more dramatic.

  I do all the sentence completion questions first, skipping over the passage based reading, which always take longer. Then I go back to the beginning of the test booklet and start with the reading. The first passage is some random thing from some old book about a French guy named Poussant and his grandmother, who is apparently a bitch. I skip over sentences and have to go back and re-read the passage again and again until I get the gist of it. I think my adrenalin is starting to wear off and
my exhaustion is starting to take over, seeping out of my bones like a sleeping potion. I sit up straight and take a deep breath like Dante suggested. I’m not about to conk out, but I would really like to lay my head on my desk for an hour or two before continuing. But I only have 25 minutes to finish all the questions in this section.

  I take another deep breath and go back to the passage. When I try to answer the questions about what I just read, I’m totally guessing. Oh well. Next!

  The administrator calls time before I finish the last question in the booklet. I scribble in a random answer on my answer sheet. I pick A, because A is the best grade you can get. Who knows. I shrug because it’s better to guess wrong than not answer at all. There’s always a chance the guess is right. I can hope.

  By the end of the third segment of Critical Reading, I’m exhausted.

  Only nine more sections to go!

  When we get our first break, I’m frazzled. I can tell I’m missing more questions than I’d hoped. Running away yesterday was obviously not a smart way to spend my day before the SAT. Too late to do anything about it now. After Dad’s bad behavior last night, I sort of don’t care. All this college admissions stress can suck it.

  I get up and go outside to use the unfamiliar girls’ restroom. After, I gobble down one of the energy bars Catarina gave me. Peanut Butter crisp with chocolate chips. Whatever works. I’m starving. The five minute break is over before it started.

  I dive back into the questions. When I hit the math section, it kicks my ass. I should know this stuff, but I’m so tired, I can’t think. I sit up and shake my arms and breath in and out. I half expect the administrator to say something, but he doesn’t. Too bad relaxing isn’t helping me feel less tired.

  I put my shoulder into it and muscle through the rest of the test. Easy answers evade me, well except for the vocab ones. Those I do well on. But the rest? Forget it.

  By the end of the entire exam, I’m done. Zombie tired.

  I slog out of the classroom and head toward the parking lot. Can you die from lack of sleep? It sure feels like it. I try to smile when I see Catarina and Dante waiting at the car, but I’m sure it looks more like I’m frowning. Both of them appear fresh and showered, unlike me. I probably look like I went ten rounds in an MMA fight. Brutalized.

  “How’d you do?” Catarina smiles hopefully.

  I sigh.

  Dante places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. I’m sure you did great. If you didn’t, there’s another test in December, right?”

  “I am so not doing that again,” I moan.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “What time is it?” I moan when I wake up in my own bed.

  “Four,” Dante says, sitting on the mattress. “You slept for three hours.”

  I wipe my face with my palms. “It feels like I could sleep three more.” Can I pause for a moment to say that being woken by a hottie like Dante is the only way to wake? If you’ve never been woken by a rugged surfer super model, I suggest you try it. Enough said.

  I reach up to rub his stubble with one hand. “Do you need a new razor?”

  “Huh?”

  “You always have stubble. Is that a thing?”

  “My razor is fine,” he snickers pressing his hand to mine on his cheek. “But I think you’re delirious. Go back to sleep.”

  I say nothing, but I take a moment to stretch like a cat and smile at Dante. I could lay here all day staring at him. Too bad reality starts to bleed in around the edges of my rose colored fantasy. “Did my Dad come back?”

  “No.”

  My chest seizes. This is very bad. Dad never does this.

  “But he called my mom and told her he would be home this evening. She said he said something about calling a family meeting?”

  “Oh, grot!” A nausea balloon inflates in my stomach faster than one of those helium balloons when you fill it from one of those big tanks. Only my stomach doesn’t fill with happy helium laughing gas. It fills with sewer fumes.

  “Grot?”

  I roll my eyes, “Groan plus not.”

  He grins and chuckles. “You’re weird, you know that?”

  His beautiful face doesn’t pop my sewer balloon, but it does diminish it. I feel four percent better than a second ago. All the same, I huff and pull my covers over my head. “Don’t wake me until after the family meeting is over,” I grumble. “I’m going to sleep through the entire thing.”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “Are you two sleeping together?” Dad asks bluntly, or should I say point blank, which best describes the way his question hits me at the beginning of our family meeting.

  It’s like getting shot in the face from a foot away.

  I gulp. I think the sewer balloon in my stomach is back, only now it’s the size of a hot air balloon. It has a basket and passengers and everything, only it’s not going to lift me skyward, it’s going to sink me straight to Hell.

  Dante shifts uneasily on the edge of the couch, a foot to my right.

  I can’t escape the feeling that we’re two kids who’ve been called on the carpet for something serious like stealing Dad’s Beemer and driving it off a cliff, or burning the house down. Not two consenting adults having sex. So what if we’re stepbrother and sister?

  “Are you going to answer me?” Dad demands, standing in front of the couch, fists on hips.

  Catarina sits to my left. She sighs and wrings her hands in her lap.

  “Uhhh…” I stammer.

  “Yes,” Dante says.

  Dad winces like someone just ran over a puppy dog with a steam roller right in front of him.

  “Relax, Dad,” I grouse. “People have sex.”

  “You’re my daughter, Skye,” Dad groans. “You’re not some random person I’ve never met. There’s a difference.”

  “It’s not like he de-flowered me,” I say sarcastically. Since this conversation is already fraught with discomfort, I’m trying to make light of it.

  “Skye!” Dad barks. “Do you have to put it that way?”

  “What?!” I protest. “Flowers are beautiful. It’s not like I said he popped my cherry.”

  “Stop!” Dad grunts.

  I repress a giggle. “Sorry. Anyway, that’s not what happened.”

  “I got it. And I don’t need details.”

  “Then why are we having this discussion?” I twinkle.

  Dad turns and smirks at Dante like they’re drinking buddies, which is super weird. “My daughter. Can you believe her? Smart as a whip. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he chuckles.

  For a second, it’s like Dad is extolling my virtues, telling Dante how rad I am. I hope it’s not a smokescreen. Dad can be clever like that. He might be trying to set Dante at ease so he can blindside him ten minutes from now.

  “Her intelligence is one of her most attractive qualities,” Dante smiles. “I think that’s what attracted me to her from the beginning.” He places a possessive hand on my knee and squeezes it affectionately.

  “What…” I quip, “I thought you said it was my beauty.”

  “That too,” Dante grins his dimples and flashes his perfect teeth, which glow from his tanned face.

  “Oh, you two,” Catarina chuckles easily.

  And for a moment, it feels completely normal. Like this isn’t a doom-and-gloom “family meeting” dripping with drama. It’s almost like Dante and I are both older, with jobs and lives of our own, and I’m just introducing Dante to Dad. Like an hour from now, Dad and Dante are going to go out back with shot glasses full of whiskey so Dante can ask Dad for my hand in marriage. Dad will give him a hard time, but eventually he’ll say yes and start calling Dante “son”. Roll happy ending.

  I remind myself that that rosey fantasy isn’t what this meeting is, and my Dad’s not the movie version of Dad. This is the cranky, stubborn, short-tempered real Gordon Albright, warts and all. My dad doesn’t have any warts, but you know what I mean.

  “Let’s try
to keep this family meeting on track,” Dad admonishes.

  Of course.

  Dad continues, “Can either of you explain the photo that Principal Brown brought to my attention?”

  “You mean the one of us—” I almost say “at the library” but decide it best to leave that part out, “—on ChatBrat,” I finish.

  “Is that what’s it’s called?” Dad asks. “Chat brat?”

  “Yeah. I have no idea who put the photo there.”

  “Well, who did?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Do you at least know who took the picture?”

  “A girl at school. She did it without my permission.”

  Dad frowns, “At school? Is that where this picture was taken?”

  “No!”

  “Then where did it happen? And how?”

  “I don’t know, Dad!” Is omitting the truth a lie? I don’t really care at this point.

  He rolls his eyes, frustrated. “Do you at least know the name of the girl who took the photo?”

  “Brittany Price.”

  “So you know her?”

  “Yeah,” I whine. “Didn’t I just say that?”

  Dad’s eyes scrunch closed and he pinches the bridge of his nose in agony. “Then why didn’t you tell me, Skye? Perhaps we could’ve talked to this Brittany girl’s parents and put a stop to this before the photo went online.”

  “Uhhh…” I laugh, “because I knew you would freak out if you saw me and Dante together?”

  Dad squeezes his entire face with his hand and shakes his head, “Maybe you’re right.” He smears his hand down his chin then plants both hands on his hips and stares at the ceiling, shaking his head several more times. He looks like he just got fired or something equally traumatic. He doesn’t know what to do. My dad always knows what to do. This is so weird. He asks, “Have you contacted the website and demanded they remove the photo?”

  “The company is in Latveria or someplace,” I mumble. “They don’t care.”

  “Have you at least tried?”

  “No, Dad!” I moan. “It’s not worth it. Everybody already knows anyway. I mean, everyone at North Valley knows. What difference will it make now? The photo is out. It’ll probably be on the internet forever.”