Chapter 12
I pound my fist against the flat pillow, huffing irritably. It’s freaking impossible to find a comfortable position on this air mattress, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was this or the floor.
My mother and grandma are bunking together.
I get the musty basement, caged between the boxes and plastic bins.
I don’t have the convenience of a bathroom either.
Traipsing upstairs in the middle of the night to relieve myself is going to be a major pain.
I suggested bedding down on the sofa in the living room, but Sheila wouldn’t have it, stating she won’t have her living room resembling a pigsty.
Definitely not an ideal living situation, but on the plus side, the washer and dryer are close at hand.
I roll onto my side and check the time on my cell phone. It doesn’t have service. Momma canceled the plan months ago, but it’s still useful for apps. Of course, she and the prodigal son have working cell phones. “I can’t afford service for you too, Zilphia.” Whatever.
Great, eighteen minutes before the alarm goes off.
No point in trying to go back to sleep now.
The poor sleeping conditions aren’t the sole reason for my restlessness.
Despite less-than-favorable circumstances, I’m excited to start a new school and develop a close bond with my cousin, Deja.
We’re the same age, and I know we’ll get along great.
I’m betting we have a lot in common too.
She missed all the drama yesterday and still hadn’t gotten home by the time I turned in for the night. I’m looking forward to hanging out with her today. I can’t wait to talk about boys, watch movies together—all the normal stuff teenage girls do. Maybe we’ll even become roomies.
I won’t miss my old school or my so-called friends one bit. From the outside, my life seemed like a modern-day fairytale. Girls envied me, would’ve killed to take my place given the chance. I had everything they coveted—popularity, money, and a smoking-hot boyfriend.
What I truly craved was the freedom to make my own decisions, though.
I was nothing more than an unwilling pawn in my mother’s quest for power and wealth.
That woman would sell my soul to the devil himself to acquire both.
Now it’s my turn to shine. Real friends.
Real choices. A fresh start without Momma’s shadow clawing at my every move.
School started a month ago, but my cousin will help me settle in and bring me into her fold.
A depressing thought suddenly intrudes on my excitement, causing a sharp pang to bloom between my breastbones. What if Deja hates me?
Sheila does, and she showed me just how much during dinner yesterday evening. While Keith and Terrence were kind and welcoming, she was cold and indifferent. Resentment practically spilled from her pores.
My aunt wasn’t keen on sharing either, serving me minuscule portions.
She barely spoke two sentences to me and cast withering glances my way throughout the entire meal, making me feel unworthy to sit in her presence.
I received the same hostile look from my own mother on too many occasions to count.
Momma was still livid about the airport and didn’t come down to dinner, which was for the best if you ask me.
Undoubtedly, the sisters would’ve ended up in another shouting match.
Grandma stayed in bed, too exhausted to join us.
I’m praying her offspring put their differences aside and start playing nice for her sake. Easier said than done, unfortunately.
Deja and I don’t have to inherit their war. Maybe we can even plan a family intervention and force them to settle their feud once and for all. My trepidation eases a little.
I perk up, hearing footsteps on the basement stairs, and shift onto an elbow to see who it is. Bright light spills into the compact space, stinging my eyes.
Deja.
She’s almost a replica of her mother; seriously, they could be twins—tall, curvy figure, pecan-brown skin tone, a shade lighter than her mother’s.
I bound to my feet and offer her a timid smile. “Hi.”
“Shut up and listen, bitch,” she snarls, folding her long arms across her ample breasts. “One: Don’t talk to me. Two: Don’t touch my shit. Three: Stay the fuck out of my way. Four: Keep your dirty whore hands off my boyfriend. Break those rules and I break your face.”
With that warning, she spins on her heel and sashays back upstairs.
I’m at a loss for words. Sheila got in her head, painting me as the villain in some fanciful story. What lies has she told her? I doubt anything I say will change Deja’s mind about me. Not with my aunt in her ear stoking the flames.
“Oh, and one more thing.” My cousin stops in the doorway and peers over her shoulder, her contemptuous gaze slowly perusing my skinny frame. She smirks, finding me lacking. “Don’t expect me to chauffeur you to and from school. Find your own way.”
I lean closer to the bathroom mirror and study my puffy, bloodshot eyes.
Perfect. Everyone will think I have conjunctivitis.
A search through the medicine cabinet yields no eyedrops to clear the redness.
This day just keeps getting better. I broke down in the shower and couldn’t stop crying. It’s so unfair.
Deja crushed all my hopes about a better life. I’m always getting the shitty end of the stick. Should’ve known things would be the same here.
I have no idea what to expect at school now that my cousin has shunned me.
Being the new kid is never easy. I sigh, running my fine-tooth comb through my heat-straightened mane for probably the twentieth time, though every single strand is neatly in place.
I’m just not ready to go downstairs and face the double dragons.
“This is stupid.” I toss my comb into my purse and zip it closed. “I live here now. We all just have to learn to get along. Simple as that.”
I grab my purse off the sink and draw the long strap across my torso before exiting the bathroom. I pause at my grandmother’s bedroom and press my ear to the door, hearing light snoring. She and Momma are still fast asleep. I’ll catch up with them after school.
A wonderful aroma hits my nostrils as I make my way downstairs. Breakfast. My pace quickens, following the smell to the expansive kitchen. There, my aunt and cousins sit at a small round table in the corner, sharing the morning meal. Time to put on a brave face.
“Good morning,” I chirp and slide into the empty chair next to my little cousin.
“Good morning, Zilphia,” Terrence returns my greeting, but the double dragons do not.
“Ew.” Deja snickers behind her hand. “That outfit is so juvenile.”
Self-doubt rears its ugly head. It took me nearly an hour to decide on what to wear. What exactly does she find juvenile about my attire? I glance down at myself. Floral print top, high-waisted yellow shorts, and chunky white sandals. Looks good to me.
I furtively examine my cousin’s skimpy ensemble.
Low-cut blouse barely holding her huge boobs.
A microscopic skirt leaves little to the imagination.
It’s giving “desperate for attention.” Does Bentworth High School not have a dress code?
I mean, come on. Her shirt was not made for huge boobs.
One wrong move and free nipple show for anyone nearby. I’m loving her wedges, though.
My scrutiny moves upward, taking in her impeccable makeup, fake, extra-long eyelashes, exaggerated baby hairs, and wavy, butt-length wig. Future Instagram model in the making here.
“Sorry,” Sheila states insincerely, interrupting my assessment. “There isn’t any food left for you.”
Why am I not surprised?
“That’s okay,” I mumble. “I’ll just have some apple juice.”
Deja seizes the jug of apple juice and empties the last bit into her glass. “Oops, all gone.”
Bitch.
“I’ll share with you,” Terrence announces, pushing his plate and cup toward me. “My teacher said leaders share.”
He beams, and I feel myself melting a little inside. His kind gesture earns him disapproving glares from the double dragons, though.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not hungry,” I lie. I’m freaking starving.
Yesterday’s meager dinner wasn’t enough to fill a toddler. I’ll eat breakfast at school, though. No biggie.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, showing his toothy smile.
“Eat,” Deja snaps at her brother. “We’re leaving in two minutes.”
“Okay,” he grumbles and scarfs down the rest of his food. “I’m finished!”
“See you later, Ma,” Deja says and prances out of the kitchen.
Rein it in, Miss Diva. You’re not walking the runway.
Terrence gives his mother a peck on the cheek before darting after his sister.
“Have a good day,” she calls out, then shifts her spiteful gaze to me. “Shouldn’t you be going too?”
“Yeah, umm… Is Keith home?”
“Why?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me. “What do you want him for?”
Oh God, does she think I’m crushing on Keith?
“Just to see if he can give me a ride to school. That’s all,” I quickly answer before her wild imagination gets me into trouble.
Keith is old enough to be my father for crying out loud!
“He left for work,” she says sharply. “My husband’s not your personal driver. Walk or take the bus.”
Sheila flips her flowing lace-front install over her shoulder and begins clearing the table.
I need to make my aunt see that I’m not the enemy.
“I know what Momma did. It was wrong on so many levels,” I state, shifting in my seat to follow her movements. “I’m so sorry—”
“I’m not,” Sheila cackles, keeping her back to me. “Loretta did me a favor. Your father turned out to be a lowlife criminal. Now leave.”
I stand. “I’m not my parents and shouldn’t be judged based on their actions.”
She stiffens but continues wiping down the counter.
I’m done.
Trying to repair the damage in this family is a lost cause.
I march into the hallway and stop dead in my tracks. What the heck? I left my backpack propped against the basement door, and now it’s gone. I’m confused for a second, then understanding dawns on me.