Making children switch places in the middle of their school career should be illegal.
That's exactly what I told my parents when they transferred us from Scotland to Ann Arbor in Michigan, USA. After Dad lost yet another job and Mom decided she's had enough of teaching children, they made a decision about leaving. But not to another Scottish town or city. Not even to another British or even European country. No, they had to aim high and set their minds on the United States, the country of hamburgers and cowboys. Which was, of course, everything I could ever want as a vegetarian who is afraid of horses.
I did everything that was in my power to make them change their minds. I begged, yelled, cried, all for nothing. I even threatened to make a run for it and live with our sort-of-haunted aunt in Northern Scotland. I must not have been persuasive enough because it didn't give me anything. Even Everett, my older by eight years brother who has always taken my side before decided to stand against me now. As a result, before the school year was even finished, I found myself already packed and making preparations to quit both my normal and music school.
I think it was him I blamed most. My brother always supported me, always was there for me, and helped me with every matter. He was the mediator between me and our parents when something went wrong. He was the one who held my hand when I refused to learn how to walk led by any of my parents. He was my idol, my hero, and my personal bodyguard since the very day I was born - and maybe even earlier. So when I heard him answer with a yes to the question asked by Mum and Dad, I couldn't bring myself to believe it.
And it that moment, when I stood beside him and with wide eyes watched his lips form that one, short word, something inside me broke irreversibly. I knew it then, and I know it now, when nothing about the two of us is the same anymore. We are distanced, nothing like what we used to be. There were days when you couldn't see us apart, when we've spent every second of the day and night together, too busy to even eat breakfast. Right now, all that is between us is cool politeness and mutual tolerance when we pass each other in the kitchen or on our way to the bathroom. I know he wants to make it right again, can feel he needs me to forgive him. And I want it, too, every fiber of my being screams for me to forget it all and go back to the old days. But even though my heart and my soul want to forget, my brain - the real estate of humans feelings - can't bring itself to do it. Not after what he did to me. Not after he stuck that one final nail to my coffin despite knowing how much I wanted to remain upside and living.
That's why I ignore him now when he finds me eating cereal at the kitchen table and wishes me good morning.
"Could you pass me the Cheerios?" He asks, grabbing a bowl and sitting down next to me.
I resume eating.
"Cheerios are mine. Yours are the chemistry-filled sugar bombs with the taste of a soap." I tell him.
"You could have easily used the term Lucky Charms, as most people do." He responds, reaching for his cereal box reluctantly.
"I'm not most people." I reply curtly, shoving a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
I can hear the first of his nerves snap in his long, tortured sigh. And as much as my pure and good heart hates it, the dark, wrenched part of me squeals with delight hearing this.
"Daira, we've talked about this." He sounds exasperated. "Even though you're different, you have to at least try to fit in."
"What for?" Those are my nerves now that are close to snapping. "So that I could make some friends, start and new life and pretend nothing happened?"
I am no longer hungry so I get up and place what is left of my breakfast in the sink. I know Everett hates it when I leave the table when someone else isn't yet finished. That's the main reason behind why I do it now.
"Nothing happened, Daira." He says. "That's the thing. You act as if we've done God knows what to you when, in fact, all we have done was make you switch places."
"Exactly! That's exactly what happened!" I fail. I can't keep my voice down any longer. "Taking me from home and bringing me here is exactly what you've done. But you know what's worse?" I'm on a roll now. I'm not going to stop unless someone makes me. "I'll tell you. The fact that after almost a year, you still don't get how much you've hurt me by this. That you still act like it was the best choice in the world and I was just too stupid to understand it. The fact that even though you know how much it costs me, you still make me go through all of this and act like I was a happy teenager. That's what's worse."
By the end of my monologue, my breath is coming out in short pants, and there are tears in my eyes. Realizing I'm about to lose it, I try to calm down by slowing my breathing. When I'm done, I open my eyes and find Everett watching me with sorrow-filled eyes.
"Forget it." I shake my head. "I'm not going to school today."
His eyes widen.
"You cannot not go. We had a deal, Daira. Should I call Mum?"
I shake my head.
"And Ms. Brownstone? Do you want me to call her?" His voice is gentle.
I drop my eyes to my feet and shake my head again. I'm pretty sure that after all this shaking, my previously messy bun is not just messy any longer, but updated to a status of a complete caveman-style. Not that I care, though. The state of my hair doesn't really matter. Their colour usually does the job of making people stare.
"Please don't start a fight." Everett says. "Please don't make this day another hell."
Right. Because it's me who turns every single day into a nightmare.
"Fine." I drawl, meeting his eyes. "But don't blame me if you get a call from school telling you I've murdered someone and you have to bail me out of jail."
The corners of Everett's lips twitch as if he wanted to smile but changed his decision halfway. It has become his usual habit since the day we grew apart. As if he's afraid I'm going to erupt if he shows any hint of positive emotion.
"Great." He says. "Just let me finish and I'll drive you."
"No." I shake my head, sending the strands of hair that have fallen loose flying around my face. "I'll take the bus."
"No, you won't." Everett objects, munching on his cereal.
I raise a brow. Does he really want to go down this path?
My brother turns his head to the side and curses softly. Seems like he's realized his mistake of telling me what to and not to do.
"I mean, there's no need." He corrects himself, looking back at me. "I have to go somewhere anyway. I can drop you on my way."
Meaning: I don't trust you going alone and will drive you to the very door and stay there until the lesson starts to make sure you won't bolt. That's Everett Dearg - caring enough to make his little sister go to school when she's supposed to but not to care about her happiness.
I clench my teeth, knowing where this is all going. If we go down the path I want to go, this morning will be even worse. I'm going to refuse, Everett's going to snap, I'm going to yell, he's going to yell, too, then I'm going to storm out the front door, slamming it shut and he's going to call Mum and tell her I did it again. Standard.
The thing is, I'm tired of this all. This scenario is something we've gone through way too many times during the past year. Every time I got the chance to make someone's life miserable and take revenge for the whole moving thing, I took it. At first, letting go of all the anger bunched up inside of me felt good, but after all this time, it's simply tiring. I'm done with the countless sermons I've heard from Everett, my parents, or even Ms. Brownstone. I'm tired of hearing the same words over and over, tired of having the same discussions and fights.
And even though I don't believe I'm saying it, I wish it was all over. I kind of miss normal.
That's why instead of snapping, I take a deep breath and release it slowly, just like I've done with Ms. Brownstone so many times before. Opening my eyes, I focus them on Everett and straighten.
"Okay." I say and see his eyes widen. "But hurry up. I don't want to be late on my first day."
Being the new student on your senior year is bad enough. Having blazing-red hair's even worse. Getting late to my first class here isn't something I'm looking forward to.
"I'll be waiting in the car." I add.
With that, I turn, grab my backpack from the stool, and march outside to the garage.