by Danae Ayusso
Shep groaned. “You’re just like your father. Sorry,” he quickly apologized, smiling, trying to distract me from his obvious slip. “Price likes to play Trivial Pursuit Genius Edition.”
I softly snorted. “Nice. And how does he fare?”
Shep looked at me and smirked. “He’s never been beat.”
“Genius Edition it is,” I exclaimed, smiling wide.
“As you wish,” he sang, stopping in front of two tall wooden doors and wrapped his hands around the handles. “Prepare to be terrified,” he said ominously and I laughed, thinking he was kidding. He pulled the doors open and an overhead light clicked on in the closet...er, room, that’s filled with floor to ceiling shelving, each overflowing with games.
“Fuck me sideways and under,” I mumbled under my breath. “That’s a lot of games,” I groaned.
Shep shrugged and ran his hand through his longer blond hair, pushing it back from his face. “Yup. I think I’ve played, or attempted to play, each of them at least once. And let me tell you, the original version of Operation we have hurts like a mother flucker.”
“I’ll have to remember that... Did you seriously just say flucker?” I snorted.
He nodded with a sheepish smile. “It’s impolite to cuss in front of a lady.”
That’s not normal for teenage boys.
“Why do... I mean, damn. That’s a lot of games,” I said, changing the subject. I’ve never seen that many games, nor did I think that there was that many even on the market, in my life.
Floor to ceiling shelving covers each wall in the eight by eight room and freestanding racks run the length of it, splitting the room in two. The favorites are marked with nametags and the children’s games are on the bottom shelves where they are easily accessible to the tiny hands that started to nod off during dinner.
“Yeah, but,” Shep started, and ran his fingers over the closest shelf of games, looking for the one I wanted, “each person in the house, when they join the family or whatever, they contribute a game. It’s a family tradition. My awesome contribution was Monopoly Seahawks Edition. It got mixed reviews during the Holmgren days. I need to update to the Carroll edition.” He stopped and looked at me. “Please tell me you aren’t an Eagles fan.”
I shook my head. “No. I haven’t sat down and watched football in a long time. I think the last time I did OJ was still considered a football legend and his ex was alive.”
“Dang, that was a long time ago… Wait, that was before you were born.”
“Exactly.”
Shep chuckled. “Okay then. Here we go,” he said, pulling the requested game out. “After you,” he said, motioning towards the family room, careful to maintain my ridiculous no-contact rule.
“You first. There’s something I need to grab for Cinder Dick.” I smirked and he laughed, stepping around me. I grabbed the other game and closed the doors behind me and joined Shep, taking a seat on the floor by the fireplace. “What kind of name is Shep?” I asked.
“It’s a nickname,” he said with a shrug. “It’s actually Misha Shepherd.”
I laughed.
“Shut up. You have a dude’s name, and I have a semi-chick’s name,” he said. “If you ask me, that’s a perfect pairing.”
Whatever. “It isn’t spelled like a dude, unless you’re in Russia,” I countered. “And even then the pronunciation is slightly different than the French way of pronouncing it… That’s the one I go by.”
He looked at me confused.
“M-I-C-H-A-E-L is the dude’s way of spelling it in the states and traditionally in France. In Russia they spell it how I do, M-I-K-H-A-I-L, but I go by the French pronunciation that is more true to Michael. It isn’t that weird, or it is, I don’t know. If you think about it, my whole damn name is ass backwards and unisex.”
“You and your...Price, share a middle name,” he informed me.
“I noticed that out front.” I rolled my eyes, and he ignored my snarky comment and started setting up the game.
Shep’s a good-looking guy, for the most part.
No, no he is not. We don’t do white guys. Ew.
Shut up.
Shep isn’t bad looking for a white guy. Blond hair that’s slightly wavy and tucked behind his ears, hanging down to the tops of his shoulders, tan skin, a soft dusting of freckles that you can barely see through his tan, a small, pale scar next to his bottom lip, wide jaw and very angular features that work on him. If I had known that Montana had such a cute selection of men, I would have moved here a long time ago…
That’s only partially a lie.
Blondes do nothing for me, but I can appreciate eye candy when it’s around.
The rest of the family joined us, everyone taking what appeared to be predetermined seats. Each was smiling, but the smiles I know all too well. Bullshit, tentative, walking on eggshells around the mentally broken girl, smiles that they were warned to have or they feel the need to have out of guilt.
Lovely. Way to make us look crazy.
We. Are. Crazy!
That’s merely one damaged woman’s opinion.
I hate you.
“Which game did you brats decide on?” Ellie asked with a smile, sitting down in the chair closest to me. “I hope you didn’t think you could get one up on me by picking Twister,” she warned. “I may be old, but I’m rather bendable as the farmhands over at Pinkler Farms can attest.”
Shep groaned.
Ew. Mental picture I didn’t need.
“Uh, ew,” I said and Ellie roared with laughter.
Please tell me she’s just fucking with us.
I hope.
“She picked…” Shep smirked. “You’ll never guess what she picked.”
Cinder Dick rolled his eyes. “Pictionary.”
“No,” I sneered, glaring at him.
“Mall of America?” Simian asked with a chuckle, and I had to laugh as well.
That wasn’t even a contender.
Shep flipped the board open and half of them groaned and the other half laughed.
Price looked up from his hands he was looking at intently and nodded his approval.
“Since we have so many people,” Shep explained, “we play in teams. Each person takes their individual turn, and if they don’t know the answer they can ask for help from their team, but they have to, in turn, answer a second question in order to earn the wedge. Make sense?”
Obviously, this is normal and they aren’t lying about the family game night thing.
White people are weird.
No shit.
“Sure, but I thought I’d offer a truce to Cinder Dick and let him play a version that’s more appropriate for his pay grade,” I said, sliding the bright yellow box across the floor to him. “Trivial Pursuit Pre-School Edition!” I smiled wide, and the room erupted in laughter.
Cinder Dick glared at me. “You don’t stand a chance,” he snarled, kicking the children’s game away.
“If I had money I’d bet you,” I informed him.
“I’ll spot you,” Simian sang, tossing some crumpled twenties at me.
Huh, interesting.
I slipped the money in my pocket before anyone noticed.
“That’s enough,” Price said, breaking the seal on a new pack of questions. “I would like to turn in early. It’s been a trying day.”
That’s the understatement of a lifetime.
“Did you want to be on my team?” Shep smiled, batting his lashes at me.
I snorted. “I don’t want to lose.”
“That’s cold,” he informed me.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But I’m a semi-competitive person, and I can’t put faith in the education system of a public school in a town with more livestock than people. Sorry, Shep. You can be my cheerleader if it makes you feel any better.”
“Works for me!” he said and stretched out on the floor and positioned the pieces around the board. “Newbie goes first,” he sang and pulled a card. “Physicist Richard Feynman invented?” he read.
>
I thought this was genius edition.
Oh well.
“The path integral formulation of quantum mechanics using a combination of mathematical reasoning and physical insight, and today’s string theory, a still-developing scientific theory, which attempts to unify the four fundamental forces of nature.” I smiled; yes, I was trying to show off some as if I had something to prove.
Shep looked at me with a raised eyebrow then back to the card. “Will the judges accept her answer when the card says integral formulation of quantum mechanics?” he asked, looking to Price.
“Judge will accept the answer,” Price said with a smile.
“Looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Ellie sang.
I looked over at Price, and he appeared impressed, or at the very least, not so sad anymore.
“Price, your question is, ‘The field of study in mathematics, physics, economics and philosophy studying the behavior of dynamical systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions is called what?’” Shep scratched his head, tilting the card as if doing so would magically make the question make sense to him.
“Chaos theory,” Price quickly answered.
“Sure, give him the easy one,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes and he laughed.
For the next three or four hours we pulled card after card out of the deck. After the first hour, everyone else called it a night, but Price and I continued to sit on the floor reading questions and giving answers. It wasn’t a getting to know you bonding moment. It was more of a sizing up one’s opponent type of thing, not that either of us were competing against the other. And he beat me. There were some questions that I couldn’t grasp the answers he gave so it’s a good thing everyone left so they didn’t see me get schooled by the old man.
“How were your grades in school?” he asked conversationally, putting the game back in the box.
I shrugged. “I haven’t been to school since I was thirteen. The public schools in Philly aren’t the best. They should offer classes on how to dodge a bullet instead of English Lit and the Fundamentals of Reading. It’s okay though. They didn’t offer anything that I would have been interested in, and being a white-white girl in a school of ghetto fabulous hoodrats and homies that carried and were slangin’ rock, there was a sign on my back, for those that could read, that said to kick this cracka’s ass. It happens though. I’m sure if I took the evaluation I could get my Ghetto Education Degree.”
Price thought about what I said, and then it registered. “You are not getting your G.E.D.. I’m sorry, but you are far too intelligent to simply settle for mediocrity. School starts at the end of August. If it’s okay with you, I’ll get you enrolled with the senior class. You may be required do a test for placement, but I am confident you’ll exceed the State’s standard and minimum requirements. Shep and the twins are seniors so you’ll know at least three people there. It’ll give you a chance to make some friends that won’t shoot or stab you for looking at them wrong. We’ve never had a drive-by in the town’s history, and the crime rate is very low that time of year. You’ll be safe, and you might have fun.”
I put the lid on the box. “Okay.”
Wait, what?
“Just let me know what I need to do or take and I’ll do it,” I said.
Oh you bitch! You are dead to me.
Good. Shut up since the dead don’t speak.
Yeah, we know from experience that isn’t true.
Shut up.
Price ran his hand through his hair. “You’re not going to argue with me?” he asked, sounding nervous.
“No.”
“Why not? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that you aren’t, but are you going to silently argue by sneaking off in the middle of the night?” His feelings would be hurt if that were the case.
Damn it.
“No, I’m not,” I assured him, and it isn’t a lie. “When I was growing up, seemingly overnight everything changed. I went from being put in a warm bed with a bedtime story of poetry to having nothing. And the weird thing is it was as if none of it ever happened to begin with. When the State forced Mom to put me in school, the teachers freaked out and called her to pick me up right away. They said that I didn’t belong in a place like that. I didn’t understand what that meant, and the look on Mom’s face clearly showed that she hadn’t a clue what they were talking about either. It was the same no matter where I went. Finally, just now, I understand what they were freaking out about. I’m not normal. There’s something really off about me, and as Ellie said, the apple obviously didn’t fall far from the tree. You’re smart as hell, and it appears that I am as well, comparatively speaking to my peers. It’s kind of... There’s something comforting in knowing that I’m not as messed up as I thought I was on one level. Thank you.”
Price shook his head. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Mikhail. And you’re not messed up in the least.”
If only he knew.
I know, right?
“You just have some stuff that you need to work through,” he said. “If you like, I can arrange for a therapist or counselor to sit down with you a couple of times a month.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head.
“No,” I said. “I’ve had enough of those in my life, and if I have to see one more, I’ll go postal. Ugh! All they want to do is have you talk about your feelings, and then they make you repeat what you just said at the next appointment and the next and the next. If I want self-realization, I’ll go for a walk and talk it out with myself. I already do that internally with the cynical voice in my head, and she doesn’t charge by the hour.”
Price gave me a look, one I was used to getting when I mention I argue with myself in my head. “Of course,” he said, nodding his understanding. “The offer is always there if you want or need it. If you do go for a walk, feel free to venture as far as you like, but stay out of the woods. Never go in the woods alone. They’re very dangerous, especially for a city girl.”
No shit, I could have told him that.
“I hate the woods and trees. Ew!” I shivered. “They’re always moving and weird stuff sneaks up on you and French assholes randomly appear, talk smack, laugh at you then disappear... No thank you.”
What French asshole?
You know which one I’m talking about.
To my surprise, Price didn’t appear surprised by anything I just said. “That’s good then. I know they can be very inviting, sometimes as if they are beckoning us to them, but you have to stay out of them. Please.”
“I said okay!” I rolled my eyes.
Now he’s starting to irritate me.
Stop being a bitch.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he said with a forced a smile, and I stood, motioning for him to lead the way.
Chapter Four
A Room of my Own
For hours, I’ve laid awake staring at the surprisingly boring ceiling. I figured since everything else in the house looks absolutely amazing that the ceiling would be sporting a Montana-based Sistine Chapel interpretation: angels dressed in flannel with rifles in their hands, bears lying dead under their feet while the finger of God pokes at the carcass to confirm that it’s dead.
Instead, it’s just smooth white plaster. Then again, any ceiling is better than the mold ridden, rat urine saturated, lead based paint covered, asbestos and fiberglass filled, collapsing drywall that I had at the last place I called home.
I can’t sleep. I’m exhausted, but I’m too exhausted to sleep. I think that’s because it’s way too quiet. How that’s even possible? I don’t know. I’m used to trains, sirens, gunshots, screaming and yelling, car alarms, and tow trucks from parking enforcement in their many impounding frenzies, babies crying from being left alone in the apartment while mom goes out to the club or to get her hair done, dogs barking… You heard everything through the paper-thin asbestos ridden walls.
And yet here there’s nothing.
Absolutely nothing… It’s eerily quiet.
I opened the windows in case they’re too thick to hear anything through, but they aren’t. Occasionally an owl would hoot, and it’d make me jump, and every time I heard a horse snort or make a loud noise I smiled because that simple noise coming from the barn confirmed that I’m not dreaming and that I’m home...for now, and possibly safe for once.
And that’s more than I could have hoped for.
“When I boarded the train, I was sure that this was the biggest mistake of my life and that it would kill me. Where all others had failed, this was going to finally succeed. Montana would slay the surprisingly lucky, when it comes to surviving attempts on her life, Mikhail!”
Really? And now you don’t feel that...
“Correction, I don’t think that,” I admitted. “The feeling is always there. Some deep-rooted trust issues are impossible to shake overnight, or ever in some cases. Your cynical, streetwise ass has been surprisingly quiet, for once, and apparently enjoying the calm and security, regardless of how temporary it might be, as well,” I said.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up.
“There’s a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve felt it before but not often, and it makes me nervous because of the last time I felt it. But at the same time, it’s almost as if that feeling is silently reassuring me that everything is okay and to let down my walls for once.”
That is so much easier said than done.
I sat up and turned the reading lamp on next to the bed and looked around the large room, trying to visualize myself here. Even though I am here, I can’t grasp that I’m actually here.
That makes two of us.
Light teal walls with thick white crown molding surround the room along the ceiling, a chair rail with white rectangular framed moldings evenly spaced on top of the same teal paint, but it surprisingly made the room look bigger and the paint a shade darker. A large ceiling fan marks the center of the tray ceiling, the blades are large wooden leaves that look like something you’d find on an island retreat, and the furniture is all dark brown with polished chrome accents and are very contemporary in design.
The large bed has to be the largest on the market and the mattress! Oh my God, it’s like sleeping on a cloud! And it’s so soft that you just sink into it. The white cotton, feather bedding and pillows wrap around you like a high thread count hug. The bench seat along the window is adorned with many brightly colored accent pillows, some with large hibiscus prints in orange, purple, blue, simple nautical stripes in a rainbow of island colors, and a couple of hula girls and vintage pinups on the hoods of Woodies.