"You know most of the time I stay out of your business, but this time, i am begging you to cancel this party that you're having for no reason! My recital is tomorrow, Christy!" I growl at her a couple of weeks later. It's very early morning on December 20th.
"No one will bother you if you're locked in your studio, spaz." She says, referring to the empty room upstairs that I've taken over to practice in. I watch as she flits around the kitchen, making a shopping list for her big soiree.
"Is Peter coming?" I ask, hoping he isn't. Christy hasn't brought Peter by the house since mom left, even though she can. Something about him makes me feel weird. But, then again, I've never been exactly close to any of her many boyfriends.
"Of course. He's my boyfriend." She replies, though the shine slips from her voice when mentioning him. Guess his time is running out.
And once Christy's mind is made up, nothing can change it.
---
Though my ankle is still the tiniest bit sore, I dance through the pain. And although my legs are sore from no use, I welcome the stiffness and dance my worries away as the sun sets and the music grows louder downstairs as Christy greets her guests.
I turn the volume all the way up on my boombox, Tchaikovsky filling the air. I let the music fill my mind with it's absurd pretense of dancing toys. A floorboard creaks behind me and I spin, foot still in the air, towards the intruder. Peter grabs my foot like I was going to kick him and sets it gently on the ground. "I wasn't going to-" I start before he interrupts with his command.
"Could you watch some of my stuff while I'm at the party? There's a lot of shady people down there and this appears to be the safest room in the house." He says in a honeyed voice. I nod and he puts his wallet and phone next to my boombox on the windowsill.
As he walks toward the door, I start the song over again, moving into fourth position, all the while wondering how he got in if the door was locked. "And just for the record, I can tell you weren't going to kick me." He says jokingly before returning to the party. I scoff and keep dancing.
What feels like a short time later, his phone goes off. I glance over. If it was a text, I would have left it alone, but it's a calendar reminder. So I pause the music and run downstairs to give it to him. As I'm running, I see the giant clock above our couch and I gasp when I see it's almost six in the morning. Whoa. Sometimes I get a little caught up in dance, but Christy's parties never last this long.
I push my way through the mass of people, mumbling apologies in between yelling Peter's name. I really wish I knew his last name right now,as that might make this process a whole lot quicker. The crowd pushes me out the back door, and I land like regurgitated food on the empty back lawn.
"What do you want, blondie?" My sister calls from her perch on the roof. As far as insults go, this one hurts worse than all the others.
Christy's hair is the darkest of browns, exactly like our mom's...and our dad's. From the time I was old enough, I felt out of place with my auricomous hair. And when Christy found out that all blondes have severe learning disabilities, it became a really bad insult because I was failing math at that time. I scoff. I probably have a higher GPA than her right now.
But numbers have never been my skill.
For a moment, rage boils beneath the surface and I forget why I'm out here. But I collect myself and look up at Peter. "Your phone went off with a calendar reminder to call someone. And that it's the solstice." Peter turns so pale that I swear that he's gone comatose. He jumps down in one fell swoop a moment later.
"Can you go grab my wallet, please?" He says, taking his phone from my grasp. I nod and run through the crowd, snatch it from next to the boombox, and run back outside.
But him and Christy are gone by the time I get back.