by Seven Steps
“How did you get away?” Dell asks. “Did you fight him off?”
I shake my head. “No. A friend did, though.”
“What friend?” Alana asks.
“Eric.”
The girls look at each other, their concern for my safety now overshadowed by news of a boy being involved in my adventure.
“Eric?” Alana’s eyes light up, and she grins. Of the two girls, she’s definitely the more romantic one. “Like, Eric ex-boyfriend who sends you flowers every day Eric? Are you two back together?”
“No,” I reply too quickly. “He just happened to be there, and he helped me.”
“Are you going to tell Daddy?” Dell asks. “Is that why he’s looking for you?”
Crap on a stick. I almost forgot about Mrs. Fleck’s voicemail. He must’ve gotten it.
“Did he look mad?” I ask.
Dell shrugs, then answers, “Kind of. Well, no madder than usual.”
The interest in my safety and Eric’s mysterious appearance has waned, and both girls fall back into their original positions on the couches.
Dell’s chewed-up green fingernails zoom across her cell phone screen.
“He’s probably going to kill you and hide your body in the rose bushes on the roof. If he does, I’m taking your video game chair.”
Alana rolls her eyes. Her perfectly manicured fingernails are scrolling instead of zooming. “There aren’t any roses in the winter, Dell.”
“The azaleas then.”
“We don’t have azaleas.” Alana has a thing about plants. She’s in the junior botanist club at school, and her room looks like a rainforest. To her, misidentifying a plant is like a capital offense.
“The mangroves?”
“That’s not a flower. It’s a tree.”
Without warning, Dell snatches a pillow from the couch and launches it in Alana’s direction. “Stop correcting me all the time!”
“I wouldn’t have to correct you if you knew what you were talking about.”
Dell’s cell phone is next to go flying, and I duck. The throw goes wide and lands on an unoccupied cushioned chair behind the couch.
Alana screams, “You’re such a brat!”
“You’re the brat!”
Ugh. Why is it always a world war with these two?
I grab Alana’s hand, then Dell’s and drag the two complaining teens in front of the portrait that hangs over the fireplace.
Our mother’s green eyes look back at us, her smile ever warm, her red hair matching mine. Out of all of my sisters, I’m the only one who inherited Mama’s hair and eyes.
“Say it,” I urge.
The two girls grumble, and I squeeze their hands until they wince. Then, they mutter our family’s motto in perfect sync.
“Family always sticks together.”
“How can you stick together if you fight all the time?” I ask.
The girls are quiet, and I peek at them. Their cheeks are red with shame. I squeeze their warm, smooth hands again, but gentler this time.
“Don’t you have something to say to each other?”
The girls blow out matching breaths, and I wonder who will crack first. If I have to guess, I’ll bet my favorite swim cap it’ll be Dell. She’s a tomboy and quick-tempered, but she’s also always the first to apologize, even if whatever she’s apologizing for is Alana’s fault—which it usually is.
“Sorry,” Dell mumbles.
I bite back a smile. I guess I’ll be keeping that swim cap after all.
“Sorry,” Alana replies.
“Good. Now, hug it out.” The two girls reluctantly embrace, and I feel a sense of pride creep into my chest. I love these girls, and as their older sister, it’s my job to make them understand how important it is they stick together. After all, we are all we have.
“Well, now that I’ve stopped World War 3, who wants to tell me where Duckie is?”
“In the kitchen, I think,” Dell says, dragging herself over to the couch and collapsing onto it.
“Emailing,” Alana added.
Typical Duckie. Always working, no matter the time of day.
“Try not to kill each other.” I walk into the kitchen and find Duckie sitting at the gray marble island, staring at her laptop.
I catch a quick glimpse of a white dress before the screen minimizes.
“You’re grounded,” she says without looking at me.
What? I didn’t even have time to plead my case.
“That fight wasn’t my fault.”
“Just like it wasn’t your fault the last time? Or the time before that?”
I guess I do have sort of a reputation.
“But it really wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Good. Then we’ll just call this extra study time.”
I cross my arms, ready to stand my ground. “You’re not the boss of me. I’m going to talk to Daddy.”
“He’s already signed off on the grounding. Two weeks.”
It feels like someone has just punched me in the gut.
“You both decided to ground me for two weeks without even asking me if I was guilty or not?”
“Precisely.”
I glare at my sister. It’s a useless gesture since she doesn’t even bother to look up from her computer.
What makes them think they can decide my life without so much as discussing it with me?
“Duckie.”
“Yes?” She clicks a button and begins typing what looks like a long email. How is it possible that one person can ignore my existence while simultaneously ruining my life? I wonder if that’s written on her résumé.
“Duckie.”
“What?”
Couldn’t she spare five seconds to look at me while I’m talking to her? God, she’s so much like Daddy sometimes.
“Duckie!”
She stops typing and whips her head to me with an irritated expression. “What is it, Ariel? I’m very busy right now.”
I step forward until I’m only six inches away from her face. I need to make her understand that none of this is my fault. If I can convince her, then Daddy won’t be too far behind.
“I didn’t start that fight with Vanessa. I didn’t even touch her. She pushed me twice, then she called mama a slut. When I tried to get to her, Eric held me back, and then Mrs. Fleck sent us all home. That’s what happened.”
My breathing stills as Duckie examines me for a full minute, looking into my eyes, at my hands. Searching me for lies, no doubt.
Does she believe me? I can’t tell. Duckie has a killer poker face.
After the minute passes, she lets out a long-suffering sigh and leans on the island.
“I believe you.”
Wait, what?
“You do?”
She nods. “I do. You are a lot of things, Ariel, but a liar isn’t one of them. If you say you didn’t start that fight, I believe you.”
Relief floods me. If Duckie believes me, then maybe Daddy will too. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“But you’ll have to convince Daddy. He’s not a softy like me.”
I snort. Duckie? A softy? On what planet?
“Is he around?” I ask.
“In his office waiting for you.”
I take in Duckie’s black hair, currently pulled back into a perfect bun. A few shots of gray have sprouted at her temples. Her green eyes are dull from overwork, and her skin is bluish from where the screen reflects off it. She wears the look of a woman who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. As Partner in an accounting firm, Daddy’s personal advisor, and surrogate mother to three teenage girls, I’m sure she does.
“You up for a swim when I get back?” I ask.
Duckie and I haven’t swum together in years. Whenever I ask, she’s always too busy. But, seeing as how Duckie has admitted I’m not the monster Mrs. Fleck made me out to be, I figured offering her a swim was the least I could do. Plus, she looks like she needs a few minutes of fun in her life.
&
nbsp; “Sure. Find me after dinner.”
I swallow back my shock. I fully expected her to say no, like she always does. I try not to look so surprised.
“Okay.”
She lifts a pair of glasses from the island, plunks them onto the end of her nose, and starts typing again.
Today is getting weirder and weirder.
I walk toward my father’s office.
Daddy has been grooming Duckie to take over Triton Industries, the family’s real estate business, since she was a kid. She excels in math, science, business, and every other boring subject I fail at. She is, by all accounts, a success.
And yet, she still lives at home mothering me and the twins. Is she happy with her life? I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t really know Duckie, and it makes me feel like the worst sister ever. Sure, I know all those things sisters know. Like her favorite color—cream—and her favorite cookie—walnut chocolate chip. I know she hates high heels because they hurt her feet, and I know she loves to paint, although it’s been years since she’s touched a brush. But is she really and truly happy?
I have no idea. I’m not even sure if Duckie knows.
I’m so deep in thought about Duckie I barely notice I’m standing in front of my father’s office.
Daddy’s office door is a lot like him. Sturdy and mysterious. My father, Triton Swimworthy, is a wealthy, powerful, reclusive man who works hard at two things: becoming insanely wealthy and avoiding other human beings. For the most part, I only see him at dinner time, and, rarely, during a chance meeting in the hallway. Growing up, he was good-natured and fun. He wrestled with his daughters, played board games, and loved Chinese food. Now, he’s a little more than a stranger. I know I should love Daddy, but every day that he hides himself away, I feel less and less for him. I worry that one day I won’t feel anything at all.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to decide how to cast my actions today in the best light. I’m sure Mrs. Fleck has painted me as a crazy, jealous bully. But I’m actually the victim here. Vanessa is in the wrong, not me. I just have to tell Daddy the truth and hope he sees me as the innocent bystander.
I toss my bookbag next to the door, stretch my back, knock twice, and wait.
“Come in.”
I turn the chilly, brass knob and walk into Dad’s ginormous office.
Business books line three walls. The fourth wall holds a giant, backlit aquarium filled with colorful fish and rare sea creatures. Daddy sits behind a heavy wood desk, in his favorite black leather chair. His long, white hair falls in ivory waves onto his shoulders, mingling with the beard that grows down to the middle of his chest. It’s no wonder the news outlets nicknamed him, “The Eccentric Billionaire.” He surely looks the part.
“Have a seat, daughter.”
His eyes are less miserable than usual.
Odd.
I sit in a dark leather chair and cross my legs in front of me. The aquarium hums and bubbles, relaxing me a bit.
Daddy stands and walks around his desk, leaning against it and smiling down at me. It’s not a genuine smile. Those were gone after Mama died. No, this is a smile he reserves for press conferences and magazine interviews. A plastic smile, like the kind a robot would wear if it were trying to pass as a human.
Something’s up.
“Did I ever tell you how exceptional you are?”
I clear my throat and try to keep my mind sharp. “No. I mean, not lately.”
“You’ve excelled at everything you’ve put your mind to. You’re intelligent, hardworking, and determined. All qualities a father can be proud of.”
“Uh… thanks.”
Daddy saunters over to the aquarium. His six-and-a-half-foot frame turns black against the bright blue light.
My stomach tightens a bit, and I get a distinct impression that something isn’t right. Like I’m being set up for something awful.
“Triton Industries has partnered with Stonewall Enterprises to provide extraordinary high school students, like yourself, with an unprecedented, unimaginable, unmatched opportunity to explore the business of industry. Are you following what I’m saying, daughter?”
I don’t follow, but I nod anyway. “Uh-huh.”
“Good. This new opportunity will require hard work, study, and dedication. Qualities that are rare with today's youth, though not entirely unfounded.”
My stomach clenches tighter. Daddy isn’t talking to me as a daughter. He’s pitching me something. But why would he need to pitch anything to me? Unless…
“Dad—”
“Because of your enthusiasm for learning, your earnestness, and your drive to succeed—”
“Dad—”
“I am honored to announce that you, and twenty other youths, have been selected to comprise the inaugural class of the Triton-Stonewall Academy, effective immediately.”
My hands shake.
“Every day from two to four p.m., you will set the standard for excellence as the first students of this very special academy. You will—”
The air freezes in my lungs, but only for a moment.
“Two to four? I can’t! I have swimming!”
Daddy scowls and waves my comment away, stopping his spiel.
“A minor inconvenience. You will resign from the team immediately.”
No. This can’t be happening. This has to be a dream.
“I can’t resign. They made me captain of the team! We have the Tri-State Competition in sixteen days.” I jump up, my chest thrust forward in defiance. “I made qualifying time today. If I place in this next meet, I could go to the Olympics!”
“Pish-posh.” Daddy walks toward me, stopping three feet away. I see his face clearly now. His chin is set, his mouth is firm, his eyes sharp and unyielding. This is the real Triton Swimworthy. Hard. Bitter. Cold. “The Olympics are a dream that will leave you starving in the streets. You can’t eat medals. You need a proper business with multiple streams of income. Something you can live off.”
“The Olympics aren’t a dream. They’re real.”
“And in ten years when your body is shriveled from the water and your legs don’t kick, and your back aches and you realize you’re no longer sixteen? What then?”
“I can teach. I can coach. I can—”
He raises his hand and walks away from me.
“I will not see my daughter as some… some… swim teacher. You’re already at risk at school due to your behavior problems and—”
“That wasn’t my fault—”
“Of course it was. I was told all about it. Going forward, you’ll follow the path I’ve set for you. You’ll attend a good college, receive a business degree, and operate a thriving business. That is your future.”
“I’m sixteen years old. I’m not a child. You can’t tell me how to run my life.”
He turns back to me and scoffs. “Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young lady. As long as you live under my roof you’ll obey my orders, and my order is that you stop chasing these insane dreams of yours and accept the path I have gilded for you. It’s time to grow up and start thinking about your future.”
“But—”
“Not another word. And I never, ever want to hear about these foolish Olympic dreams again. Is that clear?”
Rage pumps through my body. My head spins. My heart aches.
I step forward, intending to argue my case, but I can barely breathe around the lump blocking my windpipe. My treacherous eyes well with tears. My body trembles.
Before I break down in front of my father, I sprint from his office, run into my room, and throw myself on the bed, crying hot, angry tears.
Stupid tears.
4
I sit in my bay window gazing up at the sky.
I’m devastated. My dreams of becoming an Olympic athlete have been snatched away from me. All my hard work is now down the drain. The extra swim practices. My win against Vanessa. My time as captain. They’re all gone. Meaningless. I wish Mama were here. S
he would talk Daddy into letting me stay on the team. She would be happy that I’ve made captain. She wouldn’t call my aspirations foolish and dismiss them. She would care about my feelings.
But Mama’s not here, and now my life is over.
I hug my pillow tight.
What do I do now?
A single knock sounds at my door before it swings open.
I don’t need to look up to see that it’s Duckie. The twins wouldn’t dare come into my room without being asked, but Duckie doesn’t ask permission to do anything.
Some sort of weird, older sibling perk, I guess.
At first, she stands silently with her arms crossed across her chest, gauging my misery.
Her yellow, two-piece swimsuit glows in the moonlight. She must’ve grabbed the first one she saw because Duckie hasn’t worn anything but black, old lady swimsuits in… well… ever.
What’s up with that?
“Ready for that swim?” she finally asks.
The word “no” slips to the tip of my tongue, but I stop it. This is the perfect opportunity to convince Duckie I’m not cut out for the Triton-Stonewall Business Academy. If I can make her see reason, then maybe she can convince Daddy to let me out of the class.
“Sure,” I reply.
With my new plan in place, I throw on my purple two-piece and follow Duckie to the pool room.
The lights are already on, and two bottles of water are at one end of the pool.
Duckie jumps in the water, and I follow suit.
“You look like you could use a race,” she says.
Yes. A race. That’s exactly what I need. Some friendly competition will help get my thoughts in order.
“Ready,” she says.
I reply, “Set.”
“Go.”
I launch myself forward. The rules are simple. Two laps around the pool. Whoever touches the wall first wins.
I push and pull the water around me, kicking as hard as I can. The water is like a balm to my soul, and my mind immediately clears.
When I touch the wall, I leap up, expecting Duckie to still be swimming her first lap. Instead, she’s sitting on the tiles, not even winded.
Impossible. Duckie barely swims!
“How did you do that?” I gasp.
She smiles triumphantly. “Remember when Mama said we were half mermaid? Well, it’s absolutely true.”