She never even thanked me for taking care of her drunk ass that night, I think bitterly. She passed out on me after demanding I stay, and I never had the gumption to get up and leave. I must have sat on the basement floor for hours, fading in and out of consciousness, listening to her breathe, my arm stretched out so that she could hold my one finger inside of her fist. I’m a sucker and an idiot. I was hoping I’d earn myself a one-way ticket back into her good graces that night, but no such luck. I went upstairs before she even woke up, and then somehow she was ushered out and onto a plane before I could see her. I don’t even know if she is aware that I helped her. If she is, she still hates me enough that nothing I did for her even mattered.
Cherie will hold my words against me forever, and now this casita business has really cemented her distaste for me. Cherie hates me so much that I don’t think there is any way we can get back to being friends again.
Shaking my head, I continue down the hallway to the elaborate staircase. I make my way up to the second floor, which is huge. The rooms are all pretty far apart from each other, and now I have no idea what Cherie is complaining about. This is more than twice the size of our home back in New York.
She has no idea what it means to not have privacy! I think bitterly.
I walk through each room, marveling at the size of each one and how every bedroom gets its own bathroom. One room is hunter green and full of Brenton’s toys. The bed is well-made, complete with a brand new comforter dotted with rockets and moons. A poster of the planets hangs just above his bed, and a giant telescope faces a broad window.
“Looks like we all got an upgrade,” I murmur, examining the telescope closely. It’s hefty and expensive, and perfect for nerdy Brenton. I’ll bet he could rattle off the model number and everything. I lean down and peer into the eyepiece. I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but I know it’s something in space. I wonder if it’s only a matter of time before Brenton starts using this to spy on girls in neighboring houses.
Brenton must have gone nuts when he saw this gift. I step back and shake my head, realizing we may have all received bribe gifts that would take the sting away from being uprooted.
Next to Brenton’s room is a pink, frilly room designed with Britney in mind, I’m sure. I’m positive when I see the ridiculously big dollhouse in the corner. It looks custom made to match this house, as if Cherie passed down her own dollhouse to my sister.
That’s all I need, I think bitterly. A mini-Cherie.
My old Care Bear is sitting merrily atop the watermelon colored bed and snuggled against more pillows than any one child should need. On her white dresser is something that looks like a walkie talkie. I can only conclude that this baby monitor contraption must be Jim and Mom’s big plan to keep Britney trapped in her pink prison.
“Good luck with that,” I scoff, turning the monitor over in my hand.
Much further down the hall are two rooms, side by side, covered in clothes and half-hung posters and smelling familiar of sugary perfumes and flowery body lotions. I shudder and keep moving, not even curious enough to look inside of the twins’ rooms to see what lavish presents Jim and Mom gave to them. Much to my delight, I find Jim and Mom are taking up residence in the bedroom across the hall from the twins. Jim must be prepared to keep a close eye on his menacing daughters. I can’t help but laugh.
There is one set of double doors at the end of this hallway, and they are closed. I’m intrigued. I try the left knob and find it unlocked. Quietly, I push the door open and peer inside.
The room is immense, with plush carpeting the color of sand and a huge fireplace surrounded by big, beige armchairs. It smells of wealth; a heavy cologne of potpourri and leather hangs in the air and envelopes me. There are large vases of silk flowers that look real, not like the cheap stuff my mom used to decorate our old house in. The bed is gigantic, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, with an intricately carved wooden headboard. The comforter looks like it’s made of gold silk. I turn to check out the bathroom, but quickly stop in my tracks.
A large, framed wedding portrait of Mark and Camille punches me in the ribs and quickly turns this room of opulence into a ghastly mausoleum.
Staring at their smiling, loving faces as they get lost in each other’s eyes, I retreat backward and into the hallway. I close the door quickly behind me with a click that resounds through the empty, expansive house.
I turn on my heel to head back toward the stairs and lock in place, my bones nearly jumping out of my skin. I almost cry out from the shock. Cherie has appeared soundlessly on the other end of the hallway, posed in a no-nonsense stance with her hands balled into fists at her sides.
There she is, standing in the doorway of the farthest room, staring at me. No, glaring at me. It’s like coming face to face with a ghost that’s always been haunting you but you never saw before. And now it wants to kill you.
“H-Hi,” I stammer, trying to calm my nerves. She doesn’t reply, her big eyes boring into mine, looking through me, hating me. I try to pretend I wasn’t just snooping around her dead parents’ bedroom. I want to tell her I got lost, that I would never have gone in that room if I have in there if I had known, but all that comes out is, “Is, uh, is anyone else home?”
She shakes her head ever so slightly.
I step forward. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Get out,” she growls.
I feel my eyes widen. I’ll never be as obedient in my life as I am in this moment. I lower my head like a scolded child and hurry down the steps and out of the house, back to the safety of my casita.
CHAPTER 19
When I open my eyes the next day, the first thing I can think is, What hit me?
There’s a gentle knock at my door. I look up and find the alarm clock. It’s nearly noon. My body is achy and hot and my eyelids will barely lift. I’m hung over without the awesome drunken memories of a wild party to go with it. Maybe it’s from helping Jim unpack all those suitcases the other day.
Or maybe Cherie poisoned the dinner plate my mom left in the fridge for me last night. After how Cherie looked at me yesterday, I wouldn’t put anything past her. I had been so nervous about running into her again that I didn’t even go inside when Mom called me in for dinner. Instead, I snuck in once everyone was asleep to eat out of the fridge like a scavenger.
I crawl out of bed to the sing-song sound of my mother’s voice.
“Jack? Jack, honey, are you up yet?” I stumble to the door and pull it open. The bright sunlight makes me squeeze my eyes shut. Heat from outside hits me like a warm blanket, washing over my limbs and suffocating me. Now I feel worse.
Yep, definitely poisoned. Cherie’s trying to kill me.
“What?” I say when I’m finally able to peer out at her from behind my scrunched lids.
She looks harried but forces a smile for me. “Oh, good, you’re up! I have to go inside and make lunch. Please come outside and watch Britney and Brenton in the pool?”
I look over her shoulder and spy two very capable teenage twins already frolicking with Brenton in the pool. Princess Cherie is sunbathing just feet from Britney.
“Seriously?” I’m about to slam the door closed on her. She holds her hand against it and turns her imploring Mom-gaze at me. For once, I’m too beat up to care. If she had a way to extract the jackhammer that’s chipping away inside of my head, maybe I’d be willing to help.
“You know the girls aren’t going to pay attention, Jack,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“They’re in the pool, Mom,” I reply.
“Please, Jack, you have your CPR certification and, Britney, well, you know…” Her voice trails off and leaves me defenseless. Mom’s biggest fear about moving here has been the easily accessible in-ground pool. To her, that’s just a living nightmare, especially after Britney’s near drowning episode last summer at a birthday party for Brenton. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn’t been there. Britney easily flies under the radar
around the girls, and they wouldn’t notice if she decided to join their game.
“Gimme a minute,” I mutter. I retreat into my room to brush my teeth and tame my hair. I grab my sunglasses and meet my mom at the door of the casita.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she coos, and she disappears into the house through the sliding doors.
I scan the property briefly. I feel dizzy and weak and want to lie down, but not near Cherie, who is smack in the middle of the small collection of cushioned pool chairs. There’s a patch of grass near the edge of the pool, and I drag myself toward it.
Brenton calls me to come into the water. “Maybe later,” I reply half-heartedly. He squeals with delight as Claudia lifts him and throws him into the deep end.
I drop onto my stomach in the grass and prop my chin onto my arms. The sun feels extra hot on my skin. Maybe California’s sunlight is stronger than New York’s. My neck and shoulders still ache, and my eyelids are just so heavy. I watch the twins and Brenton playing and splashing in the shallow end. Across from me, on the other side, Cherie looks asleep in her chair, a pair of shades covering her eyes and her head tilted back toward the sky. She is wearing what is possibly the slightest pink bikini that a girl could wear. I force myself to look away.
Britney is quietly playing in her sandbox to my right. Chloe and Claudia have their backs to her as they toss Brenton around in the water. I know it’s not a good idea, but I close my eyes. It’s just for a moment, I tell myself as I slip somewhere between awake and asleep, a dreamlike state that erases all of my aching.
In my dream, I am drifting on a cloud, gazing down at a vast ocean below. Water swishes gently in the ocean. The sun is soft and soothing, and somewhere distant I hear the light laughter of children playing. I float along without a care.
A dull weight bears down on my back, pushing my cloud down closer to the water. I look back, but there’s only a shadow, nothing else. The weight grows heavier and heavier, spreading down the length of my torso to my legs and up along the tops of my shoulders. It’s pushing me down, down, down. The water is close now, and I can almost touch it. I can’t move, or even breathe. I’m trapped beneath the weight of this shadow. I can’t even see the sun anymore. The water begins to lap gently at my legs, and it is frigid. I shift but still can’t really move.
“Jack,” I hear a voice whisper into my ear. I’m panicking now, and my body is on fire with adrenaline. My heart beat quickens. I can’t feel my hands or my arms, only the terrible weight and the water on my legs. It feels like icy fingernails scraping against my skin. It’s driving me insane.
“Wake up, Jack!”
My eyes snap open. It takes me a second, but I quickly realize I am engaged in a full-on assault. Cherie is straddling my back and leans over, meeting my eye. The girls are back there, too, on top of my legs, soaking wet and giggling maniacally. Brenton stares at me from the pool, half-horrified and half-humored.
“He’s awake!” Cherie announces.
“Hold on!” Claudia shouts.
“Get off,” I insist, trying to unseat them. I push my upper body up, and I’m sure I can throw them off if I can just get partially up. I overestimate myself, and Cherie promptly digs her nails under my armpits, causing me to jerk my arms back and fall down. There is a chorus of laughter and shrieks. Individually, they are waifish little girls. Combined, they exact over three hundred pounds of body weight on top of me. I don’t know what they mean to do, but dread creeps into my chest.
“Get off,” I grumble at them.
Cherie’s lips are beside my ear. “Now’s your chance, Jack.”
“Get off of me – I mean it,” I growl. I’m hoping my voice sounds as threatening as I need it to be.
“I’ll let you go, if you cooperate.”
I’m fuming. I wriggle beneath them but can’t get free. I refuse to wave a white flag, and I won’t call my mom for help, either. I won’t give them the satisfaction.
“I’m not giving up the room, so forget it,” I bravely say.
“Oh, really?” she taunts.
A buzzing sound circles my head. I try to turn to see what she’s doing. The buzzing comes closer, sounding vaguely familiar. “What is that?”
“I know how much you love your hair,” Cherie teases. “I’ll let you keep it if you move out of the casita.”
My stomach squeezes. “Cherie, cut it out; this isn’t funny!” I reply through clenched teeth. I’m sweating now, both from panic and from the stress of trying to pull out of their hold. I reach back and swipe at the empty air over my head.
“Careful,” Chloe warns. “One wrong move, and you could lose a finger.”
“C’mon, Jack,” Cherie whispers. The shaver comes close to my ear, and I can almost feel it vibrating against my flesh. My skin crawls. “It’s just a room. Is it really worth going bald right before school starts?”
“Don’t do it, Cherie,” I warn. Anxiety builds when she doesn’t answer, and I squirm beneath them wildly.
She suddenly runs the shaver along the back of my neck. I freeze, grinding my teeth and scrunching my eyes, locked in fear, and she relishes every second of it.
“Stop!”
Her voice is menacing. “Give up yet?”
“No!” I insist, though I am frantic to say yes and give in. The twins are enthused by my outburst, and they squeeze their legs around mine even tighter.
I can’t let them do this to me. If I have to risk getting cut by that shaver, I will. In a move of desperation, I drag myself forward with all of my strength and twist beneath the twins. They scream and try to hold on to my legs. I squirm away and turn around, unseating Cherie, who rolls off of me and onto the grass.
She curses and scrambles to escape. I grab her by the ankle before she can get far. She kicks back, but it doesn’t faze me; she must have forgotten that I have grown up with a little brother and a little sister. I pounce, sweeping her underneath my body and deftly gathering her skinny wrists together into one my hands.
The twins know better than to stick around, and they run into the house in a fit of screams and laughter. Cherie is trapped and must fend for herself against me.
“Get off of me!” she spits. The shaver buzzes noisily just a few feet away, and I pick it up to turn it off. Her eyes grow wide and wildly dart between my face and my hand. “Don’t you dare!”
Her terror incites me to draw the moment out a little more. I wave the shaver closer.
“So, what was that you were saying about going bald?” I taunt. She strains and writhes against my grip. I lean forward and press her wrists down to the ground above her head.
My face is now almost inches from hers, and I pause, forgetting what I was doing because her mouth is so close to mine. Cherie stops moving and stares defiantly at me like she knows I’ve gone stupid again just from looking at her. A deep chill passes through me. Her eyes darken and her lips seem to almost pout, as if she’s daring me to kiss her.
She says, “What are you waiting for? Scared?”
“I’m not scared,” I murmur, entranced, all rational thought held prisoner somewhere in the back of my mind.
But my heart does stop when I hear my mother’s harsh tone coming from the kitchen. “Jonathan Hansen the Third!” I look up to find my mother’s furious eyes resting on me, and I snap out of my daze.
“Off. Right now,” she commands.
My jaw goes slack. “But Mom, she attacked me! She was trying to cut off my hair!”
“Let her go!”
I release Cherie and get to my feet. She clambers to hers and looks at her wrists as if I had sawed her hands off. “They’re red!” she cries. Her hand flies forward and slaps me hard across the face.
“You asshole!”
I step backward, stunned. My cheek is ablaze. I reach up and can almost feel the outline of her handprint on my burning skin.
“Hey!” my mom yells. “Cherie, that is not okay! Apologize right now!”
“No way! He deserves it! We were just foo
ling around with him!”
“Well, it’s not okay to hit someone like that!” Mom insists. I can’t see her face. I’m blinded by a thick red haze of hatred for Cherie. I turn and storm into the casita – MY ROOM – and slam the door shut.
In the bathroom, I look at my face. There’s a big handprint along my jawline. I can even see white lines where her fingers bend. Finally, I check the back of my neck, and I realize she had run the shaver just below my hairline. Relief is replaced with more fury. Words are forming at the back of my throat that I don’t want to unleash. My body is aching even more, and now my face hurts, too. I’m going to kill those girls. I hate them so much.
No, I hate Cherie. She is a terrible, cruel human being, and she should never have been allowed into the world. She needs to be locked up, institutionalized, and not released until her fiftieth birthday, or something really old.
I’m boiling. I need to cool down, and fast. I mop my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand and check the thermostat on the wall. It reads 64 degrees, but it feels like 80. I lower it to 60 and collapse onto my bed. I hear my mother outside arguing still with Cherie, but I can’t make out their words. I’d listen if I could stop the words that are echoing in my ears.
“What are you waiting for?”
Did she see it in my face? Could she have possibly known in that briefest moment that I couldn’t ignore my proximity to her mouth? Did she feel it, too, or was she just trying to taunt me?
I never before experienced anything more intense than that single second of my life, and now I can’t stop myself from imagining what that scenario would have been like if we hadn’t been trying to kill each other. If we had actually wanted to be physically entwined.
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