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“What about that bracelet she gave you?” she asks, lifting her chin my direction. “Is the big green stone worth anything? Or just more mystic junk?”
I swallow the truth of how the bracelet and all the crystals Lala gave me mean everything since they came from her. Instead, I focus on scooping the tiny spider into the jar and cover it with the newspaper. “Got it.” I wave the jar toward her, and thankfully, it makes Candi, Brandi, or whatever her name is finally shut her mouth and back away to give me space.
Running to the backyard, I release the little arachnid into the tomato plants near the fence.
Beep, beep. The car horn in the driveway has me grinning. My friends are here.
I hurry through the kitchen, reaching for my purse and the orange inside it that I’d brought for breakfast…except it’s not there.
“Your brother took the orange out of your bag,” my mother says, hacking at a pepper with a knife as though the veggie wronged her in a past life.
“Did he go through my purse?” My question comes out too fast, too forceful. It invites her to ask what I’m hiding. With the way my parents felt about Lala’s love of all things woowoo, I don’t want to explain the crystals, sage, and candles I packed. Or the séance I’m hoping to attempt.
“It was just an orange. Didn’t you tell him he could have it?” She doesn’t give me time to answer. “Where are you going?”
“With my friends.”
She narrows her eyes in a classic Mom move. “Which friends?”
“My only friends. Val, Ava, and Meg. I told you about the trip up the coast, remember?”
“That’s today?”
“It is.” I don’t mention that I reminded her that’s why I came over within seconds of walking inside. With seven kids and several aunts, uncles, and cousins wandering through the house all the time, I get lost in the shuffle. She probably forgot I was here.
“I wanted you to make the marinade. Oh, and your father lost his glasses. He needs someone to look for them. I didn’t miss that you haven’t mentioned the hospital. Did you get a nice fat raise?”
“I didn’t get the job.” The steady thump of her knife against the wood goes silent, and I work not to flinch at the disappointment in her gaze. I rush to explain. “They require a master’s degree for the social worker position.”
“If you had just finished the nursing program.”
“I got the nursing assistant’s certification along with my bachelor’s degree,” I offer, hoping to cut off the same lecture I’ve gotten a thousand times.
Mom whacks the blade against the chopping block. “I’ll never understand why you wasted your Lala’s money on tuition just to end up emptying people’s bedpans and giving them sponge baths.”
“Gotta run.”
“Wait.” She steps in my path, still holding the knife which gives me serious flashbacks to the guy attacking me in the parking lot. Not that I’ll mention the assault to my mother. Or how I imagined being rescued by my guardian gargoyles. She would force me to skip my trip today and admit me to a psych unit for immediate treatment if I start talking about hallucinations.
“Yes, Mom?” I work hard to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Don’t forget to tell Meg you need her mother’s shortbread recipe. Your aunts love it. Oh, and ask Val about her mom’s fancy conditioner for your sisters. Their hair’s so dull these days. They’ll never catch a man?—”
“Bye, Mom. Love you!” I race around her, stopping to touch Lala’s photo on my way out the door.
I’m halfway to Val’s luxury car when I hear my youngest brother curse. Another yells “heads up” on a laugh.
A water balloon thwacks against my shoulder, splashing my face and hair. “Ugh.” I threaten revenge, hurrying to the car before another can catch me in the crossfire of whatever war my siblings are waging. I swipe at my cheek, wincing at the pain. The throbbing from earlier has returned, arnica and ibuprofen be damned.
I slide into the backseat beside Meg. Her easy grin fades as her gaze meets mine and then drops to the bruises on my cheek. I might be invisible to most of the world, but not to my friends. She inspects me as carefully as the tabletop game pieces she designs. My cheeks go hot. I glance down.
Crap.
The concealer I slathered on this morning stains my sleeve. Which means there’s probably none left to cover the bruises. I let my hair fall over half my face, hiding behind it. If I’m lucky, we’ll make it out of the driveway before she asks what happened.
“Ready for our haunted house adventure?” Ava asks from the front passenger seat, not glancing away from her open planner. She looks perfect as always with her blonde hair in a sleek ponytail and wearing her favorite pastels.
From the driver’s seat, Val looks up into the rearview mirror and her mouth goes tight. “Who hit you?” she demands, tapping Ava’s planner and gesturing my way.
