The Accidental Siren

10.3 Olivia

T-minus four days until the Fairytale premiere.

My parents, the Greenfields, Livy and Ryan Brosh livened up the dining-room table with an energetic game of Monopoly.

Ryan was the canon token. His blonde hair was such an exquisite mess that I imagined he spent hours in the mirror with gel and a brush. He wore a light-pink polo that betrayed both William Shakespeare and Larry Bird, and bared his brilliant blue eyes whenever Mara looked his way.

My sister was the battleship token. Mrs. Greenfield was the dog, a tribute to her Alaskan Malamute named Snickers with different colored eyes. Mr. Greenfield was the hat and his wife made a joke about his bald head. Dad picked the shoe for no other reason than there wasn't a skyscraper or an eagle, and Mom picked the car instead of the iron or thimble because, “I do enough housework when I'm not playing games!”

Mara and I were forced spectators, bound to my parents' peripherals and expected to participate in every conversation. We knelt side-by-side on the living-room couch, elbows on the backrest, watching the battle for Boardwalk and Railroads while playing a secret game of footsie where no one could see.

“Dog-nabbit!” exclaimed Mrs. Greenfield. She was stuck in jail and had just failed her second attempt at doubles. She held the die to her ear, shook them in cupped hands, and smiled so big her eyes became tiny slits.

Ryan provided an obnoxious drumroll on the table. When a pair of twos landed face up, he raised his arms and said, “Way to go, Mrs. G!”

Mara caressed my ankle with her toes. She knew my struggle.

Livy slipped her arm beneath Ryan's and wiggled her head into the crook of his neck. She whispered something, then fingered her new hoop earrings. For the nineteenth time since he arrived, Ryan glanced at Mara, then glared at me, then returned his attention to the girl at his side. Mara's pinky rubbed a patch of color into my white fist.

Dad began his turn.

Mom caught Mrs. Greenfield staring at the lovebirds with a clear look of concern. “They're teenagers, Norma,” she said. “Believe me, I'd fend the hormones off if I could.”

“They’re just so innocent! Don't you just wanna hold 'em till they're thirty?”

Ryan straightened his back, gently forcing Livy from his side.

“I do,” Mom said. “Luckily, this evil little prince is a good kid.”

Dad reached over Livy and ruffled Ryan's hair. Then he rolled the die, moved the shoe seven spaces, and declared, “Reading Railroad. Who do I owe?”

Ryan grinned. “That'll be a hundred dollars, Mr. P!” he said, then glanced at Mara for the twentieth time.

“Don,” said Mrs. Greenfield, nudging her husband. “Did you tell the kids about your new toys?”

His eyes brightened and the gap in his teeth rose behind his 'stache. “Do you kids know what a modem is?”

Mara nodded. I shrugged.

“It connects right to the IBM in my living room. Let's me send messages through the phone lines at nearly twenty-nine kilobits per second!”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do,” said Mrs. Greenfield. “Don's been having a little trouble with the set up.”

“It was delivered right to our front door,” he continued. “Norma thinks we won a magazine contest. I think it's an answer to my prayers!”

“You know how Don loves to tinker!”