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Samantha
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MOM YELLED FROM upstairs, “Supper!”
The smell of pork roast was heavenly goodness, Samantha’s stomach begging noisily with her to get off the phone and come out of the carnivore closet. She’d been gabbing with Jamie for a half hour, neither of them believing for a second Blogging My Sojourn was some amazing coincidence. It had to be Lucy Veebee and the town had to be Wicasa Bluffs.
As soon as Samantha sat down at the table, Brace grumbled, “Potatoes.”
Mom picked up the serving bowl but held it back. “Potatoes, please?”
His jaw hardened. “Yeah, what you said.”
“Brace?”
He dropped his fork, sat back. “Forget it, I don’t want the stupid potatoes.”
Dad glowered at him. “You just beat the pants off the Icemen not twenty-four hours ago, what’s with the mood? Is this about what went down in the locker room?”
“No.” Brace turned to Samantha. “Hey, little comet. Gimme a roll.”
She squinted at him. “Have you been reading my journal?”
“Like I care.” He laughed. “It was open on the counter.”
Samantha hurled a Pillsbury biscuit at Brace, her fury heightened by the proximity of pork roast glistening with reduction. “Mom. Brace looked in my journal.” She reminded herself how disgusting meat looked taken out of the context of its scent, chunks all brown and stringy, the horrid death required to put it on the table. Pigs, for all their bad press, were highly intelligent. Nobody knew, or apparently cared to know, that they were smarter than the family pet, their flesh the closest to primate flesh.
“Sam, do not throw food.”
“But Mah-um, it’s got poetry in it. Private poetry.”
Brace’s gaze went distant, his voice airy. “Poetry to the stars. You and Jamie write that on Maiden Leap?” He sniggered.
“Shut up.”
Dad straightened. “What are you doing up on the Leap?”
“Watching the northern lights. Luce was out there too.”
Mom’s fork stopped mid-air.
Samantha nodded. “She helped us find Andromeda. Got this awesome pair of binoculars, nearly a foot long.”
“Luce?” Mom asked, “She’s Ms. Van Buren to you.”
“Bet that’s not the only thing she’s got’s a foot long,” Brace said. “And she’s probably looking in bedrooms with them.”
“They’re astro-binoculars, puckhead.”
“Sam, don’t call your brother that. You know we don’t like it.” Mom set down her fork and looked to Brace. “Stop teasing your sister. And stop changing the subject. I want to know what went down in the locker room.”
Samantha leaned forward. “Yeah. Hmm?” She refrained from mentioning the zit coming out on the tip of her brother’s nose. Not that it required any aid in drawing attention to itself. A disgusted look at the angry red dot halted his attack. He filled his mouth with more bread and a big stringy piece of pork.
Mom turned to Dad with raised eyebrows.
“Well, it wasn’t physical,” Dad said, “but Zev and Brace were arguing with Maddox about something when I got there.”
Samantha glowered. Ah, Maddox Funk-Abel, the asshole who once poured a pot of coffee in his parent’s fish tank to see if the blue tangs would swim faster. The one who still calls Jamie Snowplow even though her braces came off a year ago. The one who upskirts photos of the girls in the halls of WBHS.
“Oh, thanks, Dad,” Brace mumbled.
Samantha sat back. “I think the problem with men is they bury too much stuff.”
Brace swallowed. “The problem with women is they think too much and never get any smarter.”
“Brace.” Mom’s green-eyed stare was insistent. That was The Deal you made when you sat down at the table, not that you had a choice. “I really want to know what happened.”
He looked at her, his tongue rooting around, considering his non-existent options.
For over a decade, Samantha’s family had come together at this oak table for a real meal and dessert. The dining room had hosted homework sessions, tax paperwork, epic Monopoly games, debates on God. But since Brace’s senior year, he’d become less inquisitive, more private and the suppers ended whenever his cellphone hammered out Linkin Park.
“It started with Sam,” Brace said. “Some of the guys were kidding Zev about her.”
“Who?” Samantha’s shoulders tightened, internal bells clanging. “Whatdtheysay?”
Brace squinched his face angrily. “It doesn’t matter. Just riding him, y’know? About scoring and stuff.”
Samantha turned to her mother. “He hasn’t scored, Mom. Nowhere close to the goal.”
Mom nodded. But her stare remained locked on Brace.
He looked at his plate. “Zev was just saying about how nice Sam looked and Maddox was like, ‘yeah I’d hit that, but it would probably hit back.’ Zev got real pissed. And even I’m like, ‘Hey, dude, she’s not even sixteen yet.’ And get this, Maddox says, ‘Zev’s not getting any because Sam’s just like her mom—a vagetarian.’ Can you believe that?” Brace shook his head with an incredulous smile then shrugged. “Guess I shoved him. A little.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other.
Brace’s smile dropped.
Samantha flicked her hair out of her eyes. “I’m not a lesbian. Although I did sort of kiss Ashley Parks in fourth grade.”
Dad grunted his approval of the meal through a full mouth. Mom stared through the table to some distant dimension.
“But that was just because we ran into each other with our lips.”
“Mom?” Brace asked.
Dad flicked a look at Mom. “Guess a few people are talking about it now that Lucy’s back.” He drew his thumbnail down the cleft between his nose and upper lip a few times. “So their kids are probably over-hearing the stories.”
HOLY FRAK.
Samantha whirled on Mom and yelped, “Lucy Veebee? No. Effing. Way.”
Brace cringed at Mom. “You had an affair?”
“No,” Mom said to the ceiling. “It was way back in high school. You know I haven’t always been old. I had my own desires—”
He plugged his ears. “Lalalalalalala.”
“Stop it,” Dad said, trying not to laugh. “It was really traumatic for your mom. Their parents weren’t very understanding.”
Brace shuddered, his wavy locks tousling. “Can we forget I mentioned it?”
“Well, it’s no different than your father having dated Jennifer Turnquist,” Mom said. “We’ve had this discussion about gay people a million times. You know how I feel about Mark and Ray. Despite what your grandparents say—”
“Human sexuality is fluid and on a continuum.” Samantha nodded once. Wow. For a moment she gazed upon her mother like she used to, when the woman was the primary person in charge of her enlightenment. The gaze quickly turned to a cringe as she pondered again the discordance of Lucy Veebee having anything to do with such a boring parental unit.
But Mom did not meet her eyes. She did not appear to be quite as contemplative. Not even that gleam of old people pride.
Dad turned back to Brace. “You better start getting your head around it, bud. Because we invited Lucy for dinner next week.”
“Alright. Whatever.”
After clearing the table and fighting with Brace over who would wash and who would dry, Samantha casually sauntered to the stairs.
Once around the corner, she ran down to the basement, into her room, quietly shut the door, and called Jamie.