by Danae Ayusso
Written by Danae Ayusso
Copyright © 2016 Geeks on Ink Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1537607987
ISBN-13: 978-1537607986
Cover Art by Tom Burns
Stock Art from Deposit Photo Contributor: LOLLOK
Model Release Bigstock Photo Contributor: Katalinks
Interior Fonts by Claude Pelletier & Digital Graphics Lab
First Pass Editor Renae Jones
Storyline Continuity Editor Jennifer McAferty
This is it.
The big one.
A first to cross off our list of firsts.
High School.
I still can’t believe you agreed to do this.
Shut up.
In the week since Dillon came home, and I had my meltdown and running away incident, everything in my life started to make sense.
Which, I suppose, is strange considering there’s a creepy little white bitch in the woods stalking me. And my pony size dog won’t stop stealing the covers and drooling on my pillows, and she’s stalking me as well. My father and I are freaks that can heal at an accelerated rate. I live in a haunted house that keeps moving around on me: I walk into my closet and step out of Shep’s; try to use the powder room on the main floor and end up in Price’s office on the third; I even slept in the pantry once because I was tired of trying to figure out what the house’s problem was so I ate three boxes of cookies before falling asleep.
All of that is completely acceptable and I’m cool with. Even the fact I’m certifiably crazy and have a second personality that comes out whenever she wants now and has bonding time with my father and the rest of the family, is completely okay. Shep thinks Justice is possessed by the devil and an exorcism is in order whenever she’s around.
I’m in partial agreement depending on how much of a bitch she’s being.
All of that, as strange as it sounds, is completely acceptable and only makes sense.
What doesn’t make sense though is the biggest change in what isn’t there now.
My Frenchman.
The muscular delusion that would keep me company every morning is nowhere to be seen. Each morning I walk, alone, and wait until well after noon before I go back inside. Price assured me that it wasn’t anything to be concerned with, but I was. I wanted him back. I wanted to talk his ear off about all of the shit that happened, about the incident at the hospital and stealing Price’s credit card and trying to run. I wanted to talk to him about the asshole that remarkably looks like him only skinnier, shorter, and older, who was the reason why I ran. Then there’s the healing thing that Price can do as well, because it was something that was eating away at me. Keeping all of the secrets to myself was killing me, and now that I don’t have to worry about slipping up to Price, I wanted to talk it out with my Frenchman.
But he hasn’t been there.
Out of everything that’s completely insane and unbelievable in my life, that’s the only thing I can complain about.
I miss someone that never existed.
How crazy does that sound?!
The knock at the door made me smile.
“Come in, Grams,” I called out.
Ellie chuckled and entered with a cup in hand. “Coffee?” she offered, joining me.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling then sucked down the coffee.
“You’re welcome. Are you nervous?” she asked conversationally, but I could tell she’s nervous for some reason.
I nodded. “No, not at all.”
Really, already?
Yeah. Really.
Ellie laughed. “You girls will be fine. Just remember to think before you act and before you beat anyone’s ass.”
My face dropped and I nodded.
She looked around, as if we weren’t alone. “If you have to kick someone’s ass, make sure you do it real good so the detention is worth it,” she whispered before winking.
“Hell yeah!”
“You’ll be fine,” Ellie assured me, heading to the door. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are. Put some clothes on and just remember to have fun.” She closed the door behind her.
“Just have fun? It sounds so much easier said than done,” I mumbled.
Remember, you willingly signed us up for this.
“True, but it’s a first and something we were curious about. You can’t tell me that when we toured the Academy with De’Von you weren’t curious and envious that we hadn’t gotten to do anything like that before.”
Was not… Fine, I was curious and you have to admit the science labs were amazing. No wonder the little shit practically begged to be in the summer science program.
“He earned three credits and all A’s,” I said, heading to the closet.
That’s our boy!
“Now it’s our turn. This is major.”
There will be blood. That I can promise you.
“Most likely. Hopefully not ours though. Think of it this way,” I offered, flipping through the racks and racks of clothing Kieran had gotten me, “we get to see if all of those ridiculous shows on the television and stereotypes in movies are real. Do girls really pull hair and dress like sluts in order to hook up with football players? Are there cliques that we should watch out for? Are there professional bitches that every guy wants to throw it in? Do vampires hangout in cafeterias, and amazingly, no one notices that they never eat? Does Montana have groups of depressed wannabe Goths moping around in their little groups or those douches that you see online screaming I will cut myself if you don’t love me! Do nerds really get wedgies-”
If someone tries to give us a wedgie there will be a mass shooting of the Philly variety at Anaconda High.
“Warning acknowledged,” I said. “I should bring my camera to document the exciting wilderness known as high school!”
Our cellphone has a camera… You are not nearly as funny as you think you are.
“I beg to differ,” I argued, stepping into a pair of skinny, distressed Levi’s. “Think of this as a social experiment.”
Sociology does nothing for me. Biology, yes. Sociology and psychology, no.
“You are a real bitter bitch this morning,” I complained, pulling a charcoal tank top over my head. “What’s the worst that can happen? We have fun? We get in a fight and sent home? I know you’re thinking someone will roll up shooting or we’ll get jumped in the locker room, in the hall, in class, in the parking lot… I get it. The past is hard to forget and get over.”
After slipping into a pair of black Nike Cortez I grabbed the plain, red, hoodie from the pile of hoodies then pulled it on and zipped it up.
Purple and red don’t go together… That shade of purple doesn’t, at least.
“Shut up. I’m going to wear all the colors we couldn’t back home. Today is red, tomorrow black, Wednesday blue, Thursday white, and Friday yellow if I feel like it.”
You have so many issues.
“Yes, we do,” I agreed.
When I stepped back and looked myself over in the mirror, I made a face.
I don’t like it.
“Me neither. It looks like something, minus the ungodly price tag associated with the items, we’d get from a halfway house. Ugh! I need a second opinion.”
I sulked from the room and down the hall.
“Misha, I need your opinion,” I said, knocking on the door.
Shep opened the door and shook his head when I held my arms out. “I’m not the one to ask about clothing, Mikey,” he pointed out, motioning towards his faded Levi’s and vintage Ramones shirt he was wearing with a pair of Dr. Martens.
> I groaned. “Tell me what to wear, please. I’ve never done this before and all I have as reference material is what I’ve seen on television and in movies,” I whined.
Shep chuckled. “Dress comfortable. It’s supposed to be nearly eighty-degrees today so I wouldn’t suggest the hoodie or long sleeves. I was debating changing into a pair of shorts myself.”
My face dropped; that wasn’t helpful in the least.
No shit.
“Maybe Dilly will be able to help,” he offered with a shrug.
“Thanks,” I grumbled under my breath and sulked back down the hall to my room and closed the door behind me.
Maybe he isn’t gay because he has no sense of fashion… Why is Chris Isaak playing? Did you forget to turn off the radio?
“I told you Misha wasn’t gay,” I complained. “And I don’t know why music is playing. Perhaps Cujo wanted a soundtrack for this morning’s events. Wicked Games is one of my favorites of his though,” I admitted.
True. The bitch has taste.
“Did you do this?” I asked, heading towards the bed where an outfit was laid out for me.
Uh no. I was with you.
“Uh huh.”
Laying on the bed was a pair of white Bermuda shorts that were cuffed, lilac lace Victoria’s Secret razorback bralette with matching panties, ash gray cotton wide neck shirt that’d hang off one shoulder, gray knit slouch beanie, and gray lace Toms.
“Huh, I don’t remember seeing this stuff in the closet,” I said, picking up the black folded cardstock that was sitting on top of the outfit.
Remember to breathe –D
“Great words of wisdom for today,” I said. “Where did the clothes come from?”
You have twelve boxes waiting to be unpacked still. Perhaps you just overlooked them as you do everything else when out of it.
“True.”
Once I undressed and redressed, I looked myself over in the mirror and smiled.
“Perfect.”
What’s in the box?
“What box?” I asked.
The one on the dresser that wasn’t there earlier, that I noticed.
“Huh?” I huffed and grabbed the small white velvet box and opened it.
Shut up!
Instantly I started tearing up.
I’m sure they were just cheap fake diamonds in silver, but the earrings were beautiful, vintage, and exactly what I didn’t know I ever needed.
“Price spoils us way too much,” I said, carefully pushing the back through the nearly closed hole in my left ear, hissing when it popped.
Yes, and I think we’re worth it.
“You would, you annoying bitch,” I said with a chuckle.
Once both earrings were in, I teared up again.
The larger, round colorless glass stone in the middle had a pavé-set glass stone surround. They sparkled and caused small rainbows to paint my ears when the light hit them just right.
“No more hoops for us, ever,” I said, admiring the not-ghetto-fabulous jewelry.
I second that.
“No more hoodrat starter kits.”
Never again.
“No black trash bags,” I said.
Never, ever, again.
“We’re moving on up!” I sang before chuckling.
From the collection of glasses Kieran ordered, a means to hide behind something I deduced, I selected a pair of nerdy black plastic glasses to finish the outfit.
“If the hoodrats could see us now,” I mused.
They wouldn’t recognize us.
“Is that a bad thing? You’re the one that said to do purple tips,” I reminded her.
Dillon helped me with my hair the other day. We tipped the ends in the front in purple. Around the back, because of how short my hair is, she brushed purple throughout so it fades around the sides and back. I wasn’t sure about it at first, but once she added the Demented Eggplant purple nail polish to match, I was sold. It was funky, different, and it helped to make my haircut look as if it was done on purpose and not out of necessity at a halfway house because of a lice outbreak.
It looks awesome. I told you so.
I remember back in elementary school, the first day of school everyone always had their hair done and their best or favorite outfit on. I didn’t, but everyone else did. Their backpacks were filled with new school supplies that they couldn’t wait to tear the packaging off. It was as if it was a rite of passage to sit there in the middle of class comparing one’s sixty-four pack of crayons to the kid next to them with the twenty-four pack. Automatically you were better because you had sixty-four colors to choose from whereas the kid next to you only had twenty-four.
I was always the kid that had no bag, no supplies, no new school clothes, and most of the time, no socks and either too small or too big, mismatching shoes.
Not this time.
This time I have the million-color pack of crayons to choose from!
I’m not even going to comment on that one.
Bleu ordered me more electronics than I knew what to do with. The first iPod he got, Kieran filled with music from their collection, which I thought was sweet. When I mentioned I have an iTunes account, he tried loading the songs to the iPod and discovered it wasn’t large enough to hold the catalogue of music I’ve acquired over the years in Philly. The second iPod was a 7th generation hundred-sixty gig version that still wasn’t big enough, but it fit enough that I was content. The eReader was filled with hundreds of books: classics, modern works, and college research books on psychology, science, math, language arts, and human physiology. The desktop computer looked more like a thirty-inch television and I’ve only used it to email a few people to let them know I was alive and safe. The Surface Tablet I wasn’t sure what to do with since he had gotten me a laptop and computer as well. Shep told me it was for school and I’d see what its purpose was when school started.
When I opened the laptop box, I cried.
Yes, I cried, like tears streaming down my cheeks, bottom lip quivering, snotting up like some kind of emotional bitch, cried. Bleu designed me a custom laptop with his brother’s help. The top has a one of a kind graffiti art montage etched into the purple heat-treated metal case of Philly, the keyboard is black and glows purple, and my name is engraved on the inside.
It was perfect.
Kieran ordered me more clothes than I knew what to do with and that’s when I discovered something about him. He’s gay or bi. I don’t think anyone knows, maybe Bleu does, but that’s it. I’m cool with it. He’s a sweet kid, and I like him and his brother, and feel safe with them.
When I freaked out over all the clothes, Price assured me that we’d donate what I didn’t want, leaving the tags on the clothing so the recipient knew it wasn’t secondhand, to Foster kids and those in the system that didn’t have anything. Cinder Dick and Price even went so far as to purchase a bunch of backpacks and overnight bags to take to the child services office for them to use for Foster kids and those being put in protective custody so no kid would have to be handed a black plastic bag like I was.
Again, I teared up like a bitch and cried over it.
Cinder Dick’s oldest daughter, Anna Lou, offered me a reassuring hug, which I gave without question.
She’s a sweet kid that’s nearly as damaged as I am.
There was a knock at the door before Dillon waltzed in. “Well, how do I look?” she asked, striking a pose.
“Like a naughty librarian,” I said.
Only Dillon could get away with wearing a black, high waist pencil skirt that showed her curvy figure, back seam pantyhose, white blouse that made her boobs look even bigger, hair pulled back, and eyeliner and lip-gloss that made her look slightly older, but more pinup girl and less teacher.
“Don’t forget your riding crop,” I teased.
“Detention,” she barked out before laughing. “This is going to be so much fun!”
For her maybe. That puppy has yet to stop bitching about it.
Shep
isn’t looking forward to having his ex-stripper sister as his English Lit teacher.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her face dropping.
“Is this okay? I changed twice already,” I said, motioning towards my outfit. “I asked for Shep’s help but he only confirmed he isn’t flaming.”
Dillon chuckled. “You look fine. I still can’t believe you want to do this. But to each their own,” she said. “Usually the girls dress to impress: skirts, dresses, or shorts so short that you can tell if they shave or not.”
I shivered.
“But you aren’t like them, Mikey,” she said. “Besides, being part of the family means you have to attempt to keep a low profile. It kind of goes with the territory,” she informed me.
I nodded, even though I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.
This coming from the ex-stripper turned teacher that looks like Bettie Page’s double? Nice.
After that running from the hospital incident and our weird father-daughter talk, neither Price nor I have mentioned anything of our weird family.
Have you?
Nope. I’m trying not to rock the boat you’re trying to reenact Titanic with.
Whatever.
I’ve been content with having a family and being in a safe environment, so I’ve been steering clear of anything that would rock the boat that Justice has turned into a damn luxury liner in our head. Funny thing is, Price was trying to figure out a way to explain it that would make sense without scaring us off. However, when you have a genius level intelligence quotient, and are extremely introverted, and the one you’re trying to keep from scaring off is certifiably crazy, that’s so much easier said than done.
“Are you comfortable in that?” Dillon asked, stealing my attention. She tugged and pulled on my gray shirt until it hung the way it was supposed to.
Finally. I was worried you’d have to ask the puppy for help with how to wear a shirt.
Shut up.
I nodded.
“That’s all that matters,” Dillon said with a smile. “Besides, I’m sure your father will be happy to know you aren’t wearing cootie cutters or peddling flesh some of those cutoff jeans Kieran ordered you are made to do. Seriously, if you weren’t a size zero, I would have borrowed them if teaching doesn’t work out and I need to make some cash on the pole,” she teased.