Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1)

by Charisse Moritz

  So I take deep breaths, soldier on and catch up with Tully after the door is already wide open. I’m hallucinating. No way is Taz standing in my entryway, looking all tall, dark and frowny. Which is perfect, because I can smell myself and it ain’t pretty. My hair is knotted on top of my head, not in a sexy-messy bun, but in a ratty-frizzy-greasy pile. I’d say I have no makeup on, but old mascara is definitely clumped on my lashes, turning me into an Alice Cooper wannabe. I’m also wearing booty shorts and am braless under a fading Pink Floyd T-shirt that belonged to my dad before it shrunk. There might be, probably is a bit of vomit on the Dark Side Of The Moon. I should be registered as an amber alert, because my very appearance is a terrorist threat against humanity.

  “Tia’s sick,” Tully announces. “And my toe is stuck.” She holds up her foot. There’s a zip tie cinched around her big toe. How in the heck?

  My legs fold like a pair of old lawn chairs and I land on my butt in a cross between an accidental faint and a deliberate sit. I have not consumed anything since getting up at five, and my many trips to the bathroom have left me dehydrated and shaky. I don’t have the strength for Taz. I flick my hands in the air and whisper, “Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo,” hoping to make him disappear.

  He moves to stand over me, half his face in shadow, pale eyes gleaming, fingers plotting against his thigh, and for a second, I’m a little terrified. But catching sight of Sam, peeking around the corner, tail low but wagging, I remember how many times he growled and nipped before finally accepting his special role as the West family dog. If given the chance, I just know I can get Taz to someday wag his tail for me, maybe lick my hand, jump in my lap, and I might just be delirious with fever.

  He squats down and looks me over. If my self-image was suffering before, his expression is the TKO.

  “She’s really sick,” Tully helps out. “Poo-king and everything.”

  Yay me.

  Then a miracle occurs. Taz scooops me up. Into his arms. I’m pressed against his hard chest, head tucked under his chin, and he’s as warm as something I want to spread frosting on. There are very few things I don’t want to spread frosting on, but he’s particularly yummy.

  When did I last shave my legs? How bad is my breath? His fingertips rest against the side of my right boob and his heartbeat thumps against my shoulder. I haven’t been this close to a non-family member in a long time, and he’s all sorts of new and exciting. I should tell him to put me down. I don’t need his help, anyone’s help, and a few sniffles certainly aren’t getting the best of me. I’ll definitely tell him all that. In a minute.

  “Bed?” he asks Tully and my heart gallops in a giddy circle. Since I’m sick and sorta horrific right now, and Baby Sis is tagging along, I’m nearly certain he’s not planning any funny business.

  The ride doesn’t last long. Up the stairs, which has me worrying I’m too heavy, even though he treats me like a piece of dandelion fluff, hang a left, through the minefield of snotty, crumpled tissues and down onto my bed. He even fixes the covers around me. Which brings his face super close to mine, and I collect details about the exact blue of his eyes, his spiky lashes, shape of his mouth and tell myself I’m not allowed to lick that birthmark, even if it looks like a dot of chocolate above his lip.

  “Thank you,” I offer and he ignores me.

  He checks out my room, taking a lap and looking everything over. I sold the desk, chair and a dresser to cover the cost of fixing the washing machine, so the decor is a little sparse. Taz keeps his hands in his front pockets and comes face to face with the poster of Cillian Murphy. Maybe he thinks he’s catching his own reflection in the mirror, because he doesn’t give it more than a glance. Then he just turns and leaves. I bite my lip to keep from calling him back. He won’t get far. My pint-sized sister is more motivated than a bolas, which is the bally-thing thing that wraps around an animal’s legs and takes them down. I have faith in her.

  The most unlikely pair in the universe returns fifteen minutes later. He’s carrying ginger ale with a straw, and she’s got crackers and no more zip tie on her toe. I might cry. Taz even helps me sit up, plumps my pillows, which sounds sexy but isn’t, and I really want to squeeze this shy, awkward boy super tight.

  Once I’m settled, Tully takes Taz’s hand, tells him they’re going to play saloon and leads him out of my room. She means salon. He probably thinks he’s getting spurs and a cowboy hat, but OMG, he’s playing with Baby Sis. How adorable is that?

  Here’s what I think. Flowers wilt. Jewelry from the old boyfriend can never be worn in front of the new boyfriend. Call me cynical. Call me practical. But give me a gesture. Sacrifice your coat to me when I’m cold. Bake me a cake on my birthday. Wash my car just because. Bring me ginger ale when I’m sick and be kind to my little sister.

  Not that Taz is boyfriend material, and I’m not falling for him. I swear. It’s just … whatever. To steal a line from Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.

  CHAPTER 22

  TAZ:

  “This way.” The kid has my fingers squeezed tight in her fist.

  I thought I could leave now. I did my good deed, tucked Barbie in bed, got her something to drink and yeah, I copped an accidental feel of her ass and a little bit of side tit. Just that has me jacked up and twitchy. Maybe I could just lock this kid in a closet and be done with her?

  “You sit there.”

  For something so small, she’s friggin bossy. And everything in her room is way too pink and miniature like her. Sitting in the little chair in front of her tiny desk, I feel like a goddamn gorilla. A dirty, rabid gorilla.

  Barbie’s room was a surprise. I’ve never been in a chick’s bedroom, so I’m not sure what I expected but not that. Other than a giant poster of some girly-looking dude on the wall, there just wasn’t much to it.

  “We’re playing saloon,” the kid tells me. I’m guessing a shot of whiskey is too much to hope for. She picks up a pink comb, and I get nervous. She walks around behind me, and I jump up.

  “No!” She circles right back in front and motions with her hands. When I just stand there, she pushes at my legs. “You gotta sit down.”

  I sit because I’ve got no idea how to weasel out of this without pissing her off. If she gets loud, I don’t know what happens to me. I should’ve stayed away. So what if Barbie thinks I’m a dick? So what if she made me a sandwich? It’s just fucken charity, same as dropping a quarter on a homeless guy or throwing bread at a pigeon. She certainly didn’t want the homeless fucken pigeon showing up, begging for more, shitting up her house.

  My fingers scramble and my knee bounces. The little pink girl gives me a look, then shifts behind me again. I manage it for all of three seconds before the creepy crawlies run down my spine. I pop back up. I can’t have her behind me. Who the fuck knows what she’s doing back there.

  “Tummy! You’re not playing right.” She swerves in front of me again, poking me in the belly with the comb.

  Am I officially the babysitter here? Am I all that’s standing between this kid and extinction? Because she’d have a better chance of survival wandering the Congo, without a compass, wearing a T-bone steak around her neck.

  She scowls at me until I plant my ass back down. Then she digs around in the desk drawers until she comes up with a pink plastic hand mirror.

  “Here. You can use this to watch me.” For the third time, she stands behind me. If I angle the mirror, I can see her back there. She’s looking at me with bright eyes. “I’m good at saloon. I won’t hurt you, Tummy. I promise.”

  If I keep an eye on her, maybe I can hack this. Whatever this is, cuz in any old western I’ve ever seen, nobody brought a comb to the saloon. I could use that shot of whiskey now, maybe the whole bottle, and a six shooter, so I can kill myself.

  She yanks the rubberband from my hair, and she’s not gentle. “Oooooh pretty!”

  Isn’t this great? Now she’s combing, twisting, tugging at my hair and I’m clenching my teeth so hard I’m cracking enamel
. It’s the only way to keep from snapping, snarling and unleashing the beast. Nobody touches me. Nobody fucken touches me. But I never get to decide. It’s never my choice. Everything in my life is done TO me, AT me, never FOR me, never WITH me.

  Right when I can’t take her hands on me another second, she presses her cheek against mine, so we are both framed in her mirror. She smiles real big and says, “Thank you for playing with me, Tummy. We can take turns with the comb. Can I give you a bow?”

  I can’t fight that. She wins. I nod.

  CHAPTER 23

  Tia:

  “So let me get this straight. I get grounded for making out with Philly, but Tully’s having a sleepover?”

  “What?” I blink, yawn and slowly realize I don’t feel quite as sucktastic as I did the last time I woke up. No chills, body aches or pressing need to vomit. “What time is it?” I search for a clean tissue, lower my standards, grab the handiest wad on the floor and blow my nose. It’s still dark outside, and the house feels weirdly quiet.

  Mora stands in my room, arms crossed over her chest, wearing her cheerleading bow and sparkle eye shadow with a blue paw print on her cheek. I missed her game. And Theo’s first start at JV, and Ten and Hem’s game. None of my siblings had family in the stands to cheer them on. That never used to happen, and if I’m not there to support their efforts, what’s to stop them from becoming drug mules for someone named Escobar and ending up with life sentences in some foreign prison? This is not me being a better person.

  “It’s just after midnight. And I woke you up to see if you’ve had anything to drink or eat.”

  “You just got home? Missed curfew? When you’re already grounded?”

  “Only dogs can hear you right now.”

  “You’re super double grounded.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” She rolls her eyes and then zeroes back in on me. “How was your Friday night?” She’s wearing a smirk I don’t trust. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  “Are Theo and the twins home?”

  “Yup. All tucked in bed, and let’s take a moment to appreciate what an amazing sister I am for volunteering to check on Tully and saving your bacon.”

  “There’s bacon?”

  “Keep up, please. This is about you owing me.”

  “Why do you look like you just found my stash of chocolate?”

  “This is something you need to see to fully appreciate. And then maybe a shower?” She wrinkles her nose at me. “C’mon.”

  So I get out of bed, and I’m weak, clammy, oily and plain old gross. I’ll check out whatever Mora’s got up her sleeve, clean up, maybe change my sheets and hope to hibernate uninterrupted until morning. Cuz I need to get healthy. The weekends are my chance to catch up on laundry, groceries, schoolwork, bills and just everything. I’m hoping Mom’s going to call with news. Which means I need to locate my phone. If the twins hid it again, I’m going to skin them and make rugs out of their hides.

  “You’ve got a stash of chocolate?” Mora glances over her shoulder as she leads me to Tully’s room. “How are you getting away with that? What kind of chocolate are we talking about, and where is it?”

  “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I keep my chocolate in the vegetable crisper in the refrigerator. None of my sibs has ever found it.

  Mora and I stand in the doorway and watch Baby Sis sleep. She’s got a thumb in her mouth, and the little angel is sprawled on her tummy. On Tummy. She rises and falls with his breathing.

  It’s finally happened. I am officially jealous of my five year old sister. She’s getting more action than I am. She has Taz sleeping in her bed. His one foot dangles onto the floor and the other hangs off the end. Her little body is snug in the circle of his arms, blonde curls spread across his chest. His dark head rests on her pink princess pillow and there’s a red ribbon knotted in his hair. The man bun is gone. The strands are loose and long and as beautiful as I knew they'd be. My fingers are anxious to roam around in them. I moan, just a little, and Mora nods at me in complete understanding.

  “I bet we could move Tully without waking her,” she remarks. “Without Baby Sis in the way, we could take turns with him.”

  I snort a soft laugh, but don’t even want to think about Mora’s hands on him. She’s too young. OK, that’s not it. I saw him first. MINE!

  “Do we trust him?” Mora whispers without taking her eyes off him.

  I start to say yes, but stop and consider it. “He won’t hurt her.” I’m sure of that much.

  “Do you know what messed up his face? There’s all sorts of wild stories about him at school.”

  I shrug, and she says, “If Terek catches him here, bad things will happen to your new toy.”

  “He’s not my toy.”

  “He’s your something, and he’d sure be fun to play with. Can I have one just like it for my birthday?”

  “Maybe I better shut Tully’s door.”

  CHAPTER 24

  TAZ:

  Sunshine slaps my face. The mattress is soft. Pillow soft. Sheets soft. My fingers work the fabric. Everything smells clean. That’s not right. Where the hell am I?

  A weight lands on my chest and something tugs at my hair. My hands fly up as I take a look. A pair of very big blue eyes blink back. Her smile is a mix of baby teeth and missing gaps. Her butt uses me as a saddle and bounces hard enough to rupture my spleen.

  My hand plops on top of her curly head. I startle her, but she just laughs and chants, “Tummy, Tummy, Tummy! You lost your bow.” She waves a red ribbon at me.

  The teeny West, the one no bigger than a mouse, with lopsided pigtails, leans in closer, places the tips of her fingers at the corners of my mouth and pushes them upward. “Smile. It’s morning get-up time!”

  What’s she so happy about? Morning just means starting over. Same shit, different day, and I expect it to hurt, humiliate, and gradually grind me down to dust. So yeah, good fucken morning and can I roll over, close my eyes, and make a wish to die in my sleep?

  “Grumpy face.” Trudy or Tulip or some other T name scowls back at me, then bursts into a giggle as she mashes my cheeks with her palms. I snarl a little and she bops me on the nose and says “No, no.” Then, with a bigger, even brighter smile, which I didn’t think was even possible, she whispers, “It’s Saturday. I’ll bring you digs and then we can play magic pony.” She scrambles off the bed and disappears in a puff of curls and frills. Maybe sleeping in a room this pink has warped her brain.

  How the fuck am I still here? I remember Tulip pulling my hair for a while, and then she pointed out stuff in her room and told me their names. She has a name for every stuffed animal, coloring book, dresser … you get the idea, and not paying attention was not an option. Her left rain boot is named Bert, the right is Betty, and the chair at her miniature desk is Tippy. Then she told me how Tia, which I realized is actually Barbie, or rather Barbie is actually Tia … jesus christ whatever … She’s been selling stuff, probably to pay the bills. Tulip, smart girl that she is, figured out anything with a name is safe. Her siblings, the dog, the cat, the world’s ugliest minivan, and even the living room furniture is never sold off. She told me the names of the couch and chairs, but I forget. So she and I found some tape. She provided the names. I wrote them down, and we slapped a label on the stuff in her room.

  Then it was time to brush teeth. Not sure why I needed to be there for that, but story time came next. Last thing I remember, she was reading to me out of a big book of fairy tales. Bert, Betty and Tippy were all partying with Cinderella, and they were into some messed up shit. I don’t remember how it all turned out, so I must have crashed.

  I now need to disappear, before I get into my own messed up shit. Before someone catches me here. Other than my two bandmates, no one is ever happy to see me or wants me around, and most of the time, I get my ass waxed. Which reminds me, I left the tracking device back home, but eventually Step-douche the Super Tool will catch on, build a fire and roast my nuts, just
for something to do.

  I push aside the pink sheets, leave behind the pink pillow and can’t find the rubberband for my hair. I grab a pink one from Tulip’s collection, ease across the pink rug, make sure no pink of any kind is sticking to me and take a quick look into the hall. I hear nobody, see nobody, let out a breath and dare to duck into the bathroom. I am so goddamn envious of their shower, the mismatched towels, gazillion bottles of shampoo and soap, and it’s all I can do not to steal stuff. It won’t fit in my pockets.

  Heading down the stairs revs me up. I’m breathing hard, getting sweaty and sick to my stomach. Barbie/Tia said her parents aren’t coming home, but holy fuck, if her dad caught the slightest whiff of me in his house, sleeping over, I’d wish I was never born. I already wish I was never born, but again … I gotta get scarce. Fast. I pick up speed, nearly to the bottom, when two kids riding skateboards and swatting at a puck with hockey sticks crash into a heap at my feet.

  I press backward and realize I’ve walked into a trap.

  There are West clones everywhere. They are all the same, just different sizes. I recognize Baby Barbie and Tulip, but there’s tons more, all yelling and making noise. It’s like juvie, only worse, because they’re just running wild.

  “I paid you!” shouts Baby Barbie. She’s standing at the refrigerator, holding a dish rag, the door wide open, and something thick, yellow and sticky drips off the shelves.

  “We’ve been over this. You paid me to write your paper.” This from a guy who’s down on his knees, mopping up what looks like orange juice. “You never said there was a grade requirement.”