Chapter 3
As I stand on Main Street, after school, I’m thankful for the text from my brother. “I gotta go,” I tell my friends. “Mom wants me home ASAP.”
Camila scoffs, popping her hip. “But you said you’d come with me when I try on that red dress at Cynthia’s Boutique. You need to help me decide if my hair should be up or down when I wear it.”
It’s like the fifth time she’s trying on that dress. She’s been waiting for her dad to get back to town so he can pay for it. But it’s almost five o’clock, and it was horrendous enough surviving school with these two sniping at me.
“I’d love to,” I say, placing a hand on the space above my heart. “But Freddy made it sound urgent.”
Yvie lifts on the balls of her feet, grinning. “Freddy’s coming?”
“Just to pick me up,” I answer much too hastily. “He can’t stick around to talk.”
Yvie screws up her mouth. “Not even to say hi?”
I sigh. “Of course, you two can say hi.”
Coping with Camila outside of school is particularly dicey, even when we go shopping. Picking out a new outfit usually lifts her mood.
But I can’t get through another parade at Cynthia’s. It’s always the same. She asks me what I think and has me pick out jewelry items from around the store. I mean, sometimes there’s a bonus. Last time she bought me this dainty gold charm bracelet I’ve been wearing ever since.
Going to Cynthia’s can be such a minefield.
I always tell Camila she looks fabulous.
But, sometimes, she scowls at me so intensely and interprets what I said as something mean.
Worse is when Yvie jumps in, echoing Cammy’s words until I end up apologizing for everything that came out of their mouths.
Tomorrow is a new day. Endless possibilities in every hallway and every classroom for Cammy to find a new victim. Or, at least, I can find them and present them to her.
In the ten minutes it takes Freddy to get here, I swear life has drained from my body. He pulls up in his blue Lexus, which matches the royal blue of his football team’s jerseys, and the passenger window lowers.
Inside, Freddy slides his Ray-Bans down his nose and jokes, “Look, it’s the brat squad.”
Honestly, he could have billionaire hair. The way the thick, dark brown hair effortlessly sweeps back with a glossy shine is envious. I have to use a mountain of product to get my dark curls to play nice.
“Brat squad?” Yvie questions, popping a hip as she mischievously eyes my brother. “I totally think you’re mislabelling us.”
“Oh, is that so?” Freddy asks with that charismatic smile that makes all the girls drool.
I really hate when he does that.
Cammy and Yvie giggle as they lean in closer to the car.
It’s a very good possibility they only stay friends with me for a chance to be with Freddy.
It’s sick.
But, then again, I stay friends with them to avoid worse bullying. So maybe I’m just as sick as them.
Freddy is a year older than me, and our brother Drew is a year older than Freddy.
It was just the three of us for so long, and we grew up super close.
Then, when I was six, Mom and Dad surprised us with our little brother Corbin.
Super-big personalities already filled our house.
For a long time, I kept hoping the stalk got the house number wrong, and kid number four wasn’t really ours.
“Come on, Tabby, jump in,” Freddy says, gesturing with his head. “We gotta get home.”
The girls wave and giggle in unison. “Bye, Freddy.”
Freddy fixes his sunglasses against his nose as I get into his car. “Bye, girls.”
“I’ll text you,” I say to my friends as I buckle up.
I don’t hear their response because Freddy’s already reversing the car onto the street.
“So, what did you do this time?” Freddy asks as he drives the car along Main Street.
“Huh?”
“The text from Mom was pretty blunt,” he replies. “She seems fired-up.”
“Well, she didn’t text me, so it can’t be that important.” I brush it off. “It’s probably not even about me. Heck, it’s probably about Drew.”
“Mm-hmm,” Freddy mutters, flicking on his indicator.
“Why? What did the text say?”
“Get Tabitha home now.”
I gulp, leaning in. “That’s all?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The way he says it irritates me. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, what do you think the text is about?”
“It’s obvious,” Freddy smirks. “You did something that ticked off Mom.”
Great. There’s a ticking time-bomb waiting for me at home.
For the rest of the drive home, I let Freddy’s loud car stereo excuse me from talking to my brother. Soon, he’s using the clicker to open our garage, and once he’s parked inside, I wait for him to exit first. No way am I facing Mom first.
Please, please, please. Be mad at Drew, not me.
Even with my fingers crossed, the silent prayer does nothing.
“Tabitha!” Mom shouts when I enter the house behind Freddy. Her eyes are round and crazed. “I can’t believe you! I’m so disappointed!”
“Crap,“ sizzles out of Freddy as he slinks away.
“Mom,“ I blurt as heat blotches my skin. “Why are you screaming at me? I just walked through the freaking door.”
Mom waves her tablet in my face. “I got a letter from your chemistry teacher.”
An ache twists in my stomach, and a response evaporates from my tongue.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Mom asks, throwing her hands up and almost losing grip of the tablet.
I fold my arms and turn to my brother for support, but he’s moved toward the couch. I then turn back to my mother with a huff. “I’m being picked on.”
“Picked on?” Mom taps on her tablet. “Mrs. Field’s email says, you’ve been acting out in class for weeks. You’ve been making her classroom gossip central.”
“Are you gonna believe her instead of your own daughter?” I accuse.
Irritated, Mom shakes her tablet at me. “It’s all right here in black and white.”
“Do you even want to hear my side of the story?”
“Do you want to recount the part where you and Camila argued with your teacher?”
I stomp my foot, and my volume rises. “Did you not want us to stand up for ourselves?”
“I’ve had it with the attitude, Tabitha,” Mom scolds. “I didn’t raise you to be such a brat.”
My chest heaves with indignation. “A brat?“ I echo. “How could you call me a brat?”
“Pah,“ it comes out with a breathy scoff. “Easily! How can you treat me this way and expect anything less? If I’m being honest, you’re more like a…”
“Mom,“ Freddy cuts in. “Don’t.”
He hates it when we fight. When anyone fights.
Mom lifts a hand toward where Freddy sits on the couch. “Honey, please.” She takes another inhale, eyes laser focused on me. “Look, Tabitha, I need you to straighten up. Why can’t you be more like your brothers and take life seriously? Take school more seriously. This family more seriously.”
My jaw is about to hit the floor. “Are you serious right now?” My fingers curl in anger and my manicure digs deep into the flesh of my palms. “You’re calling me not serious? Have you even looked at Drew lately?”
“Leave your brother out of it.”
I can’t fathom the words coming out of her mouth. “You’re the one who brought him into this.”
Freddy gets up from the couch and stomps out of the room. “This is going nowhere.”
“Mrs. Field told me she gave your class a homework assignment. She wants me to sign it before you turn it in.”
I hold my hips and screw up my face as I stare at her. “Fine.”
“I am serious, Tabitha. Can it with the attitude.”
“It wouldn’t matter what I said. You’d be fighting with me no matter what.”
Mom clicks her tongue, turning away from me. “Just leave and do your homework.”
“What? You’re literally turning your back on me?” I screech, indignant.
She turns around and glares at me. “Stop arguing with me. Now go do something productive with yourself.”
I’m firing on all cylinders, badly wanting to shout every bad word forming in my mind. My knuckles crack, and every manicured fingertip stabs deeper into my palms. Biting down hard until my jaw inflames, I grunt through gritted teeth, “Fine,“ and march myself to my bedroom.
“You’re in trouble,” a sing-song voice comes out of my ten-year-old brother as he wanders the hall toward our bedrooms.
“Ugh.” I scowl at him. “Shut it, Corbin.”
Corbin points at me, still maintaining the song in his tone. “You made Mom mad. You’re in trouble.”
I stomp toward my bedroom. “What else is new?”
“Hey!” Freddy calls, jogging up the hall. “Was that really necessary?”
I roll my eyes, not facing him. “Can you not start with me?”
Freddy grabs my shoulder, forcing me to face him. “Why must you antagonize Mom?”
“Excuse me?” I wince. “You’re the one who brought me home so she could go mental at me.”
“I didn’t know you had a letter from the school.”
Corbin points at me again, sticking out his tongue. “You’re in trouble. You’re in trouble.”
Freddy’s palm lands on the top of Corbin’s head, and he turns him in the other direction. “Scram, Corby. We don’t need you butting in.”
Corbin groans, but does as he’s told and toddles off down the hall.
I frown. “He never buzzes off when I tell him to.”
“Maybe it’s your tone,” Freddy replies. “Sounds like that’s the reason you’re being moved in class. You can’t keep being mouthy with your teachers.”
I fold my arms. “I’m not.”
Freddy’s eyebrow cocks.
With a huff, I drop my arms and shrug it off. “I’m getting the blame for everything. But as if Mom wants to hear that. She never listens to me. I could read a book and she’d accuse me of being bad.”
Freddy frowns. “I highly doubt it.”
“I’m not you, Fred. I don’t get praised for existing.”
Hurt flashes across Freddy’s baby blue eyes, and it’s like a needle stinging my heart. “Don’t say that to me.”
I suck in a breath; the sting sharpens. “I’m sorry.”
“Say that to Mom,” Freddy says, and then turns back down the hall.
When I exhale, there’s an ache in my chest, like I’ve been holding onto that air for an hour. I rub my sweaty palms against my sides and wince at the sting. I lift my hands and see eight half-moons embedded across my palms.