Itrail behind Mom as we enter the new home she told me about a couple of days ago. My jaw drops at how huge the house is. There’s a neat fountain across from the front doors and a circle driveway that can easily fit five cars. The yard is large, with trees and flowers that I can’t wait to explore. I’m curious how the backyard looks and if there’s a jungle gym I can play on. The swing is my favorite. I hope my dad will push me on it while we laugh together.
A couple days before we moved, Mom promised me this would be our forever home and that I’d have a dad and a half-brother. I didn’t understand why they weren’t around before, and when I asked, Mom shut down and told me to be quiet. Even though it confuses me, I’m still excited that I’ll have the dad I’ve been praying for. Having a brother is a cherry on top because playing by myself gets boring and lonely.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I worry I’ll puke any second now. I worry about what they’ll think of me when we meet. I’ve never had luck with making friends, and even adults yell at me for no reason.
Two enormous front doors loom before me. I squint my eyes and look closer at the door handles, which are shaped like lions with a knocker between their teeth. Mom walks inside without knocking, and I hesitate, worrying we’ll get in trouble. But that’s a silly fear because this is our house now.
My jaw drops as I shuffle through the gigantic front room. Scenic paintings and detailed portraits hang on the cream walls that I’m sure I’d get yelled at for touching.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of apple pie mixed with burning wood from a fireplace. The homey smell eases the tension in my muscles, little by little. Our old house always smelled like that, and Mom told me it was because of the candles she burned whenever we were home.
Voices carry from a room ahead of us, and Mom follows them, with me trailing close behind her. My steps falter as we enter the largest kitchen I’ve ever seen. It could easily swallow our old one and still have space left over.
“Evelyn,” a large man greets Mom.
I wonder if that’s my dad, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Mom always told me assuming things makes an ass out of you and me. I don’t understand that last part or why she cussed in front of me when she always got onto me when I took the lord’s name in vain.
“There you are,” Mom coos. She falls into his arms, her head leaning back as he kisses her.
I pause and bury my fingers into the skirt of my dress, worrying the soft material. That must be my dad after all. His deep-navy suit and black tie remind me of the rich men in the romance movies Mom watches all the time. I touch a lock of my brown hair as I stare at him, noticing that we have the same shade.
“I hope the trip wasn’t too bad,” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, his bright eyes on Mom.
Why hasn’t he said hi to me? He must’ve seen me by now, standing awkwardly aside and waiting to be noticed. I wait for Mom to introduce me, but she talks about the movers and how frustrating they’ve been.
Feeling my stare, Dad looks away from her and turns his attention to me. He shallowly nods while Mom complains about the move. His gaze sweeps over me, and I glance down at the pink dress I paired with white buckle shoes. My cheeks warm as his eyebrows hike up his forehead, then dip down like it upsets him that I’m wearing this. Just as quickly, he looks back at Mom, not saying a word to me or letting her know I’m standing here waiting for them to say something to me.
I bite the inside of my bottom lip, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. “Mom,” I say.
She keeps talking and even raises her voice to cover mine.
My stomach twists into knots. I hear my teacher from class in my head, telling me to speak up because I talk too softly. I’ve always hated being called on during class because of that. Sometimes I stumble over my words, or I answer a question wrong. The kids in my class chuckle every time. Even while I talk to Mom, she rolls her eyes and tells me to spit it out and to stop mumbling.
Sighing, I lower my gaze to the floor. I’ll ask her later, when she isn’t busy.
I turn away from them and wander around the large house, exploring all the rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight into the living area, where a large couch that can fit all of us stands in the center of the room.
I find the master bedroom on the same floor, and it’s the most humongous room I’ve ever seen. It has the same cream walls, and the white sheets and fluffy pillows remind me of feathers covering the bed. The attached bathroom might as well have been its own house because of all the space inside it.
Next to my parents’ bedroom is an office with wooden floors, bookshelves lining the walls, a fireplace with logs stacked in it, and a desk with a chair behind it. Two chairs larger than me sit opposite the desk, and when I touch one of them, I find it firm and not at all comfortable to sit on.
I wander out of the office, listening for my mom. She’s still talking loudly, like she wants the whole world to hear her. I climb the stairs, curious where my bedroom will be. I wonder if I can paint it pink and purple—my favorite colors.
There are a bunch of rooms, and most are furnished with beds, couches, and a desk here and there. One larger room looks like a movie theater, with seats and beanbags right in front of a large TV.
I get to the last room on the other end of the long hallway and crack open the door. A familiar song plays from a boombox, and I wonder if this is my brother’s bedroom. I open the door wider and shuffle a few steps into the room.
My lips part as I take in all the band posters stuck to the black walls, clothes strewn over the floor, and a gigantic bed with unmade red sheets and a black comforter. Sitting at the desk on the other side of the room is a boy with messy black hair. He wears all black, and the chains hanging from the belt loops of his pants remind me of the goths at my old school.
The door’s hinge squeaks, announcing my intrusion, and the boy snaps his head up, his narrowed eyes landing on me. I freeze under the weight of his glare. If looks could kill, I would be dead.
“H-hi,” I whisper. I don’t think he can hear me over the music and because of how softly I talk. I expect him to yell at me to speak up or get out of his room.
His dark eyebrows slash down, his lips thinning into a tight line. “Hi.”
My stomach flips, and I twist my tremblinghands behind my back to hide the evidence of my anxiety. I get the feeling that he can see everything, down to my trembling legs. I wait for him to say something, but he sits there, staring at me like he’s yelling at me in his head to get out.
Lowering my gaze to the floor, I breathe through the nervousness.
