by Seven Steps
So my weekend is going to be spent with a girl I despise.
Perfect.
“Your teacher says you’ve been struggling in the class.” He sounds farther away now. I imagine him standing by the huge window, looking out over the city. His kingdom. “I think you know how important it is that you work hard at this. It is of the utmost necessity that you make a good showing for our family.”
“I’m not a child you can order around. I’m sixteen. If you want me to do something, you need to ask me.”
He shakes his head.
“I haven’t asked anyone anything in forty years. I won’t change for a petulant girl. Go. Find your sister. Maybe she can talk to you about the meaning of respect.”
A lethal tone laces his voice. I know that tone. It means he’s only an inch away from doling out punishments. I stomp out of the room and slam the door extra hard.
14
Later that night, I find Duckie in the kitchen, book in hand.
No, not a book.
I look closer.
It’s a sketch pad. She’s drawing something. Weird, considering Duckie hasn’t drawn anything in years.
“What are you doing?” I step closer. I’m supposed to be making cookies for the twins, but the ink flowing from Duckie’s pen onto the paper is much more interesting.
When she doesn’t answer I step closer and peek over her shoulder.
It’s a picture of a mermaid swimming in the ocean, surrounded by corals. More importantly, it’s good. Really good. Almost lifelike.
I put my hand on her shoulder and she lets out a squeal and jumps.
“God, Ariel, you scared the crap out of me.”
Her hand goes over her heart while irritation darkens her eyes.
I take a step back, amused. “When did you start drawing again?”
She lets out a breath and scowls at me. “None of your business.”
I freeze.
That’s a rude thing to say, and Duckie is never rude. She’s stern with us when we misbehave, and sometimes she’s bluntly honest, but never rude.
It’s my turn to scowl.
“None of my business?” I point at myself. “I’m your sister. Everything you do is my business.”
She grabs the sketch pad and holds it tight against her chest, as if it holds some great secret.
“Technically, you’re the younger sister, so everything you do is my business, not the other way around.”
Her set chin and her straight back tell of her tension. What’s up with her? Why is she being so secretive? Duckie is never secretive.
She stands up from her bar stool and makes a beeline for the door.
“Does this have something to do with the tattoo on your hip?”
She stops, one hand on the door, poised to open it. Her hand shakes, and she cranes her head to look at me.
“What did you say?” Her entire body trembles as it turns to me.
I swallow, suddenly very afraid of the land mine I’ve just found myself on top of.
“I asked about the tattoo.”
She charges toward me with such fury I think she’s going to smack me. Instead, she stops short, just inches from my face.
“You never saw these pictures. Or any tattoo. Do you understand?”
I can only stare at this new sister who stands in front of me. Angry. Threatening. Defensive. Different.
Her voice drops into a growl. “Do you understand?”
I bob my head quickly, anxious to get this strange creature away from me.
What happened to Duckie? Who is this new person?
She examines me and, when she believes I’m telling the truth, she turns and begins heading for the door again. When she reaches it, she places her hand on it and stops walking.
“You’re sixteen years old now, Ariel,” she says, still facing the door. “Nearly a woman. I want you to promise me you’ll always take care of Daddy, no matter what.”
I scoff. “What are you—”
“I didn’t ask for your smart comments. I asked you to promise me you’ll take care of our father. He’s a miserable, bitter old man, but he’s still family. Promise me.”
“But where are you—”
“I said promise me, Ariel!” Her voice echoes through the kitchen. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Duckie yell.
Ever.
“I promise.” The words come out in a whisper so soft I’m barely sure she’s heard it.
With a curt nod, she opens the door to the kitchen and walks away, leaving me alone to wonder.
What happened to my sister?
∞∞∞
I stand in the kitchen for a long time, leaning against the island, wondering what I said to make Duckie so angry.
I asked about the picture and the tattoo. Could they be related? Is something else going on in her life she doesn’t want me to know?
Duckie is the rock of our family. If something is freaking her out this much, then it must be bad. Really bad. And why did she tell me to take care of Daddy? Did something happen that will take her from us? Will I wake up tomorrow to find that my sister has been hauled off to a jail somewhere?
My stomach tightens at the thought. I don’t want to think about Duckie not being here. We lost Mama already. Without Duckie, this family would fall apart. Completely. Abandoning the cookie baking, I walk straight into my room and shut myself inside. After a short while, the twins come by and bang on the door, asking about their pedicures, but I ignore them, and they go away.
I look at the clock. It’s almost ten. Two more hours until Ronnie’s party. Two more hours until I’m free from this house full of crazies.
I pick up my controller and turn on Ogre Wars. I need to run a spear through something. That will help clear my head.
As my characters load and stand in their last save points, my eyes look to the right of the screen.
No names greet me. There’s no one online.
I’m not looking for Eric, I tell myself. I’m just… looking.
I pull on my headset and begin my exploration of the area. It’s a desert scene, so my first task is to find a hidden oasis for sustenance.
I push the controls forward, making my character run hard through the sands. With each passing minute my life bar grows shorter. I’m running myself to death, and I don’t even know where I’m going. I can’t concentrate tonight. My mind is filled with thoughts of Duckie and tattoos and mermaids.
I pull up the map and peer at it.
“Where are you?” I whisper.
“Right here, Red.”
My stomach drops, and, for a moment, I look around the room for Eric before realizing his voice is coming through the headset.
I let out a breath.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know. I’m just, thinking.”
“About what?”
I spot the oasis on the map and start walking again.
My sister. My father. My life crumbling to bits like a week-old cookie.
“It’s nothing.”
The weird thing is, I want to tell Eric about my troubles. Especially this way, with our characters jogging through the desert in search of an oasis.
He’s quiet for a moment.
“You can talk to me. You know that, right?”
I nod, as if he could see me.
“I know.”
“That’s what friends do. They talk to each other.”
Friends. That’s right. Eric and I are friends now. Why does that make me want to puke?
I bite my lip. What harm could it do to tell Eric about my Duckie issues? It’s not like he’ll go running back to tell her. And it would help me figure things out.
“It’s Duckie. She—”
“Oops. Shoot.” A voice interrupts me. Not Eric’s and not mine. It takes me a moment to place it, but, when I do, I’m furious.
“Is that Purity?”
What’s she doing at his apartment this late
?
The line is briefly silent, then someone winces.
“Hi, Ariel.”
Crap. It is Purity. Instinctually, I go to press the end button on the headset. But I stop myself. It would be rude to hang up on them, even if Purity is spying on the phone call. Besides, I don’t want Purity to know how much Eric affects me. I don’t want her to think I’m weak or pathetic. So, I don’t hang up, but I don’t make an effort to talk to her either.
“Purity has a thing for video games,” Eric says, a little too loudly. “She loves to watch us play.”
I’ll bet. More like, she loves to listen to our conversations to make sure things stay friendly.
“Yes, I love video games,” Purity replies, in the same loud, fake tone.
If they think they’re fooling anyone, they’re wrong. I scoff and push my character to run faster.
I’ve been working on beating Ogre Wars for months now. If I weren’t so personally committed to finishing this game and placing at the gamer’s convention, I’d break the disc in half and block Eric from ever contacting me again.
Yes, it’s a little petty, but I’m feeling that way right now.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” Purity says. “I was hoping we could hang out and talk.”
“I got your messages.”
I let the words hang in the air, unexplained.
Yes, Purity, I got your messages and, newsflash, I didn’t answer them because I don’t want to talk to you.
“Maybe on Friday we can get together and get a manicure or something.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Silence hangs on the line, so thick it feels awkward. Even when Eric and I kill another patrol of ogres, it doesn’t stop my back from tensing.
I have to say something. At least until I get to the next save point and I can hang up.
“So, how did you and Eric meet?” I ask. A part of me doesn’t want to know, and, yet, another part of me does. Only two days ago he was flirting with me, and then this girl showed up. Who is she and why is he with her? Suddenly, I have to know.
“Purity and I grew up together,” Eric says. “She transferred to St. Mary’s a few weeks ago to help take care of her grandfather.”
“Yes. Eric’s pretty much the only one I know around here who’s my age, so we hang out a lot. You know, puttering around the apartment and eating Cheetos at midnight.”
Wait, what?
“So, you live there?”
She stutters, “Well, I’m staying here for a while.”
I hear the sound of air being sucked through teeth. I wasn’t sure if that was her or Eric. What’s going on over there?
“But, like I said, Eric and I have known each other all of our lives, haven’t we, Ship?”
Ship? She called him Ship? I thought I was the only one who called him that.
My heart feels like it’s ripping in half. I abandon my fight with a fat ogre and sprint ahead, searching desperately for a save point. I have to get out of this conversation before I explode in tears.
“Ship, tell her about the time you kissed me on the dock when we were five, and I was so angry that I pushed you in the lake. Remember that?”
Yup. I’m done.
I push the end button on my headset, yank it off my head, and hurl it against the wall.
My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. Tears spill over my cheeks.
How could he let that girl in his life so quickly?
I angrily wipe the tears from my eyes.
And to think I ever considered taking him back!
Why does this hurt me so much? Why does it feel like someone just shot a cannonball through my heart?
The answer comes in a short, violent burst.
Because you were never over him.
I kick at the pile of clothes on the floor.
Maybe my heart belonged to Eric once, but I’m determined to get it back right now. Eric’s officially in my past, and this time he’s going to stay that way.
I dig through the piles of clothes on the floor until I find a white bikini.
Tonight, I’m going to flirt and make out with every guy I see.
I’m going to forget Eric Shipman and Purity Dubois, once and for all.
15
The second midnight strikes, I tiptoe out of my apartment and flee down the stairs.
Tonight, I’m going to party my butt off. I don’t even want to remember Eric’s name.
I jump into Sophia’s gold Toyota, and we speed away.
“This is going to be amazing!” she squeals. “Ronnie throws the best parties.”
I hug myself, trying to warm up. I’ve been outside for five seconds, and already the cold has penetrated my clothes. I’m wearing jeans, thick socks, sneakers, a sweater, and my coat, plus a hat, gloves, and a scarf. Yes, we’ll be in bikinis in a few minutes, but it’s still January and arctic cold.
Sophia’s wearing a loose, navy blue wraparound dress under her heavy black coat and knee-high boots with no tights or stockings. She looks like she’s freezing.
“I heard your new boy toy got a ticket too.”
Boy toy?
“Michael?” I ask.
She crosses her arms. “Do you have multiple boy toys I should know about?”
I lean my head against the headrest and look out the foggy window, trying to hide my anticipation. Michael is going to be there. That will make Operation: Moving On so much easier. I remember his beautiful hazel eyes and my gut tightens a little. Yes, much, much easier.
“Only one at the moment,” I say. “We can’t all be Sophia Johnson.”
She laughs. “Ain’t that the truth.”
The small car heats quickly, and she turns the heat down to low.
“So, do you like him?”
“Michael?” I shrug. “He’s cute, and fun, and cute.”
“Yeah, but does he make you hot all over?”
I laughed out loud. “Really, Soph?”
“What? It’s a valid question.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Sort of. I mean, he’s a nice guy.”
“Nice as in I wouldn’t mind being lab partners with him or nice as in let’s make out?”
I hadn’t thought about kissing Michael until this very second. The idea confused me. I’m happy and anxious all at once.
“Making out is a definite possibility.”
She screeches.
“Good. You need a hot guy in your life to take the place of, well, that other hot guy who was in your life.”
I narrow my eyes at her, and she winces.
“Sorry. I mean, well, I’m just saying I’m happy you’re not crying into a gallon of peanut butter ice cream in a corner somewhere. Yeah, you and Eric didn’t work out, but Michael is a cool guy, and sometimes man candy is the best medicine for a broken heart. Especially if they’re tall, dark, and handsome.” She sighs. “Last year, before we moved here, I met this guy at a party. He was sweet, and tall, and a corn-fed country boy through and through.”
She gets a faraway look on her face as if remembering him all over again.
“And?”
“And, we kissed, sang a stupid song, and then I moved here.”
“But you miss him?”
She turns the wheel slowly, following the bend of the road. “I’m just saying it’s great that you’re open to giving people chances. You never know who’s Mr. Right and who’s Mr. Right Now.”
“And what was he?” I ask. “Mr. Tall, Sweet, and Corn-fed, I mean.”
She gently shakes her head and sighs. “He’s something else. Mr. I Wish He Were Mr. Right, I guess.”
An odd look pulls at her features, and the car’s quiet for a while.
Finally, we pull up outside of a dark, unlabeled building with colorful graffiti on the outside.
She shuts the car off, and we climb out.
I scan the area, but I don’t recognize any other cars. Are we the only ones here?
“Are you sure this is the place?”
&
nbsp; “This is the address on the invitation.”
I look up and down the dark street. Occasionally, cars speed by us, bouncing along the potholed road. No other cars stop, though.
I watch Sophia power walk to the front door. It’s all glass, but there’s a black sheet or something behind it, so we can’t see inside.
The neighborhood’s sketchy at best. It’s nearly one in the morning, and yet a liquor store and small grocery store across the street are still open. The smells of asphalt, urine, and gasoline assault my cold nose. A church sits on the corner of the block, its sign lighting up the night. It’s one of those signs where multicolored words scroll across a black background. I read the running words because, at the moment, I don’t have anything else to do.
Does your soul need saving? Come on in and let Reverend LaCarpp wash away your sins. Tithes. Daily services. Check out our website www.firstbaptistNYC.com
I pull my jacket closer and stomp to warm my freezing feet.
The last time I’ve been inside of a church was the Sunday of Mama’s funeral. Before that, all nine of us had gone ever Sunday. After she died, God only crept into our lives occasionally.
Sophia knocks once on the door, stands back, hugs her black coat to her body, and waits. I count four puffs of breath before I speak up.
“Why would Ronnie have his party in the middle of Queens? Maybe we’re in the wrong place.”
“Don’t be so jumpy. They’ll answer.”
She knocks again, just once this time.
A set of headlights bounce past us. I squint to see if I recognize the car. I do.
It’s a cop car.
My breath catches in my throat.
What would they say if they caught two sixteen-year-olds knocking on what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse at one in the morning?
My heart beats harder with each passing second. Visions of Sophia and me sitting in a jail cell fill my mind. If that happened, Duckie and Daddy would probably ship me off to a boarding school in Switzerland with Kenny Jennings. Or worse, to Russia with Jake and Regina Winstead.
The car doesn’t stop, and I release a breath.
This is starting to feel like a very bad idea. Where’s everyone anyway? The last time Ronnie Garrison had a party, he rented a private jet that circled New York all night. I wish he’d rented the jet this time. I really need the warmth.
