Family Storms

by Unknown

  If I thought I had been lonely during my final days at my last school, what did I think I’d be at this one? Lonely would probably be a choice I would take rather than what I would find now. Wouldn’t it have been better, wiser, for Mrs. March to enroll me in an ordinary public school? The other students wouldn’t seem so superior. I’d be more comfortable. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  And then there was Kiera, waiting and watching, hoping for me to fail. If I did something wrong or did poorly in class, she would pounce on her mother. I could almost hear her claiming, “This is embarrassing, Mother. She’s dragging me down with her. You’re making us the laughingstock of the school. Put her in a public school, at least.”

  I certainly wouldn’t argue about it. I half hoped that was exactly what would happen. Of course, I expected that when any of the other students went to Kiera to ask about me, she would tell them that I was her mother’s charity case, a girl from the streets, homeless, carrying some contagious disease. I could see her whispering in ears, especially the ears of the other girls in my class. She would sabotage me anyway. What chance did I have to succeed? Why even bother to try?

  When I heard her say my name, I thought I was thinking about her so hard that I had imagined it, but she said it again, and I turned around to see her standing there. The sight of her startled me, and I got right to my feet.

  “What do you want?” I asked her.

  “What do I want? I want you to disappear,” she said, and then smirked. “But that’s not going to happen.”

  “So? What do you want?”

  “Chill out,” she said, and walked to the edge of the dock to look down at the rowboats. “I used to take my sister for rides,” she said. “Especially when she first got sick.”

  Was she going to invite me to go for a ride? Maybe to drown me?

  She turned to face me. “I’ve had two sessions with my therapist. Don’t try to look surprised. I know Mother has told you everything.”

  “I’m not surprised that you’re seeing a therapist, but I am surprised that you’re telling me,” I said.

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Whose idea was it?” I asked, expecting her to say it was her mother’s.

  “My therapist’s.”

  “The therapist’s? Why?”

  “It’s part of my therapy, something I have to do.”

  “What is?”

  “Talking to you. Not to get you to forgive me or anything like that,” she added quickly.

  “Why, then?”

  “I told you. It’s part of my therapy. I don’t understand half of it myself, but if I don’t do it …” She took a breath. “If I don’t do it, he says the therapy won’t work. Whatever that means. It could mean I would have to return to court, and then who knows?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing. Just … I’ll just talk to you,” she said. She turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Not that many people know about us, about what happened. I mean, what really happened. Just a couple of my very close girlfriends know. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t you understand anything? I mean, keep your mouth shut in school. Just don’t talk about it. No one has to know anything.”

  “They’re going to want to know why I’m here, aren’t they? They’ll ask questions. They’ll see that I come from a different world.”

  “They probably would. That’s why I told Mother how hard this was going to be for me and that I wasn’t going back to school unless she did something. Daddy agreed, and they made up a story about you.”

  “What story?”

  “You’re the daughter of one of my cousins who was killed in a car accident. My mother, who is a walking soap opera, wanted to take you in, and so you’re here. That way, no one will know you were homeless and sleeping in a carton.”

  “Why didn’t your mother ever tell me this?”

  “She waits until the last moment for anything. She’ll tell you about it tonight. We agree that it will make things easier for both of us.” She started to turn and stopped again. “But I’m not driving you to school, and don’t expect me to hang out with you there.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything I expected less,” I said.

  “Ha ha. Aren’t you hilarious,” she said, and walked off.

  I smiled.

  It was as if she had really been listening to my thoughts and had heard my fears.

  Maybe I would do well at this school.

  I sat on the dock again to watch the bugs and the birds and the ripples and the trees and all the clouds that floated softly across the blue sky like great white birds migrating to another horizon.

  Just like me.

  16

  Another Horizon

  Mr. March wasn’t at dinner. He had a dinner meeting in San Francisco. Kiera obviously had not told her mother that she had revealed the story the Marches had created about me. When we were all seated, Mrs. March told Mrs. Duval to wait in the kitchen. She said she would let her know when to begin serving our dinner. Then she folded her hands on the table, looked down at them, and began.

  “Both Mr. March and I have decided that it would be easier for both of you, but especially for you, Sasha,” she said, raising her head to look at me, “if the other students in the school were not completely aware of your situation.”

  I looked at Kiera. She smiled and looked down.

  “Situation?”

  “What I mean to say is that it would be easier for you to assimilate if they all just assumed that you were part of our family. Which is something I am hoping you will actually become someday soon,” she quickly added. “Anyway, for now, it would be better if you told your classmates that you were Kiera’s cousin on Donald’s side. That side is so mixed up no one would not believe it; not that many people know the details concerning his family.”

  “Don’t forget the Chinese part, Mother,” Kiera said.

  “Please, Kiera, don’t interrupt,” Mrs. March said sharply. She turned back to me. “The story Kiera is referring to is simple. One of Donald’s half brothers married a Chinese woman. You were born, and everything was fine until they were both killed in a car accident. That’s when you came to live with us. Now, tell me, where have you visited outside California?”

  “Nowhere,” I said.

  “Your story won’t pass gas, Mother,”

  Kiera sang. “Kiera. You’re not helping.”

  “All right, then,” Mrs. March said. “Where have you been in California?”

  “My father once took us to Santa Barbara, but I barely remember it.”

  “Wow, Santa Barbara,” Kiera said.

  Mrs. March glared at her. “That’s fine. That’s perfect. You’ll just say that’s where you had lived. If anyone wants more detail, you just tell him or her that it’s too sad for you to talk about it. That should work.”

  “But what about my teachers, the principal?” I asked. “Don’t they know the truth?”

  “Dr. Steiner, the principal, knows, but no one else does or will. I can assure you of that.”

  “Unless she tells them,” Kiera muttered, nodding at me.

  “Why should she do that?” Mrs. March smiled at me.

  “We just want you to succeed and be comfortable and happy at school, Sasha. Okay? you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said, and then suddenly thought, I’m betraying Mama again, pretending she never existed. “But I don’t like lying,” I added.

  “Oh, please. Give us a break,” Kiera said. “I can just imagine the things you told people when you were living on the street.”

  “That was different.”

  “Right. It’s always different when you do it,” she said. “I use the same excuse when I’m caught.”

  “I don’t mean it to be an excuse. You just don’t understand,” I told her.

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes any sense,” she replied. “
Who would understand?”

  “Stop. Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Mrs. March said. “She understands, and that’s that.” She called for Mrs. Duval.

  At first, I was happy when Kiera told me the idea about what other students and my teachers would be told about me, but now that I heard it from Mrs. March, I was more nervous about it. I was entering my new school life on a raft of lies. I’d have to be very careful about what I said to anyone about my past, where I had been, what I had been doing. One slip, and I would fall out of the raft and into the sea of turmoil that raged around someone like me.

  Mrs. March was eager to change the subject. During the remainder of our dinner, she went on and on about how wonderful it was going to be for me at this new school.

  “Are you getting her out of PE, Mother? I don’t expect she can play any sport with that limp.”

  “She certainly can swim better than you can,” Mrs. March said. “She’ll do fine. Her teacher will be understanding.”

  “Miz Raymond? The only thing she understands is a vibrator.”

  “Kiera!” Mrs. March screamed.

  “I don’t think she has innocent ears, Mother. Look where she’s been.”

  “I don’t want that kind of talk at the dinner table. Your father is going to hear about this.” She glared at her again and then turned to me and smiled. “Did you learn how to play an instrument when you were at your old school, Sasha?”

  “Yeah, she played the lanyards, remember?”

  “Kiera.”

  “No,” I said. “We didn’t have any instrumental music classes.”

  “Well you will here. You’ll be in the senior high band. Alena played the clarinet.”

  “You’re going to give her that, too?” Kiera asked.

  “If she wants to play the clarinet, it would be foolish to let it just rot away, Kiera. No one stopped you from learning how to play an instrument.”

  “Yeah, right, the school band. There’s nothing more appetizing than watching kids wipe their spit off mouthpieces.”

  “Don’t listen to her. The band is highly regarded and goes on trips and is often asked to play at public events.”

  “Whoop-ti-doo,” Kiera muttered. “You forgot to tell her she can wear the band uniform. There was nothing I hated more.”

  “I know you’ll enjoy playing the clarinet, Sasha,” Mrs. March insisted. “It will be wonderful hearing that sound in this house again. And with your artistic talent, you might consider joining the theater group and working on sets, too.”

  “She’d be better as an actress,” Kiera said.

  “Is that how you got your training?” I asked her. She actually reddened, especially after Mrs. March laughed.

  “Alena could give it back to you just like that, too,” Mrs. March told her.

  Kiera pressed her lips together hard. Her face puffed up and looked as if it might explode. She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. “I have things to do,” she announced, and walked out.

  “If your father was here, you’d remember to ask to be excused, Kiera,” Mrs. March shouted after her. Kiera did not respond. “He’ll hear about this, too,” she added. I heard Kiera pounding the steps on her way up the stairway.

  Mrs. March shook her head, and we continued eating. It took her a while to calm down, and then she talked more about the school and how sad it was that Alena never got to graduate.

  “When you arrive at the school tomorrow, go directly to the principal’s office,” she told me after we finished dinner. She walked with me to the stairway. “Grover will be waiting for you right outside after breakfast, and he’ll be at the school precisely at the end of the school day. I’ll be waiting to hear all about your day.”

  I nodded and turned to go up the stairway, but she reached out to stop me.

  “Don’t let Kiera’s silly remarks disturb you, and don’t be nervous, Sasha. You’re going to do fine.” She released my arm and smiled. “I always loved the first day of school. There’s such excitement, such expectation. Go to sleep early,” she added. “I’ll be there to make sure you get up early enough.” She looked up the stairway. “Half the year, I’m banging on Kiera’s door to get her up.”

  I started up the stairway again.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’ll have a wonderful surprise for you. I’ll have it with me in the morning.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now, would it?” she said. She smiled and walked away.

  What would it be? More clothes? Shoes? Jewelry? Gadgets? Or a special lunch on the beach to celebrate my finishing my first week at school? I never thought I’d see the day when I would be so disinterested in all of that. How different I was from Kiera. She never saw a day when she wasn’t interested in all of that.

  Her door was closed as I passed her room, but she must have been listening for me, because the moment I entered mine, she was right behind me. I turned as she closed my door.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Rules,” she said.

  “Rules? what rules?”

  “Rules for you regarding me,” she replied with her right hand on her hip. “I told you that Mother was going to tell you the way my parents were explaining you to everyone at the school, but that didn’t include my rules.”

  I folded my arms and squinted at her. “I didn’t think you followed any rules,” I said and she laughed.

  “You really are a scrappy street kid.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Okay, rule one. Never tell any of your little ninth-grade friends anything about me. I don’t mean just about the accident. I mean anything you see here or hear here, especially. I’m never to be a topic of discussion between you and the other infants.”

  “That’s easy. You’re the most uninteresting person I’ve ever met. I won’t be talking about you. There’s nothing much to say.”

  “Rule two,” she said, ignoring me. “Don’t dare come over to me in the cafeteria or if I’m outside eating to ask for anything. My friends already know what I think of my so-called cousin coming to live with us. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist. You’re not there.”

  “That works for me,” I said.

  “Rule three. Do not come home blabbing about anything you see me do, especially if I have someone in my car with me after school. My father has forbidden it for now, but he’ll change his mind about it soon.

  “Rule four,” she added quickly, to prevent any comment I might have about that. “Don’t dare ever mention to anyone that I’m in therapy.”

  “I imagine most people who know you probably expect that you are,” I said.

  She glared at me and then smiled like someone who had just discovered a big secret. “How do we know how old you really are?”

  “What?”

  “Maybe you’re stunted or something, and you’re really seventeen or eighteen.”

  “You mean because I seem to be as smart as you are? That’s easy. You’re not mentally seventeen.”

  “Keep it up, but remember this. Don’t break any of my rules, or you’ll be sorrier than you are.”

  She left, and I stood there for a few moments looking at the closed door. Alena couldn’t have been happy to have her as an older sister, I thought. I went into my sitting room to watch television and get my mind off Kiera and the next day. I did go to bed early, but I didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Would I be able to pull off the story Mr. and Mrs. March had created about me? That, plus wondering whether or not Mrs. Kepler was right about my readiness, was enough to keep me tossing and turning. Finally, I fell asleep, but I slept so deeply that if it weren’t for Mrs. March shaking me in the morning, I wouldn’t have gotten up in time. She looked more excited than I was.

  “Although you’re much older than Alena was when she first went to school, I feel as if it’s the same sort of morning. She was such an independent little girl. She didn’t want me to come along. ‘I’ll be just fine, Mother,�
� she told me. ‘It isn’t necessary for you to be there.’ Can you imagine a five-year-old saying that? she never knew, but I was there watching her from a little distance to be sure she was all right.

  “Well, don’t worry,” she continued, bringing my uniform in from the closet. “I won’t be following you. I’m absolutely positive you’ll be fine. Come right down to breakfast as soon as you’re dressed. Now, I’ve got to see if Kiera is up. Just because her father has permitted her to drive, she’ll wait until the last minute for everything. I’ll be waiting for you in the breakfast dining area,” she said, and left.

  I washed and dressed and fixed my hair quickly and then hurried down to breakfast.

  “Was Kiera up?” I asked, taking my seat and seeing that she wasn’t there.

  For a moment, I thought Mrs. March hadn’t heard me, she was that deep in thought. But she had.

  “Surprise of surprises. She wasn’t only up and ready, but she was on her way out. Seems she and a few of her friends decided to have breakfast on the way to school.”

  Mrs. Duval came in with orange juice, Mrs. Caro’s home-baked rolls, and a tray of jams.

  “Mrs. Caro’s preparing your scrambled eggs just the way you like them,” she told me. I had mentioned once that I liked them with cheese, and she often made them for me that way. “Mrs. Caro says a good breakfast is the best way to start at a new school,” Mrs. Duval added.

  “I agree. I’m sure Kiera and her friends won’t have half as good a breakfast as you will,” Mrs. March said.

  I started to drink my juice. “Is Mr. March back?”

  “No,” she said. “He had to stay over an extra day.”

  I thought she was angry about it, but then she smiled. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’m busy today with charity committee meetings, a lunch at the golf club, and then some quick shopping at Saks in Beverly Hills before I rush home to hear about your first day. Here,” she said, reaching down to take something out of her purse. It was a cell phone. “This is yours. My number is right here already,” she explained, showing me. “You simply press one, and it calls me. So, if you need anything, don’t hesitate.”