The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Ten

Wednesday, May 5;

[School Half Day]

14:15

"You read this stuff?" I asked, waving the thick leather-bound novel in Marco's face.

His face changed. "You went through my stuff?" He set the glasses of soda on his desk and moved to grab the book from me.

"I wasn't snooping, Marco," I said slowly, handing it to him. "I just didn't think this was your thing. Non-fiction?"

"Yeah, well, it's my mom's," he explained, shoving it onto his shelf.

Marco's mother didn't seem like the reading type, though, and if she did in fact read, I got the feeling that she'd stick her nose into a raunchy Mills and Boon, rather than thick, dusty non-fiction by a guy called Patrick Keller.

"So, whaddaya wanna study, kiddo? You know I'm hella good at everything I do," Marco said, suddenly upbeat and jovial. He passed me the Coke and simultaneously took a long gulp of his.

"And you're modest, too," I said, rolling my eyes as I took a seat at his desk. "You know I suck at Math, so let's do that. I've got an end-of-term test on Friday. Whoopee."

Marco chuckled. "Sucking is an understatement."

"Shut up."

He mimed zipping his mouth closed.

I laughed, glancing out the window above his desk, and that was when I saw my mother, standing in my bedroom, staring right back at me. The sight was so ludicrously cliché that for a minute, I didn't know what to do or say.

"Marco... Look," I hissed after a moment, nodding at the window.

He looked. "Oh, hey, Mrs. Martins!" he called out, waving enthusiastically at my mother.

She waved a hand, then quickly disappeared. Just what was she doing in my room like that?

"Why the heck are you waving at her for?" I fumed, pushing the drink aside.

Marco looked down at me quizzically. "Why can't I wave at your mom?"

"She was just in my room, without my permission. Watching us. Don't you find that remotely strange?"

"Ter, come on. You're exaggerating now. She was probably just cleaning."

My mother didn't set foot in my room. She just didn't.

"You know what? Forget it," I muttered, suddenly feeling depressed. For some weird reason, I wanted to talk to Dr. Steinbeck. Impossible.

"I feel like we're fighting all the time, Terra. Don't you?" Marco sighed, his eyes turned skyward.

I shrugged. "Whatever. Will you help me study or not, Marco?"

He smiled. "Where'd you wanna start?"

"Parabolas..."

*

"We're going out... to dinner," my mother told me, after I'd come home from next door. I guess we were both pretending I wasn't acting awkward around her. "There's pasta on the stove for you. Knock yourself out," she continued, regarding herself in the mirror in the hallway.

My father came down the stairs in a charcoal-black suit, a scowl pasted on his face.

"No boys over. Understood?" were his first words to me. "Not even Marco."

"Understood." I resisted the urge to glare at him.

"Well, don't wait up for us, Terra," my mother smiled. "See you soon."

And then they were gone.

The house was quiet. And I wanted to scream.

I went to the kitchen, although I wasn't really hungry. Studying with Marco had just tired me out. Math strained my brain.

And then, as I turned to leave, the kitchen table slid to block my way.

Just breathe, Terra. Just breathe.

But breathing was beginning to become harder to do as the implications of my being alone in this house started to sink in.

I jumped a mile when the blender went on a kamikaze mission and jumped off the top of the refrigerator and landed on the ground, breaking into a million pieces. Mom was going to be mad about that...

The table stood in front of the doorway, challenging me.

I moved to push it aside, and a chair rammed into me, hard, bruising my right hip. I winced in pain and stepped back, pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket.

I dialled the number that was imprinted on my brain - and was greeted by voicemail: "Hey, it's Marco here, as you obviously know, seeing as you just tried to call me. Anyway, I'm hella busy so when you hear the beep, you know exactly what to do... BEEP".

I groaned and hung up.

Just breathe, Terra. Just breathe.

Easier said than done.

I closed my eyes for a second and thought I could feel the tight embrace of a straitjacket...

Run, Dr. Steinbeck was saying, but it was hard to balance, what with my arms wrapped around myself...