So Not Happening

Chapter Four: Welcome To Farm Life

Right into cow poop. "Ew!" Sick. "How does poop get in the yard?"
I run toward a patch of grass and shuffle my feet like they're on fire.

Logan and Robbie laugh as they enter the house.

"Welcome to farm life." Jake chuckles and follows behind his sons.

Yeah, thanks a lot. Glad to be here. Stupid . . . pooping . . . cows.

The wraparound front porch looks like something from a Tim Burton movie---rickety, spooky, and ready to sprout jaws and collapse on someone at any moment.

Mom practically skips ahead of me and flings open the creaking screen door. Clutching my cat in her travel bag, I step inside.

"Isn't it cute?" Mom's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's going to be a lot of fun decorating. We can do that together."

I stare. Mute. Appalled at the decor around me. I think 1970 came for a visit, threw up, and never left. In the living room to my left is an orange couch, sagging in the middle like it gave up. Yellowed lace curtains hang crookedly over a filmy window. Over my right shoulder is the dining room. A beaten and battered "wood" table takes up most of the space, piled high with newspapers, books, and random cereal toys. I am drawn to the mess like a moth to a bug zapper. I place Moxie's bag on the hardwood floor and slip into the room. With a ringed finger, I write my name in a cursive on the dusty table.

I turn around as Mom stands behind me. "It's not too late to change your mind," I whisper, my eyes boring into hers. "We slip out the back door, we hop a plane, and---"

"Bella." Her hands clench my shoulders. "This is it. Accept it. You're not even trying."

"Trying!" I laugh. "A few months may be all you need to adjust to the idea of a new family and life in this . . . this frat house, but I need more time. This home isn't even civilized. I'm afraid to look in my room. Let me guess, gingham curtains and something that resembles an old doily for a comforter?"

"No. Of course not!" Mom blinks. "Maybe a Lord of the Rings bedspread but it's gone."

"Perfect." My eyes flit across the table and take in the family's collection of junk. A newspaper from last December. Two candy bar wrappers. A stack of wrestling magazines.

Mom pushes me toward the stairs. "We need to get you unpacked."

The stairs creak with every step and lead us to a series of rooms on the second floor.

Mom points out Budge and Robbie's room, then grabs my hand and pulls me to the bedroom at the end of the hall. "This is it." Her hand rests on the knob. "Now before we go in, keep in mind I haven't had a lot of time to do much with it. We'll have to go shopping." She cracks the door, only to pull it shut again. "And another thing . . . you can't compare it to your room at your dad's. Or in our old apartment. It's a smaller space, okay?"

"Just open the door, Mom."

She turns the knob and we both step inside. "What do you think, sweetie?"

I turn a full circle. "I'm . . . I'm speechless."

My closet at my dad's could barley fit in this space. Plain white panels drape from the single window. A simple white duvet covers a twin bed, with pink pillows that used to rest on my plush queen-size bed. On the wall hang pictures of me, my family, and my friends from New York. They all smile back at me in black and white.

"Did you see my surprise?" Robbie, wearing a Superman costume, peeks into the room. He points to the center of the bed, where a homemade card sits propped on a throw pillow.