Family Storms (21 page)

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Just … I'll just talk to you,” she said. She turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Not that many people know about us, about what happened. I mean, what really happened. Just a couple of my very close girlfriends know. I'd like to keep it that way.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don't you understand anything? I mean, keep your mouth shut in school. Just don't talk about it. No one has to know anything.”

“They're going to want to know why I'm here, aren't they? They'll ask questions. They'll see that I come from a different world.”

“They probably would. That's why I told Mother how hard this was going to be for me and that I wasn't going back to school unless she did something. Daddy agreed, and they made up a story about you.”

“What story?”

“You're the daughter of one of my cousins who was killed in a car accident. My mother, who is a walking soap opera, wanted to take you in, and so you're here. That way, no one will know you were homeless and sleeping in a carton.”

“Why didn't your mother ever tell me this?”

“She waits until the last moment for anything. She'll tell you about it tonight. We agree that it will make things easier for both of us.” She started to turn and stopped again. “But I'm not driving you to school, and don't expect me to hang out with you there.”

“I don't think there's anything I expected less,” I said.

“Ha ha. Aren't you hilarious,” she said, and walked off.

I smiled.

It was as if she had really been listening to my thoughts and had heard my fears.

Maybe I would do well at this school.

I sat on the dock again to watch the bugs and the birds and the ripples and the trees and all the clouds that floated softly across the blue sky like great white birds migrating to another horizon.

Just like me.

16
Another Horizon

M
r. March wasn't at dinner. He had a dinner meeting in San Francisco. Kiera obviously had not told her mother that she had revealed the story the Marches had created about me. When we were all seated, Mrs. March told Mrs. Duval to wait in the kitchen. She said she would let her know when to begin serving our dinner. Then she folded her hands on the table, looked down at them, and began.

“Both Mr. March and I have decided that it would be easier for both of you, but especially for you, Sasha,” she said, raising her head to look at me, “if the other students in the school were not completely aware of your situation.”

I looked at Kiera. She smiled and looked down.

“Situation?”

“What I mean to say is that it would be easier for you to assimilate if they all just assumed that you were part of our family. Which is something I am hoping you will actually become someday soon,” she quickly added. “Anyway, for
now, it would be better if you told your classmates that you were Kiera's cousin on Donald's side. That side is so mixed up no one would not believe it; not that many people know the details concerning his family.”

“Don't forget the Chinese part, Mother,” Kiera said.

“Please, Kiera, don't interrupt,” Mrs. March said sharply. She turned back to me. “The story Kiera is referring to is simple. One of Donald's half brothers married a Chinese woman. You were born, and everything was fine until they were both killed in a car accident. That's when you came to live with us. Now, tell me, where have you visited outside California?”

“Nowhere,” I said.

“Your story won't pass gas, Mother,”

Kiera sang. “Kiera. You're not helping.”

“All right, then,” Mrs. March said. “Where have you been in California?”

“My father once took us to Santa Barbara, but I barely remember it.”

“Wow, Santa Barbara,” Kiera said.

Mrs. March glared at her. “That's fine. That's perfect. You'll just say that's where you had lived. If anyone wants more detail, you just tell him or her that it's too sad for you to talk about it. That should work.”

“But what about my teachers, the principal?” I asked. “Don't they know the truth?”

“Dr. Steiner, the principal, knows, but no one else does or will. I can assure you of that.”

“Unless she tells them,” Kiera muttered, nodding at me.

“Why should she do that?” Mrs. March smiled at me.

“We just want you to succeed and be comfortable and happy at school, Sasha. Okay? you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, and then suddenly thought,
I'm betraying Mama again, pretending she never existed.
“But I don't like lying,” I added.

“Oh, please. Give us a break,” Kiera said. “I can just imagine the things you told people when you were living on the street.”

“That was different.”

“Right. It's always different when you do it,” she said. “I use the same excuse when I'm caught.”

“I don't mean it to be an excuse. You just don't understand,” I told her.

“That's the first thing you've said that makes any sense,” she replied. “Who would understand?”

“Stop. Let's not talk about this anymore,” Mrs. March said. “She understands, and that's that.” She called for Mrs. Duval.

At first, I was happy when Kiera told me the idea about what other students and my teachers would be told about me, but now that I heard it from Mrs. March, I was more nervous about it. I was entering my new school life on a raft of lies. I'd have to be very careful about what I said to anyone about my past, where I had been, what I had been doing. One slip, and I would fall out of the raft and into the sea of turmoil that raged around someone like me.

Mrs. March was eager to change the subject. During the remainder of our dinner, she went on and on about how wonderful it was going to be for me at this new school.

“Are you getting her out of PE, Mother? I don't expect she can play any sport with that limp.”

“She certainly can swim better than you can,” Mrs. March said. “She'll do fine. Her teacher will be understanding.”

“Miz Raymond? The only thing she understands is a vibrator.”

“Kiera!” Mrs. March screamed.

“I don't think she has innocent ears, Mother. Look where she's been.”

“I don't want that kind of talk at the dinner table. Your father is going to hear about this.” She glared at her again and then turned to me and smiled. “Did you learn how to play an instrument when you were at your old school, Sasha?”

“Yeah, she played the lanyards, remember?”

“Kiera.”

“No,” I said. “We didn't have any instrumental music classes.”

“Well you will here. You'll be in the senior high band. Alena played the clarinet.”

“You're going to give her that, too?” Kiera asked.

“If she wants to play the clarinet, it would be foolish to let it just rot away, Kiera. No one stopped you from learning how to play an instrument.”

“Yeah, right, the school band. There's nothing more appetizing than watching kids wipe their spit off mouthpieces.”

“Don't listen to her. The band is highly regarded and goes on trips and is often asked to play at public events.”

“Whoop-ti-doo,” Kiera muttered. “You forgot to tell her she can wear the band uniform. There was nothing I hated more.”

“I know you'll enjoy playing the clarinet, Sasha,” Mrs. March insisted. “It will be wonderful hearing that sound in this house again. And with your artistic talent, you might consider joining the theater group and working on sets, too.”

“She'd be better as an actress,” Kiera said.

“Is that how you got your training?” I asked her. She actually reddened, especially after Mrs. March laughed.

“Alena could give it back to you just like that, too,” Mrs. March told her.

Kiera pressed her lips together hard. Her face puffed up and looked as if it might explode. She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. “I have things to do,” she announced, and walked out.

“If your father was here, you'd remember to ask to be excused, Kiera,” Mrs. March shouted after her. Kiera did not respond. “He'll hear about this, too,” she added. I heard Kiera pounding the steps on her way up the stairway.

Mrs. March shook her head, and we continued eating. It took her a while to calm down, and then she talked more about the school and how sad it was that Alena never got to graduate.

“When you arrive at the school tomorrow, go directly to the principal's office,” she told me after we finished dinner. She walked with me to the stairway. “Grover will be waiting for you right outside after breakfast, and he'll be at the school precisely at the end of the school day. I'll be waiting to hear all about your day.”

I nodded and turned to go up the stairway, but she reached out to stop me.

“Don't let Kiera's silly remarks disturb you, and don't be nervous, Sasha. You're going to do fine.” She released my arm and smiled. “I always loved the first day of school. There's such excitement, such expectation. Go to sleep early,” she added. “I'll be there to make sure you get up early enough.” She looked up the stairway. “Half the year, I'm banging on Kiera's door to get her up.”

I started up the stairway again.

“Oh,” she said. “I'll have a wonderful surprise for you. I'll have it with me in the morning.”

“What?”

“Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now, would it?” she said. She smiled and walked away.

What would it be? More clothes? Shoes? Jewelry? Gadgets? Or a special lunch on the beach to celebrate my finishing my first week at school? I never thought I'd see the day when I would be so disinterested in all of that. How different I was from Kiera. She never saw a day when she wasn't interested in all of that.

Her door was closed as I passed her room, but she must have been listening for me, because the moment I entered mine, she was right behind me. I turned as she closed my door.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Rules,” she said.

“Rules? what rules?”

“Rules for you regarding me,” she replied with her right hand on her hip. “I told you that Mother was going to tell
you the way my parents were explaining you to everyone at the school, but that didn't include my rules.”

I folded my arms and squinted at her. “I didn't think you followed any rules,” I said and she laughed.

“You really are a scrappy street kid.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Okay, rule one. Never tell any of your little ninth-grade friends anything about me. I don't mean just about the accident. I mean anything you see here or hear here, especially. I'm never to be a topic of discussion between you and the other infants.”

“That's easy. You're the most uninteresting person I've ever met. I won't be talking about you. There's nothing much to say.”

“Rule two,” she said, ignoring me. “Don't dare come over to me in the cafeteria or if I'm outside eating to ask for anything. My friends already know what I think of my so-called cousin coming to live with us. As far as I'm concerned, you don't exist. You're not there.”

“That works for me,” I said.

“Rule three. Do not come home blabbing about anything you see me do, especially if I have someone in my car with me after school. My father has forbidden it for now, but he'll change his mind about it soon.

“Rule four,” she added quickly, to prevent any comment I might have about that. “Don't dare ever mention to anyone that I'm in therapy.”

“I imagine most people who know you probably expect that you are,” I said.

She glared at me and then smiled like someone who
had just discovered a big secret. “How do we know how old you really are?”

“What?”

“Maybe you're stunted or something, and you're really seventeen or eighteen.”