“Maybe I should work at the campus store more so that you have to experience the true torture of Mom every day.” Ashley sighed and checked the rearview mirror. “She once honked for ten seconds straight when I didn’t see her. And one time she made me take Jonah to the bathroom and he was screaming the whole time that he was going to pee his pants.”
I laughed.
“You think it’s funny because it wasn’t you.”
“I think it’s funny because I have my own stories, Ashley. You’re not the only one in this car who has three siblings and a weird mom.”
“In this nice, almost-new car.”
“Yes, it’s the height of class and sophistication. So beautiful. What do they call this color? Cobalt blue or Arabian nights?”
“No gratitude whatsoever.”
I smiled and Ashley turned on the radio. We did not have the same taste in music at all. When she saw me cringe, she rolled down the window and turned up the volume, wearing a smile of her own.
“What is that?” Ashley asked as we walked into the kitchen and she set her car keys in a dish on the counter. I was behind her so I couldn’t see what she was referring to. As I stepped to the side to look, a white furry thing streaked past my foot with my brother, Wyatt, chasing after it. Ashley screamed. I dropped my backpack and jumped onto the counter, now sitting with my back to the cupboards, warily watching the floor.
Mom chuckled. “It’s a meat rabbit.” She looked up from where she sat at the table stringing a bead onto a piece of wire for what looked like an earring.
“A meat rabbit?” Ashley asked. “As in, we’re going to eat it?”
“No, of course not. I saved it from that fate. The boys need to learn responsibility so I got them a pet.”
I slid off the counter. “And a nice, normal dog wasn’t in the running?”
The rabbit bounced its way into the kitchen again and Wyatt scooped it up, beaming. Jonah appeared at Wyatt’s side and began petting the rabbit.
“It lives outside though, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” my mom said, using her pliers to bend a section of wire. “It’s just getting some exercise.”
“Right.” I picked up my backpack and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter.
Ashley, still standing where we came in, said, “That thing is gross. It has pink eyes.”
“It’s cute,” Wyatt argued.
My bedroom door was halfway open when I got there. Not a good sign. I toed it open the rest of the way and looked around. Ashley’s side, as usual, had a few jeans strewn across the floor, but other than that it looked the same. I kicked off my red sneakers and placed them in the closet. Just as I took a bite of apple and headed for my guitar, I stepped on something slightly wet. I picked up my foot and what at first looked like a pile of raisins, I soon realized was rabbit poop.
“Gross.”
“What? Who’s dying?” my mom asked when I got to the kitchen, a slightly mad look on my face.
“A rabbit, if I have any say in it. That thing pooped in my room. What was it doing in my room? Can you please keep the boys out of there?”
“Yes, sorry.” She stood and went to what I hoped was either clean up the poop or tell Wyatt to do it.
I heard a noise on the back patio and opened the door. The rabbit was there in a black metal cage. It was big, not some fluffy little ball of fur, but a big, ugly rabbit. It stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air.
“Yes, you smell that,” I told the rabbit. “That’s the smell of your enemy. Get a good whiff. We are not friends.” It could probably smell the apple I still held, not me. I bit off a piece and threw it into the cage, sending it a very mixed message considering the speech I’d given. “Just keeping you on your toes.”
“Who are you talking to?” Ashley asked.
I shut the door and turned to face her. “Nobody.”
“You might want to work on that.” She headed past me and toward our bedroom. So much for my practice time today.
Another message awaited me in Chemistry the next day. Beneath my—Blackout rocks. I want to be Lyssa Primm when I grow up. I’m impressed you know them—were the words:
Sorry, I already called dibs on being her. There was a crooked smiley face, and then: Have you listened to The Crooked Brookes? The. Best.
I’d never heard of The Crooked Brookes before. I assumed it was a band name or a song title. Our similar taste in music was over.
But my pen pal had left the first clue—she was a girl. It didn’t help me narrow down her identity any more. If anything, it left me feeling even more clueless.
While Mr. Ortega’s back was turned, I wrote, No, I’ll have to check them out. My response took up the last bit of open space on the right side of the desk. The only side I could write on without it being obvious. It looked as though my distraction for Chemistry was done until the next cleaning day.
A hole in the cuff of my shirt drew my attention. The stitching had come undone. The perils of a thrift store find. I hadn’t seen that before. I’d have to fix it later. I rolled the sleeve twice to hide the hole and then did the same to the other side.
From next to me, Lauren whispered, “You really shouldn’t write on the desk like that.” She was reading through the exchange. I wanted to cover it up so she couldn’t, but that seemed silly. Anyone who wanted to could come in and read it.
“It’s just pencil. It comes off.” To prove my point, I erased the first letter of my very first message. “See.”