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Because when I pulled into the three-car garage, when I walked into the mudroom, it felt as if I had a tie around my neck, one that I’d pinched too tight.
After ten, the house always became near silent, but I knew when I rounded the corner and entered the family room, I’d find them.
Sure enough.
Mom and Dad both sat on the sleek couch, like they always did. Mom, with a book in her lap, wore her house robe; Dad, still dressed in his day clothes, thumbed through a packet of papers. When I walked in, they both looked up like robots moving in unison.
“Destelle,” Mom greeted, her expression remaining neutral. “Welcome home.”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Dad said, taking his turn in the script we had written and long since memorized. “How was Margot’s?”
It changed every so often. Sometimes I “went to Margot’s.” Other times I’d tell them I was “visiting a different friend from school.” One thing stayed consistent: I never told them the truth.
Lying to them used to be so hard, so fear-inducing, and anything else, I’d never take the risk. When it came to Stella and Crushed Beanz, it almost started feeling like second nature.
With my purse slung over my shoulder, I offered them a polite smile. It didn’t have teeth. “Thanks for waiting up for me. I had a nice evening.”
That was Dad’s cue to push to his feet, groaning a little like he’d been sitting down too long. Dad was the epitome of clean-cut. He kept his hair artfully styled, as always, and rarely let his facial hair grow, but if he did, he kept it buzzed to the bare minimum, with a clean line at his cheekbones.
Appearances were everything in the Brighton household.
As Dad walked up to me, he held his hand out, his gold wedding ring shining. He didn’t even have to say anything, our ritual so ingrained that our movements were mechanical.
I dug my cell phone out of my purse and placed it and my car keys onto his palm. They’d never told me why they collected my phone and keys at night, but I had an inkling of an idea: they wanted control. And I gave it to them without a fight because the idea of pushing back made anxiety swell within me.
“Thank you,” Dad said, jingling my keys a little. He studied me for a moment, causing my heart to trip over a beat. As a juvenile court judge, I’m sure he gave a lot of teens that probing stare, and I had no idea how anyone else could stand it. “What’s this?” he asked, reaching out. His fingertip brushed my temple. “It looks like…marker?”
My hand flew up to my face, knocking his away. “Uh, yeah, I—well, I got some on me while Margot and I were doing homework.”
“You’re supposed to get the ink on the paper, Destelle.” Dad’s expression was neutral, but his voice sounded wary. He didn’t believe me.
“Destelle,” Mom said, drawing my attention to her. I braced myself, preparing for them to jump on the lie, but they didn’t. “I left the Shang-Wu Scholarship packet on your desk. That deadline is February fifteenth, so make sure you mail it in before then, okay?”
Normally, I’d have been grateful for any subject change, but not this one. Not college stuff. Two weeks until the deadline. My face ached, but the pain barely registered. Destelle was a master at fake smiles. “Thank you for reminding me, Mom. I’ll see you both in the morning.”
This time, as I headed toward the staircase, neither of them stopped me. On my way to my bedroom, I passed the twins’ rooms, Nellie’s door shut, Jamie’s door open, both probably sound asleep by now. Mom and Dad would’ve tucked them in an hour ago, no doubt giving them a kiss goodnight on their foreheads.
Neither of them knew the life they had ahead of them, one of scholarships and fundraisers and fake smiles and rules.
Just like it was my life now. Scholarships, fundraisers, fake smiles, and rules to live and obey every moment in time. Except for two nights a week. It felt like I truly lived the life I wanted on the weekends.
My bedroom was pristine, not a piece of clutter or dirty laundry. The gold-colored duvet was folded neatly over the bedding, the pillows perfectly creased. Throughout the white-walled room there were framed art pieces and abstract photos, tastefully placed and professionally minimalistic.
It looked like a hotel suite rather than a teenage girl’s bedroom. If I were to look around this room for one thing completelyme, I’d come up empty.
Until I lifted up the bed skirt and pulled out a large shoebox. It was the home for all the things I wanted, like printouts of online colleges, as if one day I’d get to attend them.
Online college—it sounded like a dream. I’d taken a college course last semester online and absolutely loved it. From then on, the little seed had taken root. If I did online schooling at least for the basic courses I’d need, I could be wherever I wanted. I didn’t have to be stuck in a fancy school or trapped at home.
I could be free, and the idea of freedom was almost as hypnotizing as Harry’s voice.
The shoebox was also the home for the silk bag and black sweater. It was a safer place for Stella than the car, where Mom or Dad could easily stumble upon it. No one would think to look in a simple shoebox. So, shoving the online brochures aside, I eased the wig underneath the papers, saying goodbye to that persona for another week.
A noise came from out in the hallway, and when I looked up, I realized I’d left my door open. Jamie’s room was directly across the hall, swamped in darkness. He was probably asleep, but it didn’t stop me from shoving the shoebox underneath my bed, hurrying over to my door and easing it shut.
My family didn’t know about the shoebox or about Stella, and they never could. Being someone else was freeing, inspiring, even if it was for only a few nights a month.
It was reallyStellawho got to live the life I truly wanted on the weekends, and to make sure it stayed that way, my family could never find out.
