My Sister Rosa

by Justine Larbalestier

  —That’s Spool. OMG! You’re describing Spool?! You’re kidding! You can’t have gone to Spool.

  —Huh?

  —Spool’s only like the most exclusive boutique on the planet. The curator has to check you out online before they’ll let you in and you have to make an appointment and you would not believe the people they haven’t let in. Like famous, rich, whatever.

  —Sounds mean.

  —OMFG how did you get in?! What were you wearing? You weren’t wearing tracky dacks, were you? Jesus, Che!

  I don’t tell her I was.

  —Well, Leilani seemed to know everyone. She goes there a lot.

  —Your friend’s name is Leilani? As in Leilani McBrunight?! You can’t be serious?! Holy fucking Jesus, Che! How do you know Leilani McBrunight!?

  Sally comes out of the office. ‘Che?’

  I turn the sound off on my phone and slide it into my pocket, follow her, and close their door behind me.

  I haven’t been in their office since they crammed it with their crap and turned it into the same messy but somehow organised place it is wherever we live. Their corkboard is covered in notes, a timeline. For their new business with the McBrunights probably. There’s always a corkboard or whiteboard in their office. Always at least one timeline, sometimes many.

  Offence is the best defence. Clichéd but sometimes true.

  ‘I broke my promise,’ I say. ‘I sparred and I loved it and I want to keep doing it.’

  Both Sally and David try to break in, but I keep talking.

  ‘Everything I’ve been studying, the drills, it makes sense now. When you drop your hands, you leave yourself open. When your chin’s up, likewise. When you move backwards in a straight line, you get stuck against the ropes.

  ‘Not sparring is like learning a language by studying the alphabet, the rules of grammar, how to spell, but not being allowed to say anything. I can’t not spar. It was an unfair promise,’ I say, speaking even louder to drown out David.

  ‘I always do everything you ask. I kept this promise for years! But I couldn’t anymore. Who knows when I’ll stop growing? It wasn’t fair of you to make me make that promise.’

  I sit down. Sally sits beside me and takes my right hand in hers. ‘Are you finished?’

  I nod, leaning back and closing my eyes.

  Sally lets go of my hand. ‘You lied, Che.’

  I start to respond but David holds up his hand like it has the power to stop speech. ‘We let you have your say.’

  I don’t remember him using his let’s-all-be-calm voice on me. On Rosa, yes. Occasionally on Sally. On every other member of his family, especially Uncle Saul, but never me.

  ‘You lied to us, Che,’ Sally continues. ‘You promised you wouldn’t spar. You sparred without telling us. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t directly say words that were untrue. You broke your promise, then hid it from us. Lying by omission is still lying.’

  I can’t help but think of how Rosa agrees with her.

  ‘Che, if there’s one thing I’ve always been certain about in this family – other than how much we love each other – it’s that we don’t lie. But now you have.’

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to point out that Rosa isn’t capable of loving anyone. Neither of Sally’s certainties are certain. ‘I was going to tell you. I planned to tonight, but then you showed up at my gym. Why didn’t you text first?’

  Neither of them answer my question.

  ‘Now I don’t trust you,’ Sally says.

  I wait for them to tell me what my punishment is. They don’t. David turns to his computer, Sally to her phone.

  ‘That’s it? I’m dismissed?’

  ‘This isn’t the army, Che. It’s a family.’

  ‘We’re thinking about how to punish you,’ David says. ‘We’re shocked. You’ve never lied to us. You’ve never broken a promise.’

  I get up, walk to the door. As I close it behind me I think I hear Sally crying. I hate that I made her cry. I go upstairs and lie down. Rosa says something as I go up the stairs, but mercifully I don’t hear it.

  This one thing? And now they don’t trust me.

  I glance at my phone. There are a tonne of messages. Georgie squealing about Leilani, Jason sympathising and sharing parental woes, Nazeem telling me to fuck off, Natalie congratulating me.

  I don’t know what to say to any of them.

  To distract myself I google Leilani to see what Georgie is going on about.

  Oh.

  Leilani is kind of famous.

  There are thousands of photos of her at fashion shows. She started her own fashion website for teens when she was twelve, which was mostly her blogging about clothes and music and the fashion industry and politics. Now it’s a huge online magazine with lots of other writers and an insane number of people reading it. It’s called Neophyte, like Elon said, and her fans are called Neos. She’s interviewed some of the most famous women in the world.

  Of course they know her at that fancy clothes shop.

  Why didn’t Leilani mention that she’s famous?

  Though what would she say? Oh, by the way, I’m a big deal? I can’t quite believe it. From what I’m reading she could be rich in her own right. At the age of seventeen. Jesus.

  It makes me feel a lot better about her buying those clothes for me. Though I have no idea why. It’s still being controlling, isn’t it?

  I text Georgie. —Just looked up Leilani. I had no idea. Woah.

  I get out of bed. Go through some katas, focus on moving fluidly, correct form over speed. I wear my body out, fall into bed, sleep.

  When I wake the sun is coming up and Rosa is curled up in a ball on my bedroom floor.

  Her face is relaxed, her mouth a little open. She looks like the baby she once was, the one whose tiny fingers curled around mine, who smiled up at me. It’s hard to believe this is a child with no heart.

  She opens her eyes and smiles as if she is pleased to see me. For a second I believe it.

  ‘Still studying sleep, are you?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure we’re friends.’

  ‘I’m the only one who understands you,’ I say, knowing how slim her understanding of sarcasm is. ‘How can we not be friends?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Our weekly Sunday brunch with the McBrunights is in their mansion. Their giant table is spread with enough food to feed twice our number. I pile my plate with salmon and tiny quiches and sausage.

  I wish Leilani was here but she’s too busy with Neophyte. The parentals and Gene and Lisimaya talk business. Rosa and Seimone whisper to each other. Which leaves me and Maya.

  ‘I didn’t know Leilani was famous.’

  Maya screws up her nose and goes cross-eyed. ‘She’s not famous famous. She’s a little bit clothes famous.’

  ‘Do people stop her in the street and ask for her autograph?’

  Maya shakes her head. ‘Not really. Once a girl wanted a selfie with her. We were at the bodega on the corner. Lei-Lei did a duckface.’ She lowers her chin and purses her lips, making her eyes big.

  I pull out my phone and take a photo of her, then we do a double duckface selfie.

  ‘Let me see,’ Maya says and we look at the photo. Our eyes are twice their normal size and our lips ditto. We both laugh.

  ‘I’m sending it to Leilani.’

  ‘Send it to me too,’ Maya says, taking my phone and adding her number. She hands it back and I add her duckface to her contact.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ Maya asks quietly. Leilani must have told her.

  I nod. ‘They’re disappointed in me and don’t trust me anymore.’

  Maya’s eyes cut to Rosa. ‘Do they trust her?’

  ‘She’s ten. Apparently ten-year-old-ness excuses everything.’

  Maya snorts. ‘I’m eleven. Are they making you quit boxing? Rosa says when she does something bad they make her write essays then don’t read them. She says she cut and pasted the same sentence over and over
in the middle of her last essay to see if they’d notice, but they didn’t.’

  ‘Sounds like something she’d do. They haven’t said no more gym.’

  ‘If they did, would you stop?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s exercise! I’d like to learn boxing,’ Maya says. ‘Looks like fun.’

  ‘It is. What about tennis, though? Don’t you do that practically every day?’

  Maya nods. ‘I’m going to tennis camp too. Two whole weeks!’

  ‘Can we be excused?’ Seimone asks. ‘Rosa wants to teach me a chess problem.’

  ‘You’ll show it to me later?’ Gene asks.

  They agree that they will.

  ‘I hate chess,’ Maya says when they’re gone.

  ‘Me, too. David tried to teach me, but ugh. Rosa’s been playing since she was four.’

  ‘Seimone never used to like it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. About Rosa and Seimone.’

  ‘Me too,’ Maya says.

  We’re walking through Tompkins Square Park, Sally talking about how much greener it is now than when we first arrived, how much fatter the squirrels are looking. Some of the trees are still in blossom, but most have replaced their flowers with green leaves. May in New York City has been a lot less miserable than April.

  ‘Isn’t that Sid?’ Rosa asks, waving.

  It is. She’s walking towards us wearing her red-tulip dress. She’s with her mom, Diandra, who’s in a wheelchair being pushed by another woman. I assume she’s Sojourner’s other mother.

  Sojourner returns the wave, smiles.

  She looks beautiful. That’s the dress she was wearing then not wearing in my dream. I blush, scared that somehow she’ll know from looking at me what I dreamed about her.

  ‘Your face is red,’ Rosa says loudly. ‘Not just your nose.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say softly. ‘It’s called acne.’

  ‘No, redder than usual. Like you’re embarrassed.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t, but I am now that you’ve drawn everyone’s attention to the acne on my face.’

  ‘As if they wouldn’t notice. Especially when you’re blushing,’ Rosa says. ‘Hello, Sid!’ She gives Sojourner a huge hug.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Hello, Diandra.’ I bend to shake Diandra’s hand. ‘Funny running into you here.’

  ‘Not really. This is where everyone runs into each other. The very heart of the neighbourhood. Sid, honey,’ Diandra says, smiling at me and Rosa, ‘are you going to introduce us?’

  I blush harder. I should have started the introductions.

  ‘These are my moms,’ Sojourner says. ‘Diandra and Elisabeta Davis. This is Che—’

  ‘Oh,’ Elisabeta says. ‘You’re from Sid’s gym. The Australian boy. She told us about you.’

  My face burns.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, shaking Elisabeta’s hand. ‘These are my parents, Sally Taylor and David Klein, and my sister Rosa.’

  ‘Isn’t she a little cherub?’ It isn’t clear from Diandra’s tone whether that’s a good thing. ‘Are those curls for real?’

  Rosa nods. She’s pretending to be shy. Why she’s bothering after loudly drawing attention to my hideous skin I’ve no idea.

  There are handshakes all round. Rosa eases herself next to Sojourner and starts whispering.

  ‘We’re on our way home from church,’ Diandra says. ‘Over on Second Avenue. Che joined us recently for the evening service. Have you found a church you like? I know you only just moved here. Why not join us? We’re open to all faiths.’

  Elisabeta says something softly that sounds like, ‘Now, Dee.’

  ‘We don’t go to church,’ David says. ‘We’re not Christian.’

  ‘Oh,’ Diandra says. ‘What faith are you? We have some non-Christians at our services: Jews, Muslims, Buddhists.’

  ‘Secular humanist,’ Sally says.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Diandra says. ‘Well, those are prettier words than atheist.’

  ‘Mom,’ Sojourner says.

  I can’t imagine how this could be more awkward. I look at Rosa, waiting for her to announce that God is dead or Only idiots believe in God, which neither Sally nor David has ever said. Instead she whispers in Sojourner’s ear again.

  ‘We all find our own way in the darkness,’ Diandra says. ‘There are as many atheists walking in the light as believers. They just don’t know it.’

  Sally doesn’t say anything.

  ‘How do you feel about your boy fighting?’ Diandra asks.

  ‘Mom! I told you how Che’s parents feel!’

  ‘That’s why I’m asking. I want them to know they’re not the only ones conflicted. Boxing isn’t a regular sport. It’s not like you’re running track or basketball—’

  ‘Yes, Mom, because basketball is so injury-free and nonviolent.’

  ‘Are you sassing me, Sid?’

  ‘I’m disagreeing with you.’

  Diandra shakes her head. ‘Yes, you are, and now you’re letting me say my piece.’ She reaches up to touch Sally’s hand and draw it between hers. ‘We weren’t sure about Sid learning to box. Violence is wrong. Standing in a ring with a referee or your trainer doesn’t make it any less wrong.’

  Sally nods.

  ‘But my girl loves boxing and it keeps her healthy and strong. Neither of us have the heart to stop her. They tell us she’s very good.’

  ‘Sojourner is,’ I blurt. ‘Sid, I mean.’ I turn to her. ‘You’re amazing.’ God. There go my cheeks again. Neck too.

  ‘Her trainer thinks so too, Che. But fighting. Well, I’m proud of her and I want her to be happy, but I can’t help wishing it was something else.’

  ‘Yes,’ David says. ‘There’s something so brutal about it. We watched Che in the ring last night. It was ugly.’

  He sounds exactly like Sally. I glare at him, itching to point out his hypocrisy. When he was my age he was expelled from his school for breaking another student’s jaw. How do you hit hard enough to break a jaw? I’ve never broken anyone’s anything.

  ‘Yes,’ Sally says. ‘Che promised us he wouldn’t spar until he stopped growing. Last night we discovered he’s been lying to us.’

  Diandra nods her head and looks sympathetic. I think I’ll die a million deaths as I hope to God – the God I don’t believe in – that Sojourner isn’t listening to my humiliation, caught as she is in the web of Rosa’s sticky whispers.

  But, no, she turns her head.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with sparring,’ she says.

  ‘Sojourner,’ Diandra says. ‘This is not your business. It’s between Che and his parents.’

  ‘It is my business, Mom. His parents don’t understand what they were asking.’ She turns to Sally and David and says almost apologetically, ‘Che wasn’t getting anywhere, you see. He’s got talent and it wasn’t being used. Sparring’s not dangerous. We wear padded headgear. It’s safer than getting in a car!’

  ‘Sojourner Ida Davis!’

  Sojourner shakes her head but she doesn’t say anything else. Sally’s staring at her.

  ‘I understand you feel passionately,’ David says. ‘But we have to protect our child.’

  ‘I apologise for my daughter,’ Diandra says. ‘She has strong opinions.’

  ‘No need to apologise. Our children are not our possessions,’ Sally says, and I suppress the urge to snort. ‘Of course they’ll disagree with us and disobey if they think we are unjust. It’s not easy being a child or a parent.’

  ‘Amen,’ Diandra says.

  ‘How did you reconcile yourself to Sojourner boxing?’

  ‘They haven’t,’ Sojourner says. She squeezes Diandra’s shoulder and kisses Elisabeta’s cheek.

  ‘No, we have not. But what can we do? I pray. I remember that the Good Lord rewards love and patience and understanding. As you say, our children’s paths are not our paths.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sally says. She leans down and takes Diandra’s hand. ‘I’m glad to talk
to someone who understands.’

  ‘You’re welcome. You’ll find the right thing to do. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Are the two of you doing anything tomorrow night? We’re having a party. A housewarming party. We’d love it if you could join us. Sojourner’s already said she’d come.’

  ‘A Monday night?’

  ‘I know it’s a bit odd, but that was the only night that worked for some dear friends of ours and we didn’t want to put off having the party for much longer.’

  ‘Elisabeta?’

  Sojourner’s quiet mama nods.

  ‘We’d love to,’ Diandra says.

  They swap numbers and addresses and discuss wheelchair accessibility. Great, the parentals have Sojourner’s parents’ numbers before I have Sojourner’s.

  ‘I don’t have your number,’ Sojourner says and I grin. ‘Jaime and I run together. Want to join us?’

  I nod.

  Sojourner and I swap numbers as Rosa watches.

  ‘You ready for Sunday school?’ Sojourner asks.

  Rosa nods.

  Rosa goes with Sojourner and her moms, turning to smile at me, to let me know that she’s with Sojourner and I’m stuck with Sally and David. I hope there are no stairs where they’re going. Not that I’m seriously worried Rosa would do that. I resist the urge to run after them.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Sally says.

  It’s true: the sun’s out, it’s warm, people are dressed as if it’s already summer, but it’s not the kind of thing Sally usually says. It’s hard to appreciate it when I can see her deciding what to say to me. Sally does not have a poker face.

  We walk past where the chess is being played. There’s a game at every table. A few men are crowded watching one table. As we pass I see that it’s Isaiah taking on another challenger. How much money does he make from chess? Judging from his clothes, not a lot. All the chess players are men. Their audience too. How did Rosa waltz in and start playing? I couldn’t have done that at ten. Or now. What’s it like having no fear?

  ‘We’re not going to punish you,’ David says.

  ‘I can keep sparring?’

  Sally nods. ‘We can’t stop you, can we?’