I sat up and placed the daisies around her neck. “You know the likelihood of success is pretty low, right?”
A cardinal rule in the Bell household: you did not leave the house if you couldn’t return before dark. Here, Dad had worked up “reinforcements” against the monsters, ensuring none of them could get in. After dark, well, you stayed put. Anyone out in the big bad world was without any type of protection and considered open season.
My father’s paranoia and delusion had caused me to miss numerous school activities and countless sporting events. I’d never even been on a date. Yes, I could have gone on a weekend lunch date and other craptasticly lame things like that, but honestly? I had no desire for a boyfriend. I never wanted to have to explain that my dad was certifiable, or that he sometimes locked us in the “special” basement he’d built as added protection from a boogeyman that did not exist. Yeah, just peachy.
Em threw her arms around me. “You can do it, I know you can. You can do anything!”
Her faith in me...so humbling. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is— Oh, ick!” Face scrunched with horror, she jumped as far away from me as she could get. “You’re all gross and wet, and you made me all gross and wet.”
Laughing, I lunged for her. She squealed and darted off. I’d run the hose over myself about half an hour ago, hoping to cool down. Not that I’d tell her. The fun of sibling torture, and all that.
“Stay out here, okay?” Mom would say something that would hurt her feelings, and I’d say something to make her feel bad for asking me to do this, and she’d cry. I hated when she cried.
“Sure, sure,” she said, palms up in a gesture of innocence.
Like I was buying that hasty assurance. She planned to follow me and listen, no question. Girl was devious like that. “Promise me.”
“I can’t believe you’d doubt me.” A delicate hand fluttered over her heart. “That hurts, Alice. That really hurts.”
“First, major congrats. Your acting has improved tremendously,” I said with a round of applause. “Second, say the words or I’ll return to working on a tan I’ll never achieve.”
Grinning, she rose on her toes, stretched out her arms and slowly spun on one leg. The sun chose that moment to toss out an amber ray, creating the perfect spotlight for her perfect pirouette. “Okay, okay. I promise. Happy now?”
“Sublimely.” She might be devious, but she never broke a promise.
“Watch me pretend I know what that means.”
“It means—oh, never mind.” I was stalling, and I knew it. “I’m going.”
With all the enthusiasm of a firing squad candidate, I stood and turned toward our house, a two-story my dad had built in the prime of his construction days, with brown brick on the bottom and brown-and-white-striped wood on the top. Kind of boxy, amazingly average and absolutely, one hundred percent forgettable. But then, that’s what he’d been going for, he’d said.
My flip-flops clapped against the ground, creating a mantra inside my head. Don’t. Fail. Don’t. Fail. Finally I stood at the glass doors that led to our kitchen and spotted my mom, bustling from the sink to the stove and back again. I watched her, a bit sick to my stomach.
Don’t be a wuss. You can do this.
I pushed my way inside. Garlic, butter and tomato paste scented the air. “Hey,” I said, and hoped I hadn’t cringed.
Mom glanced up from the steaming strainer of noodles and smiled. “Hey, baby. Coming in for good, or just taking a break?”
“Break.” The forced incarceration at night drove me to spend as much time as possible outside during daylight hours, whether I burned to lobster-red or not.
“Well, your timing’s great. The spaghetti’s almost done.”