A) write
B) talk
C) escape
"Get up, Emma," my mom shakes my shoulder roughly, "we're here."
"I'm not going," I say groggily, my eyes still shut. Light streams in between my eyelids, making me flinch.
"Yes you are. And don't try anything, or you'll be spending the rest of the summer with Marlee."
My eyes fly open, my nostrils flared. "Who the fuck is Marlee?" I practically shout. My mother's eyes widen. tHe AuDaCiTy! *gasp*
"Watch your language, young lady." She steps aside so I can get out. I can practically see steam coming out of her ears as I talk. "Now get up out of the car yourself before I take you out."
I don't want that.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and step onto the grass, dew seeping between my toes over the tops of my sandals. It's surprisingly green, considering the time we live in. My lawn is completely dead, and no amount of water can fix it. This is much prettier.
I look up to see a small cottage in front of me, made up entirely of a material that looks wood. It contrasts with the grass greatly, the boards held together by very few nails. It honestly looks as if it's about to fall over. I feel like if I walk into it, the whole thing might collapse on top of me.
We walk to the house, every step I take closer making me more and more nervous. Not that I would let my mother see that. As I near the cottage, I can see that the walls were once painted. Now the paint is so faint that you can hardly even tell it's ever been anything but solid wood. Jesus, how old is this place?
The stairs that lead to the door creak every time even a tiny bit of weight is placed onto it. I shudder as a board groans under my feet, sinking under the weight of my mother and I. Swallowing hard, I grimace as I imagine the boards breaking and shooting splinters into my legs.
What a wonderful way to think, am I right?
Mother raps sharply on the door. I listen intently, but hear nothing. It's as if the house is abandoned completely.
"Hey mom, I don't think anyone's home," I say, trying to look in through the windows. It's no use though, the drapes are pulled tightly closed.
"She's here." No elaboration.
Silence still buzzes from inside the cottage. "I really don't think-"
The door swings open, slamming against the inside wall before bouncing back. I jump, nearly falling down the steps. Of course my mom stays rock solid. A young woman- maybe twenty five or twenty six- stands in the doorway with a huge smile on her face. Her auburn hair is thrown up into a floppy bun, and her glasses look like they're about to fall off her nose.
"Oh my God, Roxanne?" Her jaw drops when she sees my mother, who smiles back.
"Hey Marlee." She opens her arms for the girl, who jumps into them and laughs.
"Gosh, Roxy, I haven't seen you in like three years! What's up?" Marlee exclaims, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her bright green eyes light up with joy, the dark circles that line them disappearing under her frames.
"Well this is my daughter, Emma. You remember her, don't you?" My mother puts her hand between my shoulderblades, pushing me lightly toward Marlee. I plant my feet on the ground, squeezing my shoulders together so she lets go of me. No way in hell I'm smiling.
"Do I? Wow, Emma. You're so big now! The last time I saw you I must have been your age." Marlee grins at me. "You're like fifteen now, right?"
I nod, not even realizing that I'm glaring at her. "Emma's a writer," my mother says, "I brought her because I figured you could change that mindset of hers."
I want to tell her that I'm not a writer- that my mindset doesn't need to change and that I'm fine the way I am. I want to let Marlee know that she means nothing to me. There's no way this lady is going to change the way I am. But I stay silent, keeping up the wall I've built.
"Well I sure can try, but don't expect too much from me," Marlee says stepping back inside and holding the door open for me. "Coffee, Roxanne?"
My mother shakes her head. "No thanks, Mar. I better get going before it gets too dark."
My eyes widen. "Hold up. You're just gonna leave me here with this crackhead overnight? You haven't even spoken to her in three years!" I don't even care if I'm offending Marlee. Let's be honest, I'm probably staying there for like two hours before mom comes back to get me because she feels bad. Why do I care what Marlee thinks of me?
"Watch who you're talking to, Emma. And yes, I'm leaving you here. I'll be back in a week to pick you up. Don't do anything stupid."
"Define stupid."
My mother rolls her eyes, turning to go. She doesn't say anything more, just walks away. For once, I find myself wishing she'd come back. I don't want to be here, and I don't even want to be near this human version of Nirvana.
"C'mon, Em," Marlee says. I'm shocked by her change of voice, her tone going from Barbie to actually normal. If it weren't for that, I would not follow her inside.
The inside of her house is no surprise. Like the outside, it's a wreck. Papers that have writing all over them litter the floor and tables, half-empty coffee mugs can be seen on every flat surface, and sticky-notes are stuck to the walls so often that I'm not even sure what the paint color is. Marlee moves a stack of books off the couch and gestures for me to sit. I reluctantly sit on the very edge of it, though I don't know why.
"Sorry about the mess. I would have cleaned up this shithole if I'd known you were coming. It's not like it would help anyway, but you know, you're just supposed to say that kind of thing if your house looks this bad." Marlee says, disappearing into what I think is the kitchen.
"It's fine," I assure her, looking around uncomfortably. Marlee peeks her head back inside, holding a large iced coffee.
"You want some?" She asks. "And don't be shy. I've got way too much in here. Too many flavors."
"Sure," I reply, cracking my knuckles. I don't know what it is about her that's changed, but she seems more... agreeable. At least to me anyways.
"What kind do you want? I've got plain, caramel, vanilla and a whole bunch of other brands of plain." Marlee calls from the kitchen.
"Caramel."
Man, if Carmen were here he would laugh so hard. I can still hear him warning me about how mom was going to kill me if I didn't just do what she asked. Honestly, I would rather her kill me than have to deal with this. A whole week? I don't even have an extra set of clothes. This house is a mess, I'm hungry and I already hate Marlee.
She comes back in holding a travel mug in one hand and her iced coffee in the other. She hands me the mug, chewing on the straw of her drink. She studies me for a moment as I take a sip of my coffee. It's too bitter and it burns as it slithers down my throat, but I ignore it. "You need something?" I snap. I hate the way her eyes search me as if she's trying to figure out everything about me just by the way I look.
"Oh, sorry," Marlee says, leaning back against the wall. "I was just going to say that you're very pretty."
I pull the mug from my lips, taken aback by her comment. "Uh- thanks Marlee."
She wrinkles her nose, setting her cup down on the table. "Ew, don't call me Marlee," she says, opening a pack of gum and sticking a piece into her mouth. "Call me by my last name. Black." I raise my eyebrows. "C'mon, do I really look like a Marlee to you?" She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it, crumpling it back into her mouth.
"I don't know," I answer flatly. She seems disappointed by my reply, however honest it was. She pulls off her glasses and comes closer to sit on the footrest in front of me, folding her legs in so she's sitting cross legged with her chin in her hands.
"Listen, Emma. I totally get that you don't want to be here. I wouldn't if I were you. But I promise I'm not some eccentric girl or a stuffy old lady. I'm not even here to help you want to write." She blows another bubble and pops it in my face, grinning. "Don't tell your mom, but I say we just have a fun week. You don't have to like me at first, but I'm pretty fun if I don't say so myself."
I don't say anything. I should smile back. I should be wondering where I'm going to get clothes. I should say something, anything- but all I'm thinking about the fact that I want some of that gum.
"Hey." Black catches my gaze as she notices it drifting away from her. "Wanna get some pizza?"
This week may not be as bad as I thought.
***
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Hey guys! Sorry if this formatting is weird- I had to write on my computer today. I just wanted to say thank you for getting this far and adding this story to your reading list if you did. I love you all so much!
-Shayna