by Piper Hannah
When we got home, I gave my sister some space. We both needed it, she really wanted it, and I really didn’t have a choice since she locked herself in her bedroom upstairs. So, I gave my sister pure, uninterrupted space.
There were no new sightings of my purple-eyed delusion. After seeing the anger in his face, he was mad at me, too. What was an angel doing saving my life, anyway? I wasn’t religious, and I never go to church. I have absolutely no aspirations of becoming a nun. None.
I sat on the bar stool in front of the kitchen island and rubbed my right index finger, which was now covered with a band-aid. I felt it now. It was a painful reminder of my stupidity for looking for Dad’s cell phone in the glove box and almost getting into a major car crash. I should have known better. Dad always carried his cell phone in his pocket. It wouldn’t have been in the glove box. Duh.
When Mom and Dad finally came home, they came with Chinese take-out and some groceries. Immediately after they walked in, Mom sensed that something was off. She always had a sixth sense when it came to her children, and I could so not use that sixth sense right now. It gets a bit creepy sometimes.
Mom placed the Chinese food on the kitchen island. She ran one hand through her short black hair and really looked at me.
“Paige, everything okay?” she asked.
My eyes narrowed. Did she know? Did I look guilty? Or did she have a video camera hidden somewhere in the house? I smiled at the thought as I looked around.
Question: If the parents did have a video camera hidden somewhere, where would it be?
Actually, that would solve all of my problems. If I only had video footage of an angel watching TV…
“I’m fine.” I opened one of the plastic bags sitting in front of me, and I pretended to be really interested in our dinner. I got up and grabbed four plates from the cupboard, utensils from the drawer, and laid it all out by the food.
What was another lie, anyway? The lie was just icing on top of the already growing list of horrors that defined my very horrible day. If my parents found out what I did, that would be beyond horrible. They would kill me, or worse, they might take away my driver’s license. I grimaced as I filled my plate with chicken and white rice from little white boxes.
My parents were still putting away groceries when Emma finally came out of hiding. I wasn’t looking at her when she walked in the kitchen, but I was aware of her every move. She picked up a plate and looked at the Chinese food. She started poking the food with a fork … poking... poking... still poking… Annoying, I know, but she said nothing.
I took a bite of chicken and chewed, tapping my fingers on the counter…
One one thousand, two one thousand, three…
I swallowed forcing the food down my throat and waited for the drama to unfold.
Still nothing.
There were no words about being late to school this morning. No words about the grand theft auto of Dad's new Mercedes. Nothing about the near-death experience.
"How’s the chicken?” Mom asked as she looked over my shoulder.
“Good,” I said, but really, what else could I say? It was chicken. It tasted like chicken.
By now Emma’s plate was packed with food, and I was now openly staring at her. She mumbled something about homework and left the kitchen in a hurry. She headed back to her room with her food 'to-go.' I was left staring at Emma’s retreating back in shock. I was speechless.
That was it? What I have been dreading all evening? I expected a lot more drama - some tears, maybe. After all, I carjacked Dad’s car and placed her in a very scary, life-threatening situation. I never asked her to lie. I was prepared to defend myself, and I had already come up with three good excuses why I did what I did. None of them was the truth, of course, and all of them ended with physics.
I sighed with relief. My panic was over. Thank goodness for sisterhood. Even when I’m wrong, my little sister will back me up. Still. Why do I feel so horrible?
A few minutes later, we moved our food into the dining room. I sat with my parents, and we ate our dinner. I listened politely as they talked about their day.
Their dinner conversation wasn't particularly entertaining, but it was interesting to watch, because after being married for twenty years and working together every single day, they still wanted to talk to each other all of the time. It’s sick, right?
After about ten minutes, I felt that I waited long enough. I asked the one question I had been dying to ask them all day.
"Is Grandma crazy?" I asked, staring at them with what I hoped was my poker face.
Dad coughed several times, and Mom frowned. I watched her watching me. Tick. Tock. I heard the clock. I was sure I would have heard a pin drop. The moment was that intense. Mom looked away and blinked a few times. The grandmother I was talking about was my mother’s mother, so she had more vested in this conversation. My Dad grew up in an orphanage with his brother and never knew his real parents, so we only had one set of grandparents. Mom’s father died when she was a teen, and I never knew him. So, as far as grandparents go, Grandma was it for me. Unfortunately, I just asked if she was crazy. What kind of a person am I?
"Why do you ask? Did anything strange happen today?" Mom asked.
"Not particularly," I said, "but I was just wondering if Grandma is really crazy. You know, with all of the witch talk. How she's a witch, you're a witch, Emma and I will eventually become witches. You know, that kind of stuff."
It wasn't our usual polite dinner conversation, and I had made them both very uncomfortable.
"What happened today?" my mom asked again. She was very concerned, I could tell, and both of them stopped eating. I had their full attention.
I shook my head, trying to come up with a plan B very quickly. Calling Grandma crazy was uncalled for, and it caught them both off-guard.
"I'm flunking a couple of my classes," I said, which was actually true. "I was hoping Grandma really is a witch so she can wave a magic wand and change my grades somehow. Don’t want to go to summer school. That's all."
"Then, that would be cheating, and we do not cheat," Dad said sternly. He picked up his fork and continued eating.
I kept waiting for some sort of denial that Grandma wasn't a witch, but it never came. Mom looked at me strangely and gave me the evil eye. In her case, it could be the witch's eye. If Grandma wasn't crazy, then there was that possibility that she was right - that I came from a long line of powerful witches.
How cool could this be? I could be a real, cauldron stirring, pointy hat wearing, witch… with real powers. Maybe on my next birthday, I would get my own flying broom or go to witch school instead of college. Maybe I could even wear one of those cool uniforms with a striped scarf, and I could get a pet owl…
"Paige, you are not a witch," Mom said, and she looked very serious.
I sighed. Oh well, there goes the dream, but if I couldn’t be a witch, then that would mean that Grandma really was crazy, and I came from a long line of crazies.
I think I’d rather be a witch.
CHAPTER 6