Our mother is standing on the front lawn, and I can assume that behind her sunglass-veiled eyes, she's staring right at Christy - and the boy in the passenger seat. Sighing, Christy turns off the car. I slip out.
Mom is more invested in Christy's question mark of a future than in planned down to the minute one, so I quietly limp into the house to avoid the drama. I throw my bags on the kitchen table and grab an ice pack, propping myself on the island in the center of the room.
"Your name is Charlotte, right?" Peter asks, walking into the room with his hands in his pockets.
"I prefer Charlie. Charlotte brings up some unpleasant memories."
"Charlie it is then." He says, pulling up a stool next to me. He pulls out his phone and starts texting, leaving a lot of silence between us.
"So, how'd you and Christy meet?" I ask, unwrapping the Ace bandage.
"Do you really want to know?" He remarks, still staring at his phone.,
"Not really, I guess. Just making conversation." He rolls his eyes and looks at my ankle.
"That's...disturbing."
"I'm wondering if I should just cut it off at this point. But then, it would take longer to recover and get a prosthetic than it will to just heal. I'm rambling. Sorry."
"No worries. Your sister does it too." Peter says, not looking away from his phone.
"You know, it's rude to not look at someone when you're talking to them." He shuts his phone off and glares at me.
"I was texting my mom. Making arrangements for something."
"Still." I mumble. He stands up suddenly and pushes in the chair.
"My friend is here to pick me up."
"How'd you know that? You didn't even look down at your phone."
"I have my ways. It was nice meeting you." I blink and my sister's boyfriend is gone. Mom comes into the house a couple minutes later, finally addressing me.
"What happened?" She exclaims.
"Amanda Heartley happened." I say, crossing my arms.
"That witch!" She exclaims. (Except she doesn't say witch.) I keep rubbing the ice on my ankle as she looks through the cabinets.
"Where's Christy?" I ask, noticing she hasn't come back inside. More than likely, she's stormed off.
"Should I just order pizza?" Mom says, twirling to look at me. I inherited her grace.
"Pepperoni." I reply, pretending not to notice that she evaded my question. Mom calls in the order to my favorite pizza place, putting the order under Jolene Pieroux. She only uses her maiden name now. "You're back early." I say when she hangs up, staring to rewrap my ankle.
"I wanted to see my girls. And since I'll be leaving for Thailand soon, we should celebrate both holidays this weekend."
"Sounds great. I'm not doing anything since I'm injured except homework, but I'll be done with that on Friday."
"Great. I can start baking now then."
"Mom, it's Wednesday!" I giggle, despite the tense mood in the house.
"Never too early. Now scoot upstairs and do your homework until the pizza man gets here." I smile and do exactly as she says. When she's home, it completes me. Mostly because I don't feel alone.
I have dance and then I go home. I have friends but we only hang out on occasion, and I've never considered boys to be an option - Christy has steered me away from that path with her stories and bad habits, probably for the rest of my life.
Dance is the only thing that keeps me sane. After all, I’ve been doing it for so long that the very thing is rooted down into my soul. It seems like just yesterday my dad brought home that flyer.