But now I’m in a new town, a new state, a new school, and instead of having fun and living life to the fullest, I’ll be starting over, asking people their name and what college they’re going to, I’ll be spending time trying to make friends and ingratiate myself in new social circles. Senior year is now going to be a shitload of work instead of a boatload of fun.
Dad and Maribel finally get into the car. We got here yesterday, and this morning, we’re heading to Maribel’s favorite restaurant for breakfast, then we’re going to pick out furniture for my room. She says she cleared out the room so I can decorate as I please. In my mind, I’m only going to be here for a year before I go back to California for college, but I appreciate the effort she’s making. I’m not a brat, I’m not trying to pout and ruin things. Equally, I’m not invested in being here, either.
I go along with it because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s who I am. Vivienne Beaumont. The good girl who follows all the rules, the one who always does the right thing, the person considerate of others at all times.
“I was telling Elijah,” Maribel starts, reaching over to stroke the back of my dad’s neck as he pulls the SUV out of the long, curved driveway. “My son Harrison will be home in the next day or two. I’m sorry he wasn’t here when you both arrived. He had a chess tournament. It was scheduled last year and he just couldn’t get out of it.”
“You two are just a few years apart in age,” dad says, stealing a glance at me in the rearview.
“You mentioned that,” I reply. Chess tournament? My mind builds out a version of Maribel’s son that includes glasses, no eye contact, and a lot of computer games. “Chess, hmm?”
Maribel nods. “Chess, yes. He was on the team at the Academy but now he is a live moderator for the academy tournaments.”
Chess and Harrison very quickly drop from my thoughts as downtown Bipal whizzes past the window. I catch a glimpse of tiny boutiques, antique shops, and quaint bakeries. Maribel turns in her seat, peering back at me, her eyes falling to my hair.
“If you need recommendations on salons, let me know,” she says, smiling. I know she isn’t trying to say my hair looks bad. Maribel isn’t a jerk. That’s why I can’t bring myself to be pouty and snarky. I twist a strand of my long, honey hair around my finger.
“Thanks, I’ll let you know. I haven't changed my hair… ever, really. It’s not my style to mix it up.” I shrug. “But, new state, new school. Maybe,” I reply, shrugging with a smile.
Maribel smiles back, then turns around, gazing at my dad in the driver’s seat. Her eyes sparkle as she assesses him, letting out a belly deep sigh, her happiness radiating off in her palpable waves. “I’m so glad you’re here Elijah.” She twists to face me, her eyes wet. “You too, Vivienne.”
Breakfast is delicious–smokedsalmon on dill waffles was not something I’d ever thought I’d eat much less like but I did. And furniture shopping was actually really fun. Maribel and I perused three furniture stores while dad fielded work calls about servers being offline or whatever it is he does. Around one in the afternoon, we’d selected a beautiful armoire, a sleigh bed with a canopy, and the most adorable mirrored nightstand. The best part? It’s all being delivered tomorrow, so I only have to spend one more night in Maribel’s guest room.
The store associate hands my dad back his credit card as he signs his name on the receipt.
“Now that the lamp is taken care of,” he says, “is there anywhere else you two would like to go?”
I shake my head, glancing between him and the associate working the register. She’d been eyeing us the entire time we browsed the Tiffany lamps, and at first I thought she was worried we’d break something, but now, I don’t think so. She smiles at me, and I return her smile, then shift focus back to my dad.
“Nope. I think we’re set.”
Maribel beams, bringing her hands together beneath her chin. “Wanna do some sight seeing?”
The girl behind the counter clears her throat, garnering our attention. “Are you… new? In town, I mean.”
Maribel drapes her hand along my shoulders, pulling me into her side. “She is new,” she answers on my behalf. “She is my soon to be step daughter. She’s starting at Dulce next week. Her senior year.”
The girls eyes light up. “I have friends at Dulce.” Her eyes drift back to mine. “But I go to Creole public.”
“I attended public school my entire life,” my father says, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket.
The girl looks between Maribel and my dad, then back to me. “Not to be nosey, but I kind of overheard you say you’re all done shopping. I’m off in like, ten minutes. If you want, I can show you around the pier, show you where everyone hangs out and stuff.”
Excitement flutters in my throat, and pink floods my cheeks. I look over at my dad, waiting for him to pull me aside and tell me how she’s a stranger and I’m new to town and it’s a bad idea.
Except Maribel waffles her hand into his, giving it a squeeze. His mouth opens and closes, their eyes come together and then my father looks back to me, smiling. “That sounds like a good way for you to get to know Bipal.”
The girl claps her hands excitedly. “Oh, perfect! I love Bipal. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to show you around.” She pauses, dropping her head a bit. “I mean, if you want to. I just realized you didn’t say if you want to or not.”
Laughing, I say, “I do! That sounds great.” I turn to face Maribel, trying to be respectful of the fact that I live in her house now. No matter how much she says it’s ours, it’s hers. “Maribel, do you mind if I go out for a few hours?” From my periphery, my dad’s proud smile radiates.
She looks at the clerk. “Can you give us your name and phone number? That way we know who she’s with.”
The girl nods, then points to the rectangle name tag pinned to her white blouse. “Brooke,” she says, tapping it. Pressing a button on the register, she rips off a piece of blank receipt tape, then scribbles her name and phonenumber on it. At once, the three of us pull out our phones, and type in her information.
Brooke Ackerman. 305-782-5488.
Maribel stashes the paper in her purse, and I look between her and my dad. “I’ll call you guys later?”