9

Clanging and laughter waft up from the kitchen. It’s 6:13 AM. What is wrong with these people? I throw back the covers and notice Grant’s Vans on the floor. He’s still here. I’m glad.

I shower, throw on my clothes, and head downstairs only to find the whole happy crew chatting over their organic, freshly squeezed, non-pasteurized orange juice. The sight of Evelyn, Carmella, and Grant all in one room, smiling and being pleasant makes me feel like an actual grumpy, old troll.

“Hey, sunshine!” Grant is positively shouting at this ungodly hour.

“Good morning, darling!” Evelyn coos. “We’re frying up some veggie bacon and I made some millet waffles for you!”

I’ve never been hungover, but I think it’s probably a lot like this. Tired and groggy. Hungry, but not in the mood to eat. Plus everyone’s too cheery, and I kinda want to punch them all in the face.

“It’s fake bacon! It’s facon! And it’s actually pretty good. Here!” Grant is already in front of me with a handful of something that smells vaguely like bacon and dirt. He reaches up and puts his hand under my chin, causing me to open up as he feeds me this faux-meat with an impossibly peppy grin. “What do you think?”

“Oh, um. It’s good, I guess.”

Evelyn chimes, “I picked up that Risperdal prescription, so you’re all stocked, sweetie! Want some juice?”

Brilliant. Let’s talk about my crazy pills in front of every-damn-body. I look to Grant, but he is stuffing himself with food straight out of the pan. I spin around slowly to look at Carmella. Maybe she didn’t even hear.

“Morning, sis. Good thing you got that refill, huh?” Carmella, perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, manages these words with a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. As Grant and Evelyn chatter over the stove with their back to the rest of the kitchen, Carmella reaches up and puts her finger beside her ear and makes little circles. When Evelyn picks up the pan and spins around to set it in the sink in the kitchen island, Carmella picks up a curl and continues as if she’d just been twirling her hair.

Crazy. Me.

“Carmella, sweetie, what were you about to ask me a minute ago?”

My stepsister’s voice goes cold. “Mom, you said you’d call me Ella.”

Evelyn turns with an apologetic look in her eye and puts her hand near her forehead. “Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I’ll get the hang of it eventually.” Evelyn smiles at her little girl with dreamy eyes.

“I was gonna ask if I can have some money? I’m going shopping after dance practice. I need to buy some new bras.”

“Ella!” Evelyn sounds scandalized, and she glances to Grant and back to her daughter. Like at the sound of the word “bra,” Grant might just jump on top of her kid right then and there. Evelyn nods to Carmella and then traipses from the room to fetch her precious daughter’s latest whim. Grant turns to watch Evelyn leave with a sad sort of look on his face. How nice it must be to ask for cash and have it delivered in sixty seconds flat.

“Grant, are you ready? I’d like to go.” I try not to fidget in front of Carmella, but she’s just sitting there and staring at me. It pisses me off that she doesn’t even have to do anything to intimidate me into total insecurity and silence.

“Sure, let me go grab my shoes.”

As he flies up the stairs, I’m left in the kitchen. Alone. With her.

“So, Imogen, good thing Mom refilled your antipsychotics. If this is you pulled together, I’d hate to see what a hot mess you are when you’re unmedicated.”

I know, logically, that I have no reason to be ashamed of my therapy, but that knowledge makes absolutely no difference.

She stares at me for a second, relishing my discomfort. It looks like she’s planning what to say, how to make sure it’s really going to hurt. I brace myself.

“I hear you miss a lot of classes to see your shrink. Crestwood lets you miss all the school you want just because you’re crazy? That doesn’t seem fair.” She bounces her crossed leg and points her finger while she talks. She has me in the palm of her hand. “Seems weird to me, but I don’t make the rules for special ed kids. You are, right? Special ed? You know, I had no idea you could be special ed just for being a basketcase, but that’s what my mom said.”

Bam. The force of her words slices through the kitchen, and I stagger back as if I’ve been hit. “I…I…” I drop my gaze to the floor and press my open palms to the sides of my jeans, hoping to push the sweat back into my pores.

She smiles as she watches me squirm.

“I noticed your buddy Grant spent the night. Seems pretty bold, but I guess it’s never too early for society to start making certain concessions for people like you. Better to keep you happy than risk making you snap.”

Her “p” pops out of her lips, and she just stares at me. Is she waiting for a response?

“You know, it’s really none of your business.” The words are out before I can measure their weight.

She stands up slowly and crosses the room. I back up against the counter until I feel the cold stone pushing against me.

“Let me be sure you understand how this works. Some people have power and some people don’t.” Her fake smile is gone, and her eyes are dark. The muscles in her face are tight, and she’s towering over me in her heels. She looks like a monster. “When people who don’t have power pretend that they do, they lose. Sometimes they lose what they have. Sometimes they lose what they want. But they lose.”

My heart is pounding so hard I feel like I might pass out. I can’t decide if I should scream or sit down or push her away or what.

Her eyes are locked on mine, and the echo of her threat is still ringing in my ears when she pops the smile back on her lips and her eyes soften.

“Gen! Let’s go!” Grant calls from the front door, and without another word, I pick up my bag and almost run out of the kitchen. I smash into Evelyn as she rounds the corner with her wallet in hand.

“Oh!” Evelyn stumbles back a step and bumps her head on the side of the wall.

“Evelyn, I’m sorry.”

“Imogen, please be careful! You’re not a little thing anymore, you could hurt someone!”

I am about three seconds from going back upstairs and crawling into bed.

“Gen!” Grant calls to me a second time.

“Yeah! Gimme five minutes!” I yell toward the door.

When I turn back to Evelyn, she’s handing Carmella her money and sending her on her way. “Bye, sis,” Carmella says as she strides out of the kitchen.

As soon as Carmella walks out of the room, I burst into tears. I can’t stop it. I can’t even pretend I’ve got something in my eye. I am straight-up crying.

“Imogen, honey, what’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself when we bumped?”

“When we ‘bumped,’ seriously?” I walk to the little bakers rack standing by the sliding glass door and pull out a tissue. “We didn’t bump, Evelyn. I’m a freaking rhinoceros.” I sniffle and wipe at my eyes while I gesture all around myself. “I can’t breathe.”

“Here, honey, sit down.” She pulls me over to the chair at the kitchen table, and I try to keep breathing. My lips are swollen and tingling, and my vision is clouded with bright spots. “Imogen, honey, I hope you know that when I said you weren’t little, I meant you’re a grown up. You’re not a baby. I didn’t mean anything… else, okay?” She looks at me awkwardly and pats my knee like a robot. “Can I get you any medicine?”

I like to keep my medicine separate from the people around me. I don’t like to think of others knowing what I take, when I take it, and why. But even though she’s awkwardly patting my knee, she’s doing this shooshing sound, and it’s making my pulse slow to normal.

“Yes,” I say. “Could I have a half of the little pink one, please?”

“Of course, honey.” She springs to the medicine cabinet and comes back with half of a pill and a glass of cold water.

“Thank you, Evelyn. I really appreciate it. This was not a good morning. And it was not a good night last night either. I really don’t know if I can go to school today.” Just saying the word “school” starts my heart beating faster again as I blow my nose and wipe away the last of my tears.

“Honey, I don’t think you should stay home. But it might be a good idea for you to call George and see if he can fit you in this morning. What do you say?”

I take a deep breath and blow it out in a narrow stream.

“Yeah. I should call TG. Thank you. Again. I’m sorry I ran into you.”

She smiles at me gently. “It’s nothing. Anything you need, you can come to me, okay?” Every part of her face is soothing except for her eyes. She is looking at me so intensely it makes me want to look away.

“Actually, there is something else I need.” I pick at the skin on my left thumb. “I was hoping you could call the school for me? I need to…I need to change my first period class.”

“Is something wrong? Are you not getting along with the teacher?” Her face is contorted with concern, and the longer I look at her the more I see Carmella’s features lingering on her skin. Their eyes are the same color. Carmella has her mother’s nose, too. It makes me want to shut down completely.

“I’m having some weird anxiety flare-ups in there. I don’t do well with change, and there are some changes in there and some kids have been saying some things that have made me uncomfortable. Triggering things.” I throw out the buzzword and hope it works.

“Avoidance is an easy way to block off healing. Have you thought about what you might be avoiding by changing that class?”

Uh, yeah. Your daughter.

She’s reaching out and holding my shoulders while I try with all of my willpower to keep looking in her eyes. A moment ago, she seemed so sincere, but now all I see is the mother of the villain in my story. And I just feel so crazy. Things have gotten so bad so fast. And it’s all because of Carmella. And by extension, Evelyn, too.

“Gen! I can’t be late to this meeting!”

“Coming!” I scream at him, causing Evelyn to jump back as if she’d been slapped.

“Sorry, I have to go. Grant’s got a meeting before first period, so I’m dropping him off, and then I’m going to swing by George’s office. I need to see him. If I go, he’ll see me. Please call the school about my schedule. Please.”

I push out of the chair and take note of my heartbeat. It feels steadier already. She pulls her lips together in a tight line. I can smell her disapproval at my “avoidant” behavior, but she offers me a tiny nod.

She doesn’t understand me. And I know that. And the way she looks at me as I gather my things makes me feel confident she never will.