His Other Half

Chapter 1

Man, was it ever hot. You always hear of the brutal and dry summers in California, particularly Los Angeles. The city of Angels, right? It appeared less like a city and more an empire, its influence spanning across the world and sucking in those who craved an opportunity to be on screen or have their voices heard. It should be called the city of art, but I digress.
My thighs stuck to the leather seat of the car, windows down in attempt to cool me off, but hot air only flowed through.
"Mom, can we turn on the AC?" I pleaded, reaching for the controls, sweat beading on my forehead and above my lip.
Her hand smacked at my wrist, pushing it back toward me, her face scrunched in irritation, "What did I tell you?"
I groaned, slouching in my seat, now having difficulty breathing all this hot, thick air.
"I can't afford it right now, anything to save gas in this economy. You're dad is a fucking maniac for taking a job out here." She grumbled to herself just before making a sharp turn.
I reached up and grabbed the small bar above my seat for stability, the tires screeching as she swerved back into our respective lane, my face a blank stare. It was a miracle she had not been pulled over, fined, or had her license revoked. Her driving was absolutely horrid, and dangerous. She had this mentality that she had to get to her destination as quick as possible, even if that meant ruining the car in the process.
"Can nobody fucking drive?!" She scoffed, staring down the car we nearly ran into head on. "Did-did you see that?! He was trying to pull out!"
A few stray hairs clung to her sweaty cheeks, her eyes the size of the moon, her jaw hung open in surprise.
I knew she was wrong, but every time she was called on her faults she pulled the victim card. It could just make me scream the number of times she'd do it, over the most absurd scenarios.
"I hope none of your dad's snow-globes broke." She began to bite at her nails, her line of sight flickering from the rearview mirror and back on the road.
Coming from the east coast, I had experienced some cruel winters, and the most unkind, humid summers. The heat wasn't my battle, it was the dry, dense air.
Fifty degrees to me was a delicacy, here it was a curse. That was one thing I was not looking forward to; being asked what it was like in Pennsylvania. Everyone always says we have an accent, but I don't see it - or hear it rather.
My dad used to work for some engineering company in Harrisburg, but he was being transferred for some big project out here in L.A. I never took the time to pay too much attention to his work, because no matter how many times he explained it to me, I felt like a lost puppy at the end.
The new home, we'll not quite a home, house was tucked away in a small suburban neighborhood. Clearly nothing compared to the absolute mansions in Beverly Hills or Calabasas, but not in the slums either. It was a house, simple.
The roof was flat, the first odd thing I noticed. There was no point for rain and snow drainage, and it all felt so rigid and boring. It didn't seem like a hearty welcome of a home, rather a stiff hello.
Mom said something to me but the heat had gotten to my head and I was far too tired to acknowledge it with anything other than a nod. The house was only one story, it's clay walls and white windows blending with all the neutral and naked colors of the land. Thankfully it was all on one story, so if I needed to sneak out to go to a party it would be far easier. Not that I would. It wasn't my crowd, and I couldn't begin to imagine the punishment I'd get if I were caught.
A nicely finished basement meant this would be dad's man cave, completely off limits. I dreamed of a game room with a Wii and maybe a Play Station. There was plenty of room to have friends over for a sleep over and just for good old fashioned fun. Again, only a dream.
My room was small. It was perfect. It was just me, no need to have an obnoxiously large room, though I wouldn't protest if I got one. A window offered a nice view of my backyard - the neighbors house, how fun. The closet was like ones I'd only seen in movies. It was a powder blue, frail, and had slats that left space between one another, enough for a possible monster to peak out and let his evil eyes stare into my soul while I slept.
It was ironic the design of these closets. They were supposed to be dark and cold to help preserve the color and material of clothing, but not mine, it was the silent killer of cotton and black dye.
School began Monday, today being Friday. Summer break was unfortunately coming to a close and I didn't get to live up every day like how Phineas and Ferb had taught me in my younger years - they'd be so disappointed.
Maybe I should be more social? How did I want to present myself? I wasn't having an identity crisis - well maybe I was, and rightfully so - but I've always been naturally more reserved, the silent genius. Who says smart girls can't be sociable? Maybe this year, this junior year, I'll seize this opportunity. I'll make a substantial group of friends, people who have my best interest, people who believe in me and respect my interests and independence.
"Goddamnit!" I could hear my mom in the kitchen, some broken glass shuffling around. "I only broke one globe! Don't tell your dad!"
I couldn't help but giggle, for as bitter as mom was, she could be quite the character.