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“School?” I jerk my chin toward her. She shakes her head.
“Technically, I was homeschooled, but…” She worries her lip, clearing her throat. “I have a lot to catch up on.”
“We’ll give you all the tutoring you need!” Melody cries from behind my door. Motherfucker.
“Ma’am!” I punch the door with my fist. “A fucking moment and some chill would be nice right about now.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m leaving now…oh, and no cussing!” she barks, and I hear murmuring between her and Jaime. Jaime, who looked pissed off on the couch, didn’t even have time to register what Daria and I looked like when we entered the living room.
“I missed y—” Via starts, but I cut her off.
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“Mel is giving me the room next to the studio in the basement. It’s already furnished as a guest room.”
“Nice.”
Like a puppy kicked in the ribs, she curls on the edge of my bed with her hands on her lap. I’m guessing the past four years were very sheltered for her. I put my hands on my waist, and the scent of Daria is everywhere. On my skin and clothes and fingers and inside my mouth.
“You still cut holes in your shirts?” A small, sad smile that tells me she is not sure who I am, either, tugs at her lips.
I hitch one shoulder up. She knows the score. Knows when the hole will finally close.
“There’s not one thing about you that I recognize,” I tell her frankly.
“I’m still the same Via.”
“My Via wouldn’t leave me.”
“Your Via didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a fucking choice.” I smash my fist against the wall. Again.
Via jumps back. She knows this conversation is going in ways she doesn’t want it to go, so she stands up and plasters her hands over my chest.
“I’m here now. I know I’ve been the worst sister the past few years, but the beauty of our situation is that we don’t have a choice. We have to be there for one another because neither of us has anyone else. Mom’s dead. Dad and Grandmamma will never accept me again. Not with you, anyway. They think Mama and Rhett ruined you. And maybe not at all. So you have to forgive me.”
Shaking my head, I start pacing the room, knowing damn well that my burning knuckles need some ice on them before the skin breaks and everything hurts like a thousand bitches. Since I still can’t figure out how to approach her, I move on to practicalities.
“So you’re going to stay here with us?”
Like the Followhills and I are a unit or some shit.
She shrugs. “Mrs. Followhill thinks it’s in everyone’s best interest.”
Other than her daughter’s.
“Gonna go to school?” I fold my arms across my chest.
“Yes.”
“Well, I leave early every morning to Las Juntas for strength training, so your 2.0 version better be an early riser.”
“I…” She looks around the empty room, biting on her lower lip. “I’m actually going to attend All Saints High. It’s closer than Las Juntas, and they have an extensive tutoring program.”
“Daria goes to ASH,” I deadpan. In my mind, this is the end of the discussion. They can’t go to the same school. I doubt they’ll survive living under the same roof for longer than three hours.
Via picks imaginary lint from her nun dress. “Mrs. Followhill said Daria can give me a ride. I won’t be in her way.” Her tone is soft, coy. “I just want to graduate. I’m probably at junior level, if that. I’ll have to talk to their counselor and take a bunch of tests.”
I look away, breathing through my nostrils. Finally, something I can understand and decode. Pain for my sister, for the screwed-up situation she’s in.
“No one can know that I’m here,” I warn her. “Coach Higgins still thinks that I live with Rhett. I can’t move school districts and stay with the football team.”
She nods. “I would never tell on you, Penn. You can trust me.”
I snort. First of all, I can’t. And second of all, she sounds twelve.
I walk to the door, throwing it open and cocking my head. I can’t see her face right now. There’s too much going on inside my head and chest.
“Out.”
Her steps are slow and cautious as she marches out, stopping at the threshold.
“Look, I just want my brother back. I swear. I’m not here to cause any trouble. Can you try? Please?” She presses her palms together in front of her.
“Are you serious about this?”
“God, Penn.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life anymore. Yes.”
I walk over to my desk, open a drawer, and produce a Swiss Army knife. I drag it along my open palm, thumb to little finger, then hold my bloodied hand up in invitation.
She hesitates only for a second before opening her small palm.
