Candie's Emporium for the Sweet & Sour

Chapter One.

Studying is, and always was easy for me later on.  It hadn't initially been, believe me.  When I was younger there was absolutely nothing that had been able to keep me fastened to a book all day.  That was before Mother had threatened to take away my dollhouse if I didn't study.  Needless to say, I loved that dollhouse.  Now, I am perfectly able to sit with my AP textbooks open in front of me for hours on end.  There's no hassle.

     The only problem for my studying is my parent's parties.  Sure, they have money.  If you just took one look at my room you'd be able to tell that we aren't that bad financially. But just because we have money doesn't mean they need to constantly throw parties for their rich friends.  I mean to say, they're nice and all, but it can be a bit of a disturbance, especially on the day before a test.

     My parents have always been too old for their likes.  They sensed that I wasn't about to be reckless and throw parties all the time, so they started hosting ones themselves.  Soon it became a weekly--if not more often--thing and the folks on our street looked forward to it.  It's nights like these, though, when my focus runs awry and I'm forced to shut my textbook for good as the music and laughter seeps up through the vents and rifles through my thoughts. 

     Mother should know I have a calculus test tomorrow.  She should know, and she shouldn't be inviting people over.  I've no doubt that I'll pass the test, of course, but I need my A, if not an A+.  It seems that's the only way I can please them nowadays.

     Sighing, I push up from my desk and tuck my calculus book into one of the drawers.  My vanity is opposite my desk, against the wall facing away from the rainy street and toward the rest of my house.  It's there I keep all my fancy pins and earrings, the ones I put on just for Mother's parties.  She insists it's polite for me to dress nicely for her guests.

     I pull my hair back, leaving a few wispy strands on the side of my face, and decorate my ears with diamonds.  To be completely honest, I dislike earrings.  But Mother says so and, as she says, "What Mother says is what Caroline must do."  I don't see why she must talk in third person, though.

     Pushing my bedroom door open, the sounds of chatter and eloquent music grows louder.  I walk down the hall, then turn and descend our staircase.  At the bottom I can see about two dozen or so guests scattered throughout our kitchen and living room, talking.  The wine glasses they all hold tinkle like wind chimes.

     I spot my mother by another two women.  Both of them wear black, like they just came from a funeral.  My mother's laughing at something one of the two just said.

     "Mother?" I call.

     My father joins her and the two ladies disperse, mingling with other party guests.  Father points me out to Mother, and she smiles, meeting my gaze.

     "Yes, dear?" she calls.  From just those two words, I can already hear the slur and see the rosiness of her cheeks.  She's clearly drunk, which isn't surprising, considering she's always been a lightweight.  Two or three glasses will certainly do it.  I've had my times when I've needed to get her permission for something, and I've been a little eager to serve her some wine during dinner.

     "I'm trying to study.  Would you mind keeping it down?"

     The whole party seems to fall silent.  As if I'm a beacon of some sort, they all turn their attention to me, glancing back at my parents as if confused.  I can practically see them thinking.  They have a kid?  But they're so...fun!

     "Come down here, Caroline!  We can hardly hear you!" my father booms.  He must be drunk too if he's screaming like that.

     Pressing my lips together, I walk down the rest of the stairs and stand a few paces away from them.  "I said that I'm trying to study.  I can't focus because there is too much noise coming from down here."