In Plain Sight

by Amy Sparling

  “Yeah,” I say, rubbing my eyebrow. I can still remember her text messages and how they wouldn’t stop until I wrote her back. “But she’s not worth it.”

  Chapter 5

  I love driving. There’s something about being behind the wheel, knowing I’m in control of where the car takes me, that I find really comforting. We only have the one car that I’d bought with my biological dad’s guilt money, and Mom insists that I take it to pick up the girls from daycare. She says she’s going to ride with the movers to our new house and get everything set up for when the girls arrive.

  She also gave me a twenty-dollar bill—something insanely valuable in our household—and told me to get them ice cream first so she has time to get ready for the big house reveal.

  I leave the windows rolled down as I drive toward the daycare, occasionally glancing at the ripped off piece of paper with Landon’s address on it. I guess it’s our new address too, but that’s a little hard to accept right now.

  4848 Pinegrove Lane

  Louetta, Texas

  It’s so weird. I can’t recall a time we’ve ever had an address without an apartment or unit number behind the street name. An entire house. A real house, with a yard and a driveway all to ourselves. This is a pretty big deal, but we still don’t even know Landon, so I can only imagine how awkward this entire thing will be.

  When I arrive at Little Texans’ Daycare, my heart gets all excited at the idea of seeing the girls. My little sisters are my life, and pretty much my best friends. I don’t really care how dorky that sounds. I know sometimes Mom feels bad about it because the girls run to me when they’re scared or happy or need someone to talk to. It’s not Mom’s fault they’re closer to me. Mom’s been working her ass off ever since they were born, so many of the parenting tasks have fallen to me over the years.

  I wonder if that’s going to change now that we’re moving in with Landon. If Mom doesn’t need as much money to pay the bills, maybe she can cut back on her work hours. She can definitely lose her second job waiting tables part time in the middle of the night. This thought alone makes me happy. Mom deserves a break. She also deserves a man who truly loves her. I hope Landon is that man.

  I take a deep breath and shake away the nerves in the pit of my stomach. The girls will be relying on me to show them how to feel about this new move, so I need to keep a straight face and act like people do this all the time. Hell, maybe they do. I wouldn’t know.

  The daycare smells like Lysol and diapers, a scent that’s almost a little overwhelming until you get used to it. Emma notices me first. She’s laying on a colorful carpet in front of an old TV where they still play VHS Disney movies in the afternoons.

  “Maddie!” she says, jumping to her feet. “I made you something!” She runs over to her cubby, where she grabs her blanket and a piece of construction paper that’s about the size of a postcard.

  “Why are you so late today?” she asks, frowning up at me. Emma is very thin for her age, with silky blond hair and blue eyes, all traits of which she got from her dad. He was nice enough, giving me Christmas presents for the two years he was dating Mom. But he left, just like they always do.

  “Well, we have a surprise for you,” I tell her, ruffling her hair as she hands me the construction paper. It’s colored like a stained glass window, where she pressed really hard with her Crayons to make the colors silky on the paper.

  “This is beautiful, Em. Thank you.”

  She grins up at me, all toothy and wise beyond her four and a half years. “Is it a good surprise?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, taking her hand and waving at the older lady who’s sitting next to the TV. We walk down the hallway to where the toddlers are kept in a room that’s filled with toys and even more of that diaper smell.

  “Are we moving again?” Emma asks.

  I give her this playful look. “Maybe . . .”

  “Good, because I hate our house,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Is the new house better?”

  “I think so,” I say, giving her an unsure smile.

  When we get to the toddler room, Starla sees me and lights up, throwing her handful of toys right to the floor as she waddles over to me, something that looks like peas staining her onesie.

  Her caretaker, Mrs. Heather, waves at me while looking at her phone. “See you tomorrow.”

  I pick up Starla and we head out to the car. The girls are always excited to see me, but when I pull into the Sonic parking lot and announce that Mom has given us money for ice cream, they erupt into screams and giggles.

  We all order a hot fudge sundae, even though I know Starla will make a mess with hers since she’s only two years old. It doesn’t matter; we’re celebrating after all.

  Whatever house Landon lives in; I am pretty positive it doesn’t have a big hole in the floor that’s covered with plywood.

  We jam out to some music on the radio, and after a few moments of reveling in the very rare treat of ice cream, Emma calls my name. Her lips are covered in hot fudge and I’m sure her hands are sticky and gross by now, too.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I say, looking back at her in the backseat.

  “Are you going to tell Starla the secret?”

  “Do you think I should?” I ask.

  She nods eagerly, ice cream sliding off her plastic spoon.

  “Hey, Starla,” I say, twisting in my seat to see her.

  Starla looks up from her ice cream, which is mostly all over her face as well.

  “We’re getting a new house today!” I say in my most excited kid voice.

  Starla looks at me and then back at her ice cream. “Kay!”

  Emma laughs. “I don’t think she gets it,” she says.

  “Probably not,” I say, shaking my head.

  When we’re finished eating and we’ve wasted a good hour in the Sonic parking lot, I decide it’s probably late enough to head to our new house.

  Taking the paper, I type the address into the GPS unit in our car. It thinks for a second and then shows the destination.

  I lift an eyebrow. That can’t be right. 4848 Pinegrove Lane is showing up as being in Shady Heights.

  Frowning, I reset the address and try again. It takes me to the same location. My blood runs cold.

  Shady Heights?

  As in, the neighborhood with signs advertising that the homes start from $600,000?

  No. Freaking. Way.

  I call Mom and she answers on the first ring. “I just need to confirm the address you gave me is right,” I say, trying to focus when a million things are running through my head.

  “Yep, that’s right,” Mom says after telling me the address again.

  “That’s in Shady Heights.”

  She laughs. “Surprise!”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at the GPS screen. Not only is Shady Heights the richest subdivision in the county, it’s also still in the RCHS school district, meaning I won’t be changing schools after all.

  “Shady Heights,” I whisper to myself after I’ve ended the call with Mom. I put the car in reverse and then start heading that way, my mind going in a million directions at once.

  I never in my life thought I’d ever step foot inside a house in that neighborhood.

  And now I’m going to live there.

  Chapter 6

  This might be the worst Spring Break ever. It’s as if the moment I realized I didn’t want to be my brother, everything in the universe decided to work against me out of spite. Even my parents seem to like me a little less with each thing I do that doesn’t fit on their agenda for my future. They’re my parents and I love them and all, but they can’t just force me into a mold of something I don’t want to be.

  After the uneventful beach party, I’d driven home feeling miserable and wishing I’d gotten drunk. Then of course, I’d have had to spend the night at the beach, which would have made for a worse night. So I guess staying sober and getting home was a good thing.

  But now that I’m here,
it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep. Senior year is supposed to be the year you glide through school, knowing what your future holds and being old enough to forget about all the lame shit that happens in younger grades. Instead, I feel like I’m stuck spinning my wheels, moving in no direction at all.

  Except maybe down.

  I lay on my back in bed, tossing a foam ball up in the air and catching it over and over again. I’ve spent a lot of time in this bed, not sleeping. Just after football season started, I injured my knee and had to have two surgeries. After the first surgery, my parents and doctors were hopeful that I’d play sports again and attract a scout for college football.

  The very thought made me cringe. It’s bad enough that I’ve been hiking balls and passing balls and playing football since I was in fifth grade—but now they wanted me to play in college, too?

  The first surgery didn’t help much, and my injury was worse than ever. The second surgery helped a lot, but I was given a warning that another injury from football could leave me in a wheelchair, and my parents regretfully let me quit the team. I’m still technically “on” the team since I was at the start of the school year, but I’m benched, there for moral support of my teammates only.

  Honestly? I couldn’t be happier.

  I don’t want to play football. It’s not that the game isn’t fun, it’s that Greg played football. Greg got a scholarship. Greg played college ball. Greg is the greatest son on earth. I get it.

  I don’t want to be Greg.

  My stomach rumbles and I toss the ball into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. All those s’mores for dinner didn’t really do the trick. I need protein. No, I need cheese and pasta—even better.

  Being as quiet as possible because my parents are asleep, I head into the kitchen and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. I dig out some elbow macaroni and begin grating all three of the types of cheese we have in the fridge. I decide to fry up some bacon while I’m at it, working quickly while my stomach growls, begging for me to hurry up.

  The only thing better than homemade mac and cheese is adding chopped up bacon to it.

  I eat what’s probably five servings of pasta while watching Netflix. Though my body is tired, my brain doesn’t feel like sleeping, and that blows. This comfort food really puts me in a better mood though, and I find myself thinking not for the first time that it would be fun to go to culinary school. I love cooking almost as much as I love eating. Maybe I could own a restaurant one day.

  That would really piss off my parents, who’d like to see me become an accountant like them or something they consider better, like a lawyer or even a doctor. But if it’s my future, I should be excited about it, right?

  I’d like to work for myself, I know that much. Having a little bistro or steakhouse in town would be kind of awesome. I could work on signature dishes and have a goal of attracting the attention of one of those Food TV shows that travel around doing stories on awesome restaurants.

  I’m imagining myself on TV when my phone beeps with a new Snapchat alert.

  It’s from Maria. She’s wearing black underwear and a hot pink bra, posing in front of a tall mirror in a way that shows off all her curves.

  The photo caption says, I miss you and I realize one second too late that since I opened the damn thing, she’ll know I’m awake too.

  Two minutes later, another snap comes through and I groan, hating myself for being so stupid. This one is a selfie, up close with her boobs squished together between her arms.

  Talk to me the caption says.

  I debate what to write back. Then I realize I don’t have to write back. Sure, the app tells her I’ve seen her provocative pictures, but it doesn’t force me to reply to her, or to even react at all. I let the snap expire and then toss my phone on the pillow next to me. Maybe ignoring her will finally teach her that I’m not interested. She, and so many girls like her, seem to think that showing off their goods will make guys come running into their arms. I don’t want a girl like that, one who shows off everything she has to any ol’ guy who comes around. My dream girl wouldn’t act like that.

  Unfortunately, just like my restaurant idea, my dream girl exists somewhere only in my imagination.

  Chapter 7

  I wake up on Saturday morning to the scent of lavender bedsheets and the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the window. Only my window is covered in newspapers to keep out the heat and my room always smells like mold. So what the heck is going on?

  My eyes fling open, staring at an immaculate white ceiling. All of the events of yesterday come back to me, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs. It almost felt like moving into our new home was some kind of dream, some fantastic illusion that would never actually happen in my lifetime.

  Yet, as I scoot up in my new bed, letting my head rest against the padded headboard, the feather down comforter soft under my fingertips, I realize it did happen. This is my new room.

  This mansion, this two story gigantic house with six bedrooms, two kitchens, three living areas, a movie room and a swimming pool—it’s all my new home.

  Last night was a whirlwind of awesome. My little sisters were in awe as we drove up to the house, which has an actual gate in the front and everything. Mom was watching for us and she opened the gate when we arrived. Landon later gave me a gate key to keep in my car to open it myself.

  First impressions of Landon are pretty good. He’s a little older than Mom, with salt and pepper hair that looks good on him. He’s tall, handsome (for a guy in his forties), and very smart. He’s the kind of guy who uses words like ergo and fiduciary in his everyday conversations.

  He’d said he was an investment banker and although I’m not exactly sure what that is, it’s clear he makes a lot of money from it. And the best part is that he seems to really love Mom. They held hands all night long, smiled at each other constantly and laughed about everything.

  Mom is like a freaking teenager, she’s so in love with him. I think this upcoming marriage might be a good thing, for all of us, so long as they’re really in love. And it seems like they are.

  Starla was super shy around Landon, but Emma warmed up to him quickly, especially after he showed the girls to their new room. Mom had taken my advice and put their stuff into one room to share for now. In a house where the hallways are bigger than our old trailer, I don’t think they’d know what to do with two rooms.

  Their old mattress that used to be on the floor is in the trash now. It’s been replaced with a brand new set of bedroom furniture that Mom and Landon picked out. It’s white, curved on the edges and looks fit for a princess. There’s a matching set in the room across the hall, waiting for when the girls decide to have separate rooms.

  My room is also furnished. I have a black queen-sized bed with a white padded headboard. The dresser and vanity are beautiful and totally empty. I can’t really bring myself to unpack my crappy clothes into something so nice.

  Landon and Mom told me to choose any of the rooms I wanted, but I picked the one next door to the girls’ room so I’d be close to them. The furniture was already here, and although Landon keeps saying I can change it out with other furniture in the other guest rooms, or even buy new stuff if I want, I’ve assured him this is fine.

  I have a bay window that looks out into the front yard, shimmery lavender curtains with little sparrows on them, and a plush lavender rug on top of the already plush and heavenly white carpet. We’ve never lived anywhere with carpet that wasn’t covered in stains and grossness. Now, I could stand here forever, letting my toes thread through the soft fibers.

  Everything is amazing. I feel like I’ve stepped out of the real world and into a dream where I don’t ever want to wake up.

  Last night was such a whirlwind, that after Landon took us out to dinner at a fancy steakhouse where the meals were so expensive the prices weren’t listed on the menu, we got home with only enough time to get a shower and go to bed.

  Today, I’ve been promis
ed a tour of the place, and I’m most excited about the pool and the movie room. I mean, he can’t really have a theater in his house, can he?

  My door swings open and Emma and Starla appear, holding hands and grinning. “I found your room,” Emma says.

  “I told you I was just right next door,” I tell her with a laugh. Normally, it takes ages to get the girls to go to bed, but after our night last night, they fell fast asleep in their new beds—a twin for Emma and a crib for Starla—without so much as a fight. Starla rubs at her sleepy eyes and then rushes up to me. I pull them onto my bed, which has a mattress so plush it’s like three feet off the floor. The girls lay on my bed and Starla starts sucking her thumb, a sure sign that she’s content here.

  “I’m hungry,” Emma says, squishing my comforter between her fingers. “How do we get food?”

  “How about we venture down to the kitchen together, hmm?” I say. Honestly, I’m not really sure how to get down there, and I have no idea where Mom’s bedroom is, but she’d said their room is on the first floor while ours is upstairs.

  There’s a light tap on the door and I startle at the sight of a strange woman standing there.

  “Good morning, Miss Maddie,” she says, smiling sweetly as she enters my room. She’s about fifty years old I guess, wearing a light blue dress and white shoes. It should really dawn on me before she says it, but I’m a little flustered as of late.

  “I’m Pamela, your maid. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  Maid?

  “Um, hi,” I say, sitting up straighter in bed. “This is Emma and Starla.”

  She smiles and nods at the girls. “Breakfast is almost ready, would you like me to take you down?”

  “Oh, that would be great,” I say, throwing off the blankets. I’m wearing leggings and a T-shirt and am suddenly very grateful I didn’t sleep in my underwear like I usually do when it’s too hot outside and Mom doesn’t want to run the air conditioner because it’s expensive.