Chapter Four Kami
Chapter Four
Kami
How could everything fall apart so fast?
Since the school year had started, everything had gone from bad to worse.
Even if they’d brought me problems, Thiago and Taylor being back was my one saving grace.
Knowing they were next door again, seeing their mother leaving for work, was something I could only have dreamed a year ago.
The day had drawn on so long, I thought it would never end. First I’d found out about my brother, then Thiago had rejected me, and besides—how could I be so stupid as to try to kiss him? What the hell was I thinking? We’d both agreed it was over between us. It had to be. I knew that.
I was with Taylor.
Taylor…and I loved him, dammit! Even on that horrible day, he’d managed to wring a smile out of me. But then the thing with the lockers happened. Why would someone do that? Who had wanted to turn everyone against me? Someone hated me. That much was certain.
Now the whole school thought I’d spray-painted the seniors’ lockers. Julian had even fallen for it, and now he didn’t trust me, and our friendship was ruined. I had to talk to him.
I got home around four. As far back as I can remember, I’d never gotten home that early unless practice had been canceled for some reason or we had a half day.
But I had to admit, it was nice having a little time for myself now that I’d quit the squad.
I could study for hours, and I wouldn’t have to stay up all night to get good grades.
I could even draw or read a book without feeling guilty about not doing something more productive with my time.
Quitting cheerleading had opened up a new world to me.
And best of all, I didn’t have to spend so much time at school.
When we walked into the house, we found Mom and Dad sitting at the coffee table across from a man in his fifties with gray hair and a white beard. There was a stack of papers in front of them.
“How was school?” Mom asked, looking up from the papers she was reading.
“Good,” I lied, keeping my eyes on the stranger. “What are you doing?”
“This is Mr. Richards, my lawyer,” my mother said, a little too politely. “He’s drawn up a draft of the divorce agreement, and we’re going over it together.”
I couldn’t believe how coolly she could talk about splitting up with the man she’d been with since she was nineteen years old. This was the first time I’d seen Dad not looking sad or bitter. He just seemed serious, as though he’d accepted it. Had he finally seen Mom’s true colors?
I was furious, and it was hard to control my feelings. But for my own good, I needed to remain calm. I stepped forward and directly addressed the lawyer, “Mr. Richards,” I said as politely as I could muster. “What do I have to do to be able to live with my father?”
Mr. Richards looked back and forth uncomfortably between my parents.
“Well, um…it says here your parents have agreed that you and your brother will be staying with your mother for now, and—”
“I’m eighteen, though, so I can choose, right?”
“Kamila…” my mother said nervously.
“According to the law, you’re an adult, so it’s your right. But let’s not forget the question of who is willing or able to support you. Your parents have told me you’re still in high school—”
“But if I get a job I can go, right?”
“Kamila,” Dad said sternly, “that’s enough. You’re staying with your mother. We’ve talked it over. It’s decided.”
I turned to him. “Why?” I asked, hurt. “Don’t you want me to live with you?”
He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What I want is for you to stay with your brother, Kamila,” he said, looking bitter. He’d made his decision.
That made me reconsider things.
“He’s still little, and he needs to be with your mother. Cam needs you now too, even more than ever.”
“Plus,” my mother chimed in, daring me to talk back to her, “I’ll need you to look after him when I’m busy.”
“Oh, I get it. You want me to live with you so I can play babysitter?”
Mr. Richards seemed uncomfortable but intrigued, moving his head left and right like someone watching a tennis match.
“Your father doesn’t have the means to provide for us anymore. Don’t you see that?” my mother asked, losing her composure.
“And you do?”
“Your grandparents are going to help us out.”
Oh, God. Just what I needed. “So that’s it. You’d rather go running to your parents than try to look for a job yourself.” I didn’t give one shit that the lawyer was witnessing all this.
My father turned to him. “Mr. Richards, I think it would be best we leave this for another day.”
The lawyer stood, gathered his things, and stuffed them into his briefcase. “Of course. We can speak tomorrow,” he said, unable to hide the annoyed look on his face.
I wasn’t going to stick around and talk with them. I turned, ready to go to my room and lock the door, but Mom stopped me. “Kamila, this is over,” she said. “I’m not going to put up with this spoiled attitude from you any longer.”
“Well, if you want me to live with you, you’d better get used to it,” I responded.
“Roger, do something!” she shouted to my father.
“Sorry, I’m not going to be a part of this stupid argument. Kamila, you’re too old for these hissy fits. You did say one thing that made sense, though—you really ought to look for a job, given the circumstances.”
My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious,” I said.
“What your mother said was true. I’m broke. I can’t pay for this house and your expenses, at least not for a while. We only have enough to keep up the mortgage through the end of the school year. But I can’t keep up with your allowance.”
“Roger, I told you my parents would help us. Kamila doesn’t need to go flip burgers. She’ll be taken care of,” Mom said with a defiant look in her eyes, as if wanting to assert that she would take care of us from now on.
“I think I will get a job,” I said, without skipping a beat. “Now that I’m not on the cheerleading squad, I can find something part-time that’ll still leave me time to study.”
“What?” my mother shouted, wide-eyed. “You quit the squad?”
“A couple of weeks ago.” I couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured that out.
“Why?”
“Because I felt like it!” I crossed my arms. “I’d rather use my time to study…or work,” I added, realizing that my freedom had lasted exactly fourteen days.
“My goodness, what will they say in town? You quit cheerleading, get a job… After all those years training, you were the captain, and you’re going to quit?”
“Yep,” I replied. “Cheerleading is dumb. It’s not like there’s anything you can do with it after high school. I mean, you were a cheerleader, and what have you ever done?”
Mom tensed up, and I knew I’d crossed a line.
“Kamila, go to your room,” Dad said, and I didn’t hesitate a second.
Upstairs, I shut the door, sat at my desk, and typed Carsville help wanted into the search engine. I spent the rest of the afternoon sending out résumés.
***
Around six, I was tired, and my eyes were burning after two hours of staring at the screen, so I threw on some leggings, a sweatshirt, and my headphones and got ready for a run.
The cold helped clear my head and made me feel less guilty for mouthing off to my mother.
It wasn’t her fault she’d been raised to think the entire goal of life was to look perfect and vulnerable and have some man pay for everything. But that wouldn’t work for me.
I usually ran farther out of town, but this time I took the opposite route.
I jogged into Carsville, with its perfectly paved streets, its trim pines, its redbrick buildings, and its mom-and-pop shops.
It had gotten dark, and I could see the customers inside, taking shelter from the cold with a hot cup of coffee or looking at clothes and trinkets, buying produce, or just wandering the aisles killing time before it got too late.
I slowed down to a quick walk.
What was it about this town that made everyone want to be so perfect?
I went to Mill’s, the café on the square.
I loved that place, loved going in and getting a giant mug of coffee and a fresh-baked brownie and sitting down to draw.
It was the best place in town, and everybody went there to meet friends or take a break from their routines.
On the weekends it was packed, but during the week you could usually get a seat.
It was big, divided up into three spaces.
In one, there were tables with plugs where you could work on your computer; that’s where the students usually hung out.
Then there was the café, with three or four little round tables and the big picture window with views of the street and the square.
Finally, there was the section by the pastry cooler, where you could always find Mr. and Mrs. Mill selling their cakes, croissants, rye bread, and cookies.
When I walked in, the bell rang, and the rich scent of chocolate and baking bread hit me. I could hear murmurs and, in the background, the Mill’s soundtrack: classic rock, no matter the time of day or year.
“Kami! I haven’t seen you in ages!” Mrs. Mill said, warm as always. She was a plump woman in her seventies with tender blue eyes and crow’s-feet from laughing all the time. She adored my little brother, and anytime I brought him in, she’d stuff him with sweets.
It wasn’t long before she asked after him: “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s at home, Mrs. Mill.” I edged closer to the counter, amused. “How are you? And how’s Mr. Mill?”
“I’m great, dear,” she said, making change for the woman in line. “Mr. Mill isn’t doing so well, though. It’s his back. But so it goes. How about you?”
“I’m good, just studying a lot,” I said and smiled.
“Getting ready to go to Yale?”
I laughed. “I hope so, Mrs. Mill.” I ordered a cappuccino and a slice of her classic carrot cake.
“Go sit down, dear, I’ll bring it over to you.”