Reading Tara
A Growing Up Ashton Novel
Kathryn Hewitt
Copyright © 2020 Kathryn Hewitt
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Zendesign
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
꧁1꧂
It should be against the law for the sun to be this bright, this early in the morning. I forced one eye open, and then the other. The bright sun streaming through my practically transparent wispy white curtains was blinding. You really shouldn’t let a 13 year old pick out curtains…seeing as the point was to shade the sun. Then I realized what day it was. It was Monday, my Favorite day of the week. I could almost smell my coffee, my own secret stash of Guatemalan beans that I would grind in small amounts and hide from my ungrateful (and oblivious) family. Just the idea of the weekend having come to an end thrilled me just a bit, so I climbed out of bed and dashed to the shower.
I wasn’t concerned about not having any hot water; I was confident that I was the first awake…by a long shot. Yes, my brother Will had to go to school today too, but he had perfected the art of rolling from his bed to the car, 5 minutes before it was time to leave the house. Despite being a year older than me, he was about 3 years younger in maturity, and at least 5 years younger in personal hygiene. Technically though, he wasn’t quite a year older than me. I guess that some would say that we were Irish twins.
Hopping out of the shower and enveloping myself in my robe, practically smelling the coffee as I headed to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Pushing open the kitchen door, I almost ran right into my “brother-in-law” Richard. Why was he awake? And why in the Eff was he drinking a cup of coffee? My Coffee?!
“Oh, hey Tara!” He grinned at me over his steaming cup. Considering my feelings towards him, he is surprisingly oblivious.
“Why are you awake so early?” I asked, still focused on my cup of coffee. Who would have thought he even knew how to work a coffee machine?
He looked at me like I was speaking a different language and then busted up laughing. “Early? More like Late.” He followed that with his obnoxious laugh that grated on my every nerve. “Beth and I are just getting in from this chill house party we went to. I was hungry and went looking for something but decided to have some coffee when I found it.”
They were just getting in? AND drinking my coffee? I then realized my sister was sitting at the table, her head resting against her hand, snoring. I guess I’d been so shocked by Richard in all of his Burger King glory, I hadn’t even noticed her. She also had a mug in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Where’s the pot? I would love a cup myself.” Laughing again, Richard informed me that they’d only made half a pot and it was gone.
Mother Lover.
Ok, I needed to stop obsessing over the coffee and wonder how two people (I am hesitant to say adults since they were only 20), could go to an all night ‘house party’ on a Sunday night when their baby was left at home. For once, I was glad my mom’s entire world revolved around The Baby. She may not remember I existed anymore, but she is there for that baby.
After brewing my own half pot, I finished getting ready and thundered my fist against Will’s door. I heard a groan and a bang, then after a minute or so he came hobbling out, rubbing his shin and looking like death called and wanted their look back.
“Let’s go. We’re going to be late.” Again.
He snorted but followed me out. He’s just damn lucky that I drove him to school and that I treated my wheels with respect. It’s a 7 year old Honda Civic; not the newest or hippest, but my pride and joy, especially since my brother totaled his Jeep 6 months ago. I think he will smother me in my sleep if I say, “Respect the Wheels” one more time. Whatever. Since he’s a senior, he has no 6th period, but he’s also at my mercy so he has to hang around until I’m out of class. Granted, he almost never does…he either has basketball practice after school, or he and his ‘crew’ (his words, not mine), take off and do god knows what. Either way, the less I see of him, the happier I am. Brothers…gotta love them. Literally.
My parents were sort of hippies when we were little, so they kept us out of school an extra year. I’m not sure how it affected me, but it was a blessing when it came to Will. He needed the extra maturity. I sighed as we reached school, slipping into a spot that wasn’t too far, but not right up front. Sadly, my sigh wasn’t out of exasperation. It was actual relief to be out of the house and have a whole week ahead of me that I could throw myself into.
꧁2꧂
It never used to be like this. I never used to be like this. I was your average teenager, studying when necessary and partying when...well, not necessary, but it felt that way. Then it was like I woke up one day and my world had been turned on its head. I wanted to throw my phone against the wall. Luckily I held onto a modicum of self-restraint. My cell phone felt like the last semblance of my old life, and there was no way that I'd be able to get my mom to focus (or care) long enough to get a new one.
I hated feeling like I was held hostage in my room. I lived here too. But then again, it was a self-imposed exile. No one cared if I came or went, or if I hung around the house. But that was kind of the problem. No one cared. Not my sister and Dick, as everyday they worked on how to better adhere themselves to the couch. Certainly not my brother, whose lack of caring was really not personal since he was a 17 year old dude who only cared about basketball, girls, and his friends. Truthfully, I feared him turning 18 next month. There would really be nothing holding him back from whatever trouble he felt like getting into. And my mom, well. She was my mom. Except not. Not anymore.
After perusing the web, checking my social media pages, reading up on my favorite tumblrs and blogs, I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I exhaled and put my head down on my keyboard. I wanted to get out. I needed to. I heard thundering footsteps on the stairs and rolled my eyes. Sounded like the whole basketball team, but I knew better. Probably just my bro and one or two friends. Getting out of the house was now imperative.
Aside from perfecting my impersonation of an ostrich, running was the only other passion in my life. I run track. Well, I guess I used to. I quit the team this summer, much to the dismay of my coach. I wasn't exactly our school's star, but I held my own. I just couldn’t invest the time required to be on the team. It sort of broke my heart, but these days, I couldn’t really place too much importance on stuff like that.
Running always gave me peace, allowed me to feel free and let my mind relax. It centered me, losing myself to the wind and the freedom of feeling completely in control. If I wanted to jog, I could. If I wanted to stop and admire the trees, or just stare up at the sky, I could. If I wanted to push myself, to the point where I was slick with sweat and wondering if your heart really can explode, I could. Usually, that’s what I did.
I pulled on some leggings and an old tee that read, ‘I fall Up stairs.’ I had realized long ago that despite the cold temperature outside, wearing a sweatshirt was pointless because I would rip it off almost immediately and then it just became an encumbrance. I slipped my phone into the strategic zipper poc
ket in my pants and laced up my trainers. I could already feel my pulse quickening at the thought of freedom. Hoping to avoid everyone, I dashed downstairs and outside. Since it was only the beginning of Fall, the weather was barely starting to change, but the freshness of the air was not lost on me. Stretching quickly, I took off. I was trained enough to know to start off easy, but I soon increased my speed. My ponytail whipped behind me as my feet pounded the compacted dirt that ran along the main, yet usually deserted, highway that cut through town.
We lived in northern California, just outside a seaside resort town, but nestled in the redwoods. It was beautiful, and I was eternally thankful to have grown up here. Wedged between the ocean and the mountains, it seemed like a mystical and blessed area of the world. Then again, I’d lived nowhere else. Maybe I was naïve and thought that where I’d grown up was special, when in fact everywhere was just like this or better. I doubted it. To be able to live by the sea, yet in the glory of the forest, it seemed more than one could ask for.
As dusk approached, I began to retrace my steps, knowing that dinner didn’t make itself. Or at least my dinner since I usually ate alone. Granted, every morning when I got up, the rest of the leftovers had been eaten at some point or another. My brother liked to go for pizza or else eat in his room. My sister and Dick The Idiot ate in the living room when they could get themselves to ooze off of the couch, and my mother…well, who knows when she ate? She must, because she was still here. The only one who ate with regularity and a semblance of a schedule aside from me, was the baby. Thankfully my family hadn’t completely lost all sense of responsibility. But that was kind of my mom’s job. The one thing she held onto, and I couldn’t fault her for it. Otherwise, my year old nephew would probably have been eating pizza smoothies.
My chest heaving, my bangs plastered to my forehead, I walked the last little bit back home to cool down. I already felt my throat closing as I neared the house. It is a terrible thing to dread coming home. I know I could be way worse off; no one was going to hit me and I didn’t starve, not literally anyway, but I still had times where I allowed myself a little self pity. These were rare moments, when I could just think of myself.
I pushed open the back door. I had to pass through the kitchen and then the living room to reach the stairs, so I assumed I’d encounter the usual suspects sprawled out on the couch. My mom liked to just sit on the floor on a quilt with the baby, when they weren’t sequestered in her room upstairs. Thankfully, my sister Beth and The Idiot shared the one room downstairs. I don’t think I could take it if I had to share a wall with them…sharing one with my brother was bad enough. Luckily from him, I only had to deal with loud horseplay and his friends’ constant back and forth during their video game marathons. I used to wonder why they were always here, but then I realized that our house had become the house where there was no adult supervision. I sighed. I guess our house was a glorified boarding house.
Popping out my earbuds and putting them back into their charging case as I walked through the swinging door into the living room, I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I already knew who’d be where. I sauntered in front of the TV and Will yelled, “Dammit Tara! You just walked right in front when they were going for a 3!”
Smirking, I said, “Yeah, like you cant just look at the score to see if they made the shot.”
He snorted. I think it is his favorite way of expressing his feelings. “You make a better door than window, you know.” I rolled my eyes. Only then did I realize that I really had stopped center stage in front of the TV. I finally looked up and glanced in the general direction that my brother’s voice had come from…right into a pair of unfamiliar eyes.
So startled, I hurled myself in the direction of the stairs and quickly scaled them. My brother’s voice chased me up.
“Freak.”
I pushed my way into my room. As I kicked off my shoes and ripped off my shirt and leggings, I couldn’t seem to get my thoughts to focus. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. Excess adrenaline from the run? I thought I’d cooled down for long enough, but you never know. Or maybe it was the pace at which I’d hightailed it up the stairs? None of these reasons seemed right.
It could be the fact that when I turned around from the TV, I was not expecting 4 of my brother’s friends sitting there staring at me. Where were Beth and Richard? Mom was probably with Baby Blake in her room. But still, despite the fact that just thinking about a portion of the basketball team seeing me flushed and looking like a drowned rat slightly embarrassed me, I still knew it wasn’t that.
Clenching my teeth, I hopped into the shower and hoped that the hot water and steam would ease my muscles and relax my mind. Standing under the water, my mind wouldn’t stop working. I should have lit a candle. What was going on with me?
I was nothing if not rational and methodical, definitely not the type who easily fell prey to fanciful thoughts. Yet each time I closed my eyes, all I saw were those eyes. The ones I had inadvertently locked with. Unfamiliar, yet I kept going back to them. The color of Spring green. I immediately groaned. I couldn’t believe I’d just thought that. Did I drink the Kool-Aid and not know it? When it became apparent that my shower had had the opposite effect from which I had hoped, aside from removing the bucket of sweat that had layered my skin after my run, I sighed and turned off the water. Was it too much to ask, to have some brain downtime? I guess I had used up my allotment on the run.
Wrapping my hair in a towel, I pulled on my fluffy robe. There were some benefits to being the only one who did laundry around here…my stuff took precedence. I lay back on my bed, the muffled sounds from downstairs drifting up. Trying to block it out, I got up and put on some music, settling on The Smiths since it matched my mood perfectly. Finally, I picked up my phone and dialed my best friend.
“Shmello?” Sarah’s cheerful voice answered.
“Hey.” Mine? Not so cheerful. I guess that’s why we got along so well. Yin and Yang and all that good stuff. We’d grown up together and had thought we were so cool because our names rhymed. We’d been silly little girls, but I loved her. We proceeded to jabber away. Well, Sarah mostly jabbered and I listened, but by the end I was giggling along with her as she recounted a story from Bio about how she was SURE that Jake had meant to pass the note to her instead of the cheerleader next to her. Then she got around to the real juice. Had I seen the New Guy? According to Sarah, he was a fine piece of man meat. This statement only succeeded in making me throw up a little in my mouth. I told her I had not seen him, but played the part of intrigued high school girl. Well, I actually was intrigued. I like man meat as much as the next girl. I couldn’t believe I just thought the phrase ‘man meat’. Bleah.
Finally, my mood restored, we hung up and I did the little homework I had left. Retreating to bed, I fell asleep to the soundtrack of the first person shooter game that was seeping though the wall. Boys. Even half asleep, I rolled my eyes.
꧁3꧂
Repeat performances of getting my brother out of the house occurred every day that week, thankfully with no more incidences of coffee theft. I mean, I love my family (usually), but I love my brew more. Sarah never drank coffee, thankfully, because I think the world might explode if she had an energy boost.
By Thursday, I could feel my brother’s pent up energy starting to rear its ugly head. He always got like this as the weekend was approaching. It was funny how different we were. His inner monkey was rattling the cage by the time we got home in the afternoon. He’d surprised me by sticking around at school until I’d gotten out.
“So, how come you were being so weird when you came home from your run on Monday?” he asked.
This was enough to make me do a double take in order to make sure that I had picked up the right brother and not some alien imposter. Don’t get me wrong, my brother and I have a more or less normal sibling relationship, but that’s usually because he has the depth of a wading pool. He isn’t what you would call perceptive. I had always assumed t
hat if he did pick up on any kind of emotional blip, he was too disinterested to investigate it.
“How was I being weird? It was the first day of school and I guess I was still wound up. I just thought it was Beth and Dicko in their usual spots. I didn’t mean to block the TV. Jeez, is this like a federal case?” Was I rambling?
Now he looked at me like I was the alien. Why did that make me feel self-conscious? I focused on driving.
“Do you want me to drop you anywhere?” I asked, hoping to divert the attention from me.
“Nah, just home. I think the guys are gonna drop by and we’ll order a pizza.” Is it possible to die from malnutrition if you only eat pizza? “But seriously, you like froze and blocked the TV for a while.” He was not letting this go.
It was Not ‘a while’. No way. Was it? I felt blood rushing to my cheeks. I may not care much for my brother’s friends, but I was still a teenage girl and attended the same school as them. And they were the Basketball Team. Swoonworthy in theory- if you didn’t have to smell them all the time.
“Whatever. Like I said, I was just surprised it was you guys. You usually hang out in your room. I was probably suffering from low blood sugar or something.”
Yeah. Right.
He grunted and then seemed to forget the whole thing.
Dropping my brother off at home, I hit the grocery store to pick up the essentials. Otherwise, we’d be eating spaghetti-o’s for the next week. Good thing Dad had gotten me a debit card linked to his account. We’d be lost without it. I doubted my mom even knew where her wallet was.
Bringing home the groceries should make a person feel proud, like they have done something valuable, contributing to the well being of their family. Instead, it felt like I was dragging bricks behind me. Each time, I wondered if I should just give up like the rest of them. Should I? No one else seemed to care. Why did I? Dad used to care. I couldn’t allow myself to remember those times….Mom had cared, people helped, Mom was a mom. Now she had been re-hired as a glorified babysitter. The only solace I took from that was that I knew I would break if I also had to care for Blake. That would probably have been the proverbial straw.
Reading Tara (Growing Up Ashton Book 1) Page 1