Family Storms (31 page)

“I can't,” I said. “I have too much to do.”

“You're missing a great time,” she sang. “If you change your mind, let me know as soon as the bell rings, and I'll send Grover back home without you.”

I couldn't deny that I wanted to go, but I was too frightened this time. I deliberately took longer to leave my last class. Even so, Kiera loitered near the doorway.

“Change your mind?” she asked.

“No, I can't, but thanks,” I said.

“Too bad,” she said. “Tomorrow I have to go to therapy.”

“I know. I'll see you at home.”

“Home? Right,” she said, and left me quickly. I saw her meeting the others in the parking lot. Ricky looked my way, shrugged, and then followed everyone else.

Did he really like me much? I wondered. I was fourteen, a girl who had never had a boyfriend or even a boy just interested in her, and a senior at my new school was looking
at me romantically after spending only two days with me and his friends. He was one of the best-looking boys at the school, too. I hated seeming so young and innocent. I tried to talk and act more like Kiera when I was with her and her friends, but running home that afternoon probably made me look like a child again. Tomorrow they would have no interest in me, I thought, and my classmates would not be so friendly, either.

I sank back into a deep funk and remained there all the way back to the March mansion. When I entered the house, I headed for the stairway, waiting to get into my homework so I could have time to practice the clarinet. I paused when I heard some loud voices and realized that it was Mr. and Mrs. March. When I heard my name mentioned, I turned toward the living room and listened.

“You're not making any sense, Jordan,” Mr. March said. “You said you brought this girl here to save her from the streets and the orphanages or whatever. You wanted her to have a family, right?”

“Yes, but …”

“So why wouldn't having Kiera as an older sister make her more part of our family? And look what good this can do for Kiera. It's her way of achieving repentance, feeling remorse. Her therapy is going well, and now you want to stop her from being too close or influential with Sasha? It makes no sense to me. If you're that worried about Kiera being a bad influence, then maybe it would be better if we found another home for Sasha,” he said.

Mrs. March was quiet. I held my breath. “It would be terrible to send her away now,” she finally said.

“Well, then?”

“Okay, Donald, I'll try to keep an eye on both of them for now.”

“If there's one thing we don't need, it's more tension in this house,” he said.

They were both so quiet that I thought they'd be coming out and see that I was eavesdropping, so I turned away quickly and headed for the stairway. Once in my suite, I sat and pondered what I had heard. What was Mrs. March agreeing to let me do? I was as conflicted as she was at the moment.

On one hand, I wanted to be with Kiera and her friends, go out, go to their parties, go on their trips, everything, but on the other hand, I wanted to do well in school, too. Kiera and her friends didn't seem all that interested in school or concerned about their grades.

It would be like walking on a balance beam, I thought. Could I do it, do both?

If I fell this time, the fall might be too long and deep for me to make any sort of recovery, and then where would I be?

Probably following Mama's ghost on some backstreet and wondering how I had become so trapped in my recurring nightmare.

24
Rules

M
r. March was at dinner that night. This time, Kiera made sure she was there, as well. She didn't come to my room when she returned from the mall. I thought she was still upset about my deciding not to go with her and the others after school, but when she came down to dinner moments after I had arrived and taken my seat at the table, she smiled at me and apologized for not coming to my suite to fetch me.

“I wanted to be sure you got some of that homework done,” she said. Then she looked at her father and added, “They give students in the ninth grade more work than they give us seniors. I remember.” She turned to her mother. “You remember, Mother. I was complaining about it when I was in ninth grade, and they told you it was the transition grade from junior high to high school.”

Mrs. March nodded but said nothing. Her eyes betrayed her deep suspicion of Kiera's sudden sweet talk. No one said anything while Mrs. Duval and Rosie began serving.

Then Mr. March clasped his hands and began what was obviously his and Mrs. March's compromise. “I'm pleased to see you including Sasha in some of your activities with your friends, Kiera, but you have to remember that for now, along with being younger than you, Sasha is a different sort of responsibility for us. We are acting as her foster parents, and therefore it doesn't begin and end with us.

“Naturally,” he continued, looking at me, “we don't want her to feel strange or different. We want her to feel she's part of our family. However, we have to supervise her activities more closely. We need to maintain more control, follow more rules. So, before you decide to go anywhere with her, you must get either your mother's or my permission. We want her curfew maintained. For now, we don't think it's appropriate for her to be out later than eleven.”

“Even on weekends?” Kiera cried.

“Even on weekends,” her father said.

She shook her head, glanced at me, and looked down.

“The second we hear of any misbehavior, and you know by now what I mean by misbehavior, around her or including her, everything changes for both of you, understand?”

Kiera said nothing. She did glance at her mother, with what I thought was a look of such disgust and rage that it would surely have turned my heart into stone if I were Mrs. March.

“Now,” he said, sounding softer, “if you're going straight to school in the morning and if you return straight home after school on the days you're not attending therapy, Sasha may ride with you. It would free up Grover and the limousine for your mother's use and mine at times.”

Kiera started to smile.

“But if I hear of any bad driving, speeding, or anything of the like, I will take away your driving privileges, and of course, we'll forbid Sasha to go anywhere with you.”

“We have to come right home all the time? Sometimes we like to get a snack or something, Daddy.”

“If there is any change, call your mother and get her permission first,” he said, relenting.

Kiera looked satisfied but wasn't. She was an expert when it came to manipulating her father.

“May I just say, Daddy, that it's very difficult for us to go to a movie or a house party or anything, for that matter, and have to be back by eleven on weekends. Half the time, the movie doesn't let out until nearly eleven, just like it did the other night. It's not good to have that sort of pressure on someone. I'll end up driving too fast just to make the curfew. Either I do that or not include Sasha in things.”

“Eleven is late enough for a girl in the ninth grade,” Mrs. March said.

“Not in today's world,” Kiera countered.

“Let's leave it between eleven and twelve,” her father said. “Call it the pumpkin factor.”

“Pumpkin factor?” Kiera asked.

“Cinderella,” I said.

Mr. March smiled. “That's right, Sasha. Remember? At twelve, her carriage turned into a pumpkin.”

“Which one of us is Cinderella?” Kiera asked impishly.

I thought she was also looking for some clear expression of affection from her father, but before he could respond,
her mother did. “I hardly think it's you, Kiera,” she said. “You already live in a castle.”

“You're right, Mother,” Kiera said. She turned to me. “Then maybe Sasha will get her prince after all.”

Her father laughed, but her mother didn't. She heard something I heard, too. It sounded more like a threat than a promise of something nice. After that, the conversation changed to other topics, mostly between Mr. and Mrs. March. When we left to go up to our rooms, I wasn't sure who had won the argument I had overheard earlier, Mrs. March or Mr. March or Kiera. From the expression on Kiera's face, I was sure she believed she had.

“Don't worry,” she told me, “we'll find ways to avoid coming right home on the days I can drive you.”

“As long as I can get done what I have to get done,” I said as a caution.

She didn't hear me or care to. Instead, she went into her room after she said, “Ricky really missed you after school today.”

Her comment really distracted me. I had to concentrate harder to complete my homework and get to the clarinet. I was determined to impress Mr. Denacio in the morning, but a half hour into my practice, I had very bad cramps. I knew what it was; it was my time of the month, but it hadn't been this bad since I began to be regular again.

I don't know if it was because of our poor nutrition or simply the stress that came with living in the streets, but I had hardly begun to have periods before we were evicted from the apartment and then had to leave the hotel. In those
early days, Mama was always there for me, but once we were on the street, I was on my own. I made sure I always had what I needed, but sometimes I would go weeks overdue, and once I went nearly two months. Since living with the Marches, I was clock-regular. I had merely forgotten that it was my time, but the severe cramps were more than a reminder; they were an alarm bell.

I prepared for my flow to begin and then curled up in bed, which was the way Kiera found me when she came to my room to tell me about something very secret. For a moment, she didn't realize what was happening to me. I had my eyes closed and my hands pressing on my tummy. She really didn't look at me. She entered and began to pace.

“I've been debating telling you about our secret club,” she began. “There are the three of us, Deidre, Margot, and me, but we inducted Marcia Blumfield and Doris Norman recently, so now there are five of us, and …” She paused when she really looked at me. “What's your problem?”

“Monthlies,” I said.

“Monthlies? What are monthlies? Is that what you call it?”

“My mother did. I have very bad cramps this time.”

“Isn't that something? I was just going to ask you about your period. Are you regular?”

“I am now,” I said, “or have been since I've been here.”

“Well, that's good. Don't worry. I have something for cramps. I'll go get it.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. Do you think I want to be all twisted up like you are right now? Besides, we have to stick
together through pain and pleasure.” She started out, then paused and turned. “Which, by the way, is the motto of our secret club.”

“What secret club?”

“The one I was considering telling you about. Now,” she added, “I definitely will.”

She sauntered out, leaving me as confused as ever, but if she could help stop my cramps, I wouldn't care what silly thing she had to say next. She returned quickly and handed me a glass of water and a pill.

“What is it?”

“Something my doctor prescribed. It works fast. You'll see.”

I took it and swallowed it down with water. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I have more if you need it in the morning, but they usually work overnight.”

Even though the cramps didn't lessen, I lay back and breathed easier. “What were you talking about before? I really wasn't listening.”

“I know. It's not important right now. I'll tell you about it later. Hey,” she said, starting out again. “You don't have to rush to get up. You're going to school with me tomorrow. I know a shortcut Grover doesn't know. Night.” She left quickly, as if she had to talk to someone or do something.

Kiera's pill worked wonders. I felt a lot better in the morning and let her know at breakfast.

Mrs. March rose a little later than usual and entered just as we were talking about it. “What pill?” she asked immediately.