St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  “Aren’t you kind of rich to be doing that sort of thing?”

  I bite my inner cheek and scratch my forehead. The frustration I hoped to get rid of by talking to Michael is increasing instead of decreasing.

  “Well, technically, only my father’s rich, so—”

  “But you have access to his money.”

  This is starting to make me really uncomfortable. I hate talking about my dad’s money. Yes, it’s there and there’s a lot of it, but there’s so much more to my family than our bank account. I don’t want to be one of those losers who flaunt their wealth.

  I move the phone away from my ear, trying to get my thoughts in order.

  This is not the conversation I’ve imagined. I want something deep and fulfilling. This is more judgy and juvenile.

  You can salvage this. There has to be something you have in common.

  “So, tell me about your family. How does your mom like it out here?”

  “Honestly, she hates it.”

  Well, that’s something.

  “Why?”

  “She’s kind of a free spirit. Back home, we lived in a small house on the beach. She’s not used to a city with traffic and smog. Plus, she hates the cold weather, so...”

  Sounds like she’s not going to last long.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She’s going back soon. Tomorrow, I think.”

  “Tomorrow? But she just got here.”

  “That’s Mom. Like I said. A free spirit.”

  “Won’t your dad be sad?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him. Let’s just say he has plenty of company out here, and Mom has plenty of company back home.”

  I frown. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Are Michael’s parents in an open marriage? So open, in fact, that he knows about it? I don’t even know how to feel about that. I know Michael’s not his parents, but if they’re okay with being non-exclusive, is he?

  I clear my throat. This is a little too much information for me right now. I have to focus on something else. Swimming. He likes to swim and so do I. We can talk about swimming.

  “So, how long have you been swimming?”

  “As long as I’ve been walking,” he replies. “Like I said, we lived on the beach, so I was basically born in the water.”

  “Me too. My mom had a water birth in the ocean.”

  “That’s cool. I mean, I wasn’t actually born in the water. It’s a figure of speech. But the fact that you were is cool.”

  “Yeah.”

  Another awkward silence follows, and I can’t tell if we just have nothing to say to each other or if he’s picked back up his video game and is ignoring me.

  “So, what do you plan on doing with swim? Do you want to go to the Olympics? Make it big?”

  “Nah. I have bigger fish in mind than the Olympics.”

  “Bigger than the Olympics?”

  What could possibly be bigger than the Olympics?

  “Yup. Surfboards.”

  I’m glad he can’t see me. He might’ve felt bad if he saw the confused look on my face.

  “Surfboards?”

  “Yeah. I want to design and sell my own surfboards. I have a bunch of designs already. I figure I could make a few, and set up shop on the beach by my old house and sell them for a few hundred bucks. Once I make enough, I’m heading to Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii?”

  “Heck yeah. All they do is surf down there. I’ll make a killing.”

  Selling surfboards in Hawaii. That’s his life’s ambition? It sounds ridiculous. How can one make a living selling customized surfboards in Hawaii? Is that what I sound like when I talk about the Olympics?

  I shake my head.

  No way. My dream is something that can take care of me. The members of the national team actually get paid to swim. After that, I’ll coach. That’s a good dream. A solid dream. Much more solid than selling surfboards in Hawaii.

  Isn’t it?

  “So, about that dance,” he says.

  Dance?

  It takes me a minute to bring my mind back from Hawaii.

  “Yeah. The dance. I was thinking you can get everything together. The limo, the flowers, and stuff. You know, because I’m so new in town.”

  Don’t hang up the phone. Don’t hang up the phone.

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “And just let me know if you want me to wear anything special.”

  “Okay. That’s fine.”

  I’m one hundred and ten percent ready to get off the phone with Michael. And that makes me feel guilty, because I know I’m not giving him the benefit of the doubt. So, I stay on the phone, even though I don’t want to. We talk a little more about the dance and school, but each slip of dialogue is followed by a long, awkward silence.

  He’s definitely playing his sports game again.

  I scroll through my social media account between the silences. Then, I type in his name and check out his profile.

  He has a lot of friends. Mostly girls. Mostly with jet-black hair.

  I touch my own red locks every time I see him hanging off one of them. Yes, it makes me a little jealous, but it also makes me self-conscious. I look nothing like these girls. Where I’m tallish with red hair and green eyes, they’re short with dark hair and dark eyes.

  Maybe that’s part of it. Maybe we aren’t clicking because I’m so different from his past girlfriends and he doesn’t know how to deal with me.

  Maybe I just need a change.

  I keep scrolling as the silence stretches between us. I’m committed to giving Michael a chance, and I know exactly where to start.

  25

  It’s 12:57 p.m., and I’m officially a completely different person.

  My once flaming red hair is now ink black.

  I stare at myself in the mirror and wonder if anyone will recognize me tomorrow. I imagine myself sliding into my seat in Art History. Ms. Mendelbaum will squint in my direction and ask if I’m lost. The thought makes me chuckle.

  I’ve never dyed my hair before, but this feels right. Like I’m starting over somehow. Whenever my sister, Arista, would break up with a boyfriend, she’d cut her hair. She said women kept stress in their hair and cutting it was the only way to find some relief. I used to think she was crazy, but now I’m not so sure. I wouldn’t cut my hair for anything, but I wonder if dying produces the same results. I feel like it does for me.

  I briefly consider waking up to my sisters and telling them what I’ve done, but I decide not to. Tomorrow, I’ll dress up and show them the complete package.

  For once, I won’t be the weird sister with the red hair. I’ll blend in with the rest of my family. That thought makes me feel free.

  I turn on Ogre Wars, and, to my non-surprise, Eric’s up playing.

  For a brief moment, I want to turn on the camera, so he can see what I’ve done to myself. This will show him I’ve moved on. That I don’t need him.

  I don’t turn the camera on, though. I simply put on my headset and start playing.

  For a while, we play together silently. It’s quiet but not awkward. There’s a comfort in hearing each breath slowly going in, then coming back out. The rhythm relaxes me.

  “How you doing over there, Red?” he finally asks.

  “My sister has a tattoo.”

  It shocks me how quickly the words leave my mouth.

  With Michael, I was guarded. Unsure. Awkward. But with Eric, I know he’d listen to me. Really listen to me. And I need that now.

  We’re friends. It’s time we start acting like it.

  “Duckie has a tattoo? Does your father know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  We go inside of a tavern and start talking to one of the patrons about a mysterious weapon hidden in the mountains. Our next mission is to find it.

  “Your dad once told me tattoos were the mark of deplorable society. He’s going to freak when he sees it.”

  He remembers something my father said?
Why does that make me warm all over?

  Friends, I remind myself. We’re just friends.

  “So what’s the tattoo of?” he asks. “I’ll bet it’s something with your family. Like your dad’s face, or everyone’s initials.”

  “It’s a boy’s name.”

  He sucks in a breath. “No way. Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I saw it as plain as day. It says James.”

  “James.” He thinks a minute. “I don’t know a James.”

  “Neither do I.”

  We exit the tavern and start running up a mountain path.

  “Wow,” he says. “Some guy made Duckie fall hard. He must be a multibillionaire who owns a small country. Like a Saudi prince or something.”

  “A Saudi prince named James?”

  “It could happen.”

  I smile at that. “Maybe. I just don’t like her hiding stuff from us. Like we can’t take it.”

  “That’s just Duckie being Duckie. She’s probably just trying to protect you.”

  “But we don’t need protecting.” A pack of wolves attacks us as we trek up the mountain, and I pull out my Billy and start hacking at them. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “I know that, but to Duckie, you’re all still little kids playing on the beach talking about turd shells and running around naked in supermarkets.”

  “You remember those stories?”

  “She told them to me the second time I went to your apartment. They’re kind of unforgettable.”

  We make short work of the wolves and continue on our mission.

  “There’s something else too. She keeps telling me to take care of our father, which is super weird.”

  “That’s weird. Your dad’s kind of a handful. As in, he terrifies me.”

  I chuckle. “Tell me about it.”

  “But I can see why you’d think it’s cryptic.”

  Cryptic. That’s the exact word I used. It’s scary how much Eric gets me sometimes.

  “You shouldn’t assume the worst, though. This is Duckie we’re talking about. She loves you. All of this could just be a coincidence. Maybe she’s seeing this guy and she’s confused. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Have you spoken to Duckie? Not yelled at her. Spoken to her calmly.”

  He knows me too well.

  “I tried. And don’t start saying your whole ‘make people listen to you’ speech. I tried that with my dad and things didn’t end well. And don’t tell me I should keep trying because I’m not.”

  It’s his turn to chuckle.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “A little.”

  “Well then, you know my advice. It’s up to you if you take it or not. But Duckie is a special kind of sister. I wouldn’t want you to lose touch over something that may or may not be true.”

  “I don’t even know what I know. I just know things are weird.”

  We make it to the top of the mountain and start looking for someone who’ll give us further directions.

  “Talk to your sister,” he says. “And try to see her side of things. If I know Duckie, she’ll surprise you.”

  I pick at my new black hair.

  “I promise I’ll listen to your advice. I can’t promise I’ll follow it.”

  “Well, you know what they say about horses.”

  “Great. Now I’m a horse.”

  “If you were, you’d be a very pretty horse.”

  My gut twists. Hearing him call me pretty brings back feelings that friends shouldn’t feel for each other.

  I clear my throat and vaguely wonder where Purity is. Is she listening to our conversation right now? Probably not. I don’t know her that well, but I know she can’t keep her mouth shut for more than fifteen seconds.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  I nod as if he can see me. “Sure.”

  “Why Michael?”

  My gut twist into a pretzel. “What do you mean?”

  “I was just wondering what about him made you like him.”

  My hands start to shake nervously. Why does he have to ask me questions like this?

  “He’s…” He’s what? I don’t know him very well. I just know he’s different. “He’s…”

  “You can think about it. I’ll wait.”

  I huff.

  “It doesn’t matter what he is. We’re together now. Just like you and Purity are together.”

  The words burn in the air as soon as I say them. Though they’re true, I want to take them back. I don’t want things to be awkward between Eric and me. I want them to be normal.

  What am I saying? I don’t even know what our normal is!

  “Purity?”

  “Yes. Your girlfriend. Remember?”

  “Pu—” He cuts himself off, his breathing coming in hard.

  What’s with him? Is he angry because I brought her up? So it was okay for him to discuss Michael, but I can’t discuss Purity? How is that fair?

  “I have to go, Red.”

  What? Now he’s hanging up on me.

  “But we haven’t finished the level.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I just… I have to go. I’ll… uh… we’ll play tomorrow.”

  And then the line’s dead, and his character disappears from the screen, leaving me holding a controller and wondering what the heck has just happened.

  26

  I stand in front of the mirror, looking at this new me. Dark hair, black, long-sleeved T-shirt, blue jeans, black boots. I’ve even done my makeup in dark, gothy colors.

  This new hair will be the start of a new me. And maybe, if I’m a little more patient and understanding, it’ll bring Michael and me closer together. Maybe this new look will finally allow me to let him in.

  I tell myself this over and over again as I step into the hallway of my apartment.

  “What did you do?” Duckie spots me as she walks out of the kitchen, apple in hand. “Dad is going to freak.”

  At least it’s not a tattoo, I want to say. But I don’t.

  “It’s just a little hair dye,” I reply.

  “You look like the mom from the Adam’s Family.”

  I roll my eyes. This is not the confidence booster I need right now.

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine.” Duckie peers into my eyes in that way that makes me think she’s looking into my soul. “This is about a boy, isn’t it?”

  I don’t respond.

  “It’s always about a boy,” she mutters. Then she speaks louder. “Are you trying to catch one or move on from one?”

  My mouth drops open.

  Duckie knows about boys? She’s never even had a boyfriend. Not counting the secret one she has now, of course.

  “Maybe a little bit of both,” I say.

  She looks at me for a long time.

  “It’s a big change. But you’re still you in there. No matter what color your hair is or how much crap you put on your face. You’re still you.”

  “How do I know who I am?”

  She smiles. “You know who you are.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She holds up a finger. “Listen to what I’m saying. There’s a difference between who you’re with and who you are. A big difference. Remember that.”

  I frown, thinking about her words.

  Who I’m with is not who I am. I am who I am. But who am I?

  I was a girl who followed her dreams. But my dreams have been deferred, maybe forever.

  What does that leave?

  “You look like someone I’d beat up,” Adella says, sliding into the stool near the counter and picking at a few grapes in the fruit bowl.

  “You look like an ink smudge,” Alana adds, reaching over her sister to grab an apple. “Not cool.”

  “What do you know?” I demand. “You’re freshman.”

  “Freshman, yes. Fashion deaf, no.”

  “Um… hello. You all have black hair. Why can’t I have black hair too?”

  “Because you have
red hair,” Adella retorts. “Is this about a guy?”

  I blow out a breath and storm out of the kitchen.

  I love my sisters, but sometimes they really get under my skin.

  I throw my backpack over my shoulders and walk out the door, not bothering to say goodbye.

  27

  “It’s like magic, when you catch a big wave like that.”

  Michael has been going on and on about surfing for the last ten minutes. At first, it was nice that he snuck into lunch just to hang out with Sophia and me. But now, with us staring at him and listening to his California stories, I’m beginning to rethink the whole connecting with him idea. He hasn’t even mentioned my hair. Not one peep. He just said hey, sat down, and started going on and on about surfing.

  “That sounds awesome,” I say, trying my hardest to be engaged.

  I look at Sophia, but she’s too busy scrolling through her phone and eating the cheese out of her ham sandwich to care about my Michael issues.

  I’m on my own.

  “Oh, man, this one time, we saw these seals out on the water…”

  Great. Another story full of people I don’t know and places I haven’t been.

  “Hey, guys.”

  Eric and Purity sit down at the table across from me. My eyes bulge.

  I look from Michael to Eric, then to Sophia, who’s finally managed to put down her phone.

  Too little, too late, Soph.

  “Uh, hey,” I say.

  What’s he doing here? Worse, what’s Purity doing here, besides staring at me with those big doe eyes?

  You’re not fooling anyone with those eyes, Purity. You’re not as innocent as you look.

  Eric blinks at me once, then twice. A slow smile spreads across his face, like warm butter on bread. My stomach fills with butterflies, and I look away. How can he look at me like that right in front of Purity? If I were her, I’d slap him.

  “I guess I can’t call you Red anymore,” he says. “And to call you Black would seem a little inappropriate.”

  “Super inappropriate,” Sophia chimes in.

  I smooth my hair behind my ears.

  “I guess Ariel it is then,” I say.

  “All right. Ariel.”