I walked in the door and dropped my backpack in the hallway next to my gym bag. The sound of text books made a thud, and I cringed as I thought about how much studying I needed to do. My brother’s bag was already there, practically empty as usual. I kicked it over and continued in through the mud room to the kitchen. I hated his natural ability to pull off passing grades. I hated even more that he NEVER studied, and NEVER applied himself to anything but hunting…girls and animals alike.
I plopped down on a saddleback bar stool. It was new, and not very comfortable, but it looked great and matched the kitchen décor well. My mother was baking, and I could smell the sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. My mouth was watering, I reached for a cupcake, and my mom smacked my hand hard.
“Ouch, jeeze, are you trying to kill me?” I snapped at her, knowing I was overreacting as I said it, but unable to stop myself.
“Those are for dessert.” She said it as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation for the red handprint now throbbing on my wrist.
“Fine.” I set the cupcake back down, and turned to leave the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized I looked awful. I was scowling, and my hair was pulled back and had salty sweat in it. “I’m going to go shower,” I mumbled.
“That is fine, but make sure you put clothes on, not PJ’s, we are going to the new neighbor’s for dinner tonight.” My mother called after me.
I was half way up the stairs, and stopped dead in my tracks. “What?” I knew I had an edge to my voice, I turned and came back down a few steps, Mom was walking out of the kitchen, into the entry where the stairs were, and she was looking up at me, “But mom, I have homework! I’m not going.” I glared at her. I hated when my parents did this. Mom always had been a social butterfly, but it never bothered me until she dragged the rest of us into it. Our family was constantly being invited here or there. Mom insisted that the “family” was invited, not just her and my Dad, and that meant we had to go. The last thing I felt like doing tonight was sitting at some person’s house I did not know. Usually the adults sat and talked and I was left out of the conversation. Besides, I did have homework.
“You are going, so go get cleaned up.” She said evenly, trying to hide her frustration. Her usually composed face was turning slightly red. I knew that when she used that tone there was no point in arguing. I also knew by her face turning molten that Rylie had already given her a hard time about having to go, and I was getting the result of her frustration.
I nodded once, then turned and dragged my feet as I finished climbing the stairs. She could make me go, but she could not make me enjoy it.
Just to spite her a little, when I got out of the shower I put on my oldest, most worn out jeans, and a horrific orange sweatshirt that was far too large. If I had thought there was a chance I would see anyone besides my family and these new people, I would not have been caught dead in it. Nana had sent the sweatshirt last Christmas, and I had never worn it, but I knew Mom would hate it. I also knew she would not say anything because Dad’s mom gave it to me and she would not want to hurt his feelings. I decided to also leave my hair wet, for just that little added touch. I pulled it into a knot behind my head, and looked in the mirror.
My boring brown eyes were pulling slightly backward because I had my hair so tight. My skin was clear, unlike my twin brother Rylie, I did not get zits. My lashes were short. My lips thin. I was pretty average looking. I always envied girls with great lips. I had a good jaw line, and decent cheek bones. My nose was average. All in all, I knew I had gotten more of my dad than my mom. My dad was a handsome man, although not strikingly good looking like the men you see in magazines. He was fairly short at only 5’9”. He had dark hair and eyes, big eyebrows, and a great presence. People loved him. He had a way of making them feel naturally at ease. My mother was polished and perfect. She had petite and beautiful features, always had her blonde hair done, and her make-up on. She was thin, and dressed nicely. She was beautiful. However, her perfection made people uncomfortable, including me. Riley was more like her.
When I turned the corner and walked back into the kitchen after my shower, I was glad to see my Dad standing there. He was just pulling out from a kiss with my mom, and he grinned up at me sheepishly. “Hey sweetheart! How was practice?”
“Ugh, hard.” I reached for a cupcake again, I knew my mom would not scold me about it with my dad in the room. He brought out the best in her.
“Tell me about it?” He prodded. He was a runner in high school and college, and I always felt like he lived a little vicariously through me. He loved running, but an accident on a motorcycle had injured his leg and he could no longer run like he used to. So, he got joy from pushing me, and soaking up every detail about my practices and the latest drama between me and my coach.
“Well, we did intervals today. Coach must have been grumpy because he made us do ladders.” Ladders are when you run different lengths, starting at a 200 m run and working your way up to 1200 m. “We barely had any recovery time, my lungs were burning. I hate running in the cold.”
My dad’s lips tugged a little at the corners, and he tried not to smile. He worried that if he pushed too hard I would stop running. I liked to complain just enough to him to keep him worried. It was leverage. He did not realize that I loved it as much as he did, I just was a bit lazier than he was.
“So, how were your times?” He prodded again, hoping for a few more details.
“Well, my 200 was a 32, then we walked across the field and he started us right away on the 300. I ran a 58, so not that great, but I was boxed in a bit. Then we walked back to the start point, and he made us do the 400. I think I ran a 76, so that was better, but he only gave us 30 seconds recovery so my 600 was bad, my 800 worse, and I don’t even want to talk about my 1200.” It always made me embarrassed to tell my father my times. I am not sure why. It was like I was afraid he was judging me. I guess I felt that way about most people. I was who I was, and I was not going to change that, but I still worried what people thought of me.
“Well, sounds like you could use a rest.” He smiled as he said it, and I knew by rest he was not implying a nap, or television time. He was trying to get me to go on a jog with him, and since I knew mom would put a stop to it because of the dinner plans, I agreed. “Sure, a slow jog sounds fun,” I said shrugging my shoulders a little.
“Does that mean you want to go for a jog?” He had a slightly surprised look on his face as he asked, making sure I was not teasing him or anything. I nodded. “Great! I will go change.” I saw the look of surprise and joy in his eyes as I bounded off the bar stool I had been sitting on. I was putting on a good show.
“Wait one minute you two.” My mother, interceding just as I had known she would, “Aren’t you forgetting something Bobby?” She smiled sweetly at my father, and waited, eye-brows raised for him to figure out what he had forgotten.
“Oh, that’s right,” he sighed, “Dinner with the Prigmores. Well, Kates, looks like I will have to take a rain check.” He stood up, gave my mother a squeeze and walked into his den.
I wanted to follow, but knew he probably had work to get done before we had to go, so I decided to get started on my homework, at least that way it would not be hanging over my head the whole night.
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