“Ara.” Dad banged on my door. “Too loud. Sam, you too.”
“He started it!” I called.
“I'm finishing it. Turn it down or I’ll confiscate your dock.”
I turned it down, even though I knew he wouldn’t actually follow through on his threat. I’d tested that so many times now I knew it was an empty one. Fact was, he didn't have the heart to take away the one thing that brought happiness to a grieving girl. He knew that without my music I had nothing to live for. That’s why he bought me the dock in the first place. The one I moved here with had the wrong pins for the wall socket, and I was so tired and so upset from the long flight that day, I tried to force the plug into the wall anyway, repeatedly, with my foot. Dad came in and pulled me away before I could get myself electrocuted, but I’d never let him see me cry that way before. As soon as I calmed enough to fall asleep, he went straight down to the store and got me a brand new dock. I'm not sure I even thanked him.
I swiped my thumb over a small layer of dust on the speaker and smiled, then turned it up just a few more decibels, whacking the snooze button as the alarm sounded the hour of wake. I wanted it to be nine o’clock, though, so I could be in English class with David.
When the pipes beyond the wall stopped squealing, I stripped off, left my clothes on my floor and wandered through my walk-in wardrobe to the bathroom I shared with Sam. The little bugger had left the second door open, leaving my girl parts exposed to any who walked down the hall. I quickly ran and locked it into place.
“Ara!” Sam banged on the door.
“Go away. I got here first.” I turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door.
“But I need the comb.”
“The what?”
“I need the hairbrush.”
“Why?” I ran my fingers through my hair, wetting it. “You never brush your hair.”
“Well, I am today.”
“Well, you can wait. I'm already in the shower.”
He groaned, but obviously walked away.
On the glass, some remnant of a steam drawing Sam had done showed itself. I swiped a hand through it, leaving my palm against the cool for a moment, watching the condensation drip down from under it in three long lines. I felt grounded, steady, calm, for the first time in so long. Maybe because this was the first morning I’d woken without crying since I got here. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. And I knew it was because of school—because I met David and Emily and Ryan and Alana yesterday.
I pulled my hand down from the glass, watching the lone print disappear behind the steam again. I wasn't really alone anymore, and when I thought about getting out of the shower, getting dressed and going to school, I actually felt a bubble of excitement.
In my wardrobe, I threw on my light denim shorts and a pink tank top, then wandered out to my room. The rug, weaved entirely out of dirty laundry, stared back at me; its evil laughter rising over my music, making demands for the release of my shoes.
“Where are they?” I asked myself, lifting a sweater and some jeans then tossing them beside the empty laundry basket.
“You nearly ready for school, Ara?” Vicki asked, opening my door without knocking.
“Yeah. I just can't find my shoes.”
“Well, I'm not surprised.” She laughed.
“It’s not my fault.” I stood up, dusting my hands off. “My wardrobe got gastro and threw up all over my room.”
“Why don't you go down and have breakfast. I’ll find them for you—maybe even tidy up a little.”
I smiled at her, about to accept, when I spotted one shoe under my bed. “Ooh, there it is.”
She walked in and started picking up clothes as I sat on my bed and slipped my shoe on. “Here.”
“Oh, thanks. Where was it?” I asked, taking the shoe from her.
“Near your dresser. How it got so far away from the other one, I don't know.”
I shrugged and, seeing my favourite sweater in the pile of clothes over Vicki’s arm, stood up and tugged it out. “I never wash this.”
“Why?” She looked horrified.
“I just…it was Mike’s.” I hugged it to my chest.
“Very well.” She took it from me and laid it over my chair. “Now, go down and eat, please. You’ll be late for school.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my schoolbag. “Bye.”
After scoffing down a bowl of oatmeal, I practically ran to the front door.
“A little eager today, Ara?” Dad said, dropping a quick kiss to my cheek as I passed him.
All I could do was grin.
“Want a ride to school?”
“Dad? Why don’t you try walking for once?”
“I have to go ‘round the front. Easier to drive.”
“Wow, that’s so lazy. Walking’s better for you.”
“I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“Oh, really? Like what? Work on that heart attack you’re trying to have?” I nodded toward his travel mug, which we both knew was full of coffee with way too much cream and sugar.
He saluted me with the mug, taking another sip as he walked away. “Have fun at school, honey.”
“Bye,” I said, closing the front door behind me, but my conceited smirk went flat when I heard a low growl coming from the end of the porch. Skittles, with his fluffy grey tail thrashing about, sat curled up like a porcupine, hissing and snarling at something; I followed his evil-kitty stare to a boy standing across the road. Just standing there—a guitar case by his feet, his eyes on his phone, one hand in his pocket, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. My heart dropped into my feet. David.
“Psst. Shut up, Skitz.” I stomped on the floorboards.
The cat startled to silence, but his tail kept thrashing.
I wondered if David was maybe waiting for me—if he even knew I lived here. Then again, everyone knew which house was Mr Thompson’s, so it was a safe bet I lived here too.
As I leaped off the porch steps and onto the grass, the frogs in my belly jumped up to my chest, making my heart pound. I didn't know what to say to him—or if he’d even remember me. But that was silly. Why wouldn't he remember me?
All around me, the summer sun warmed the ground, making the grass look almost yellow. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, tasting the flavour of fresh dew blowing in on the breeze. When I opened them, David looked up, meeting my smile with a grin. And I practically floated across the road then. He looked really sexy in that shirt; it wasn’t black, like I first thought, but dark grey, and way too much for my hormones to handle. I almost didn’t care if I freaked him out with my ogling. It was his own fault for looking so sexy.