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I knock twice on a wooden, beige-painted door. This is the address I was sent, so I hope I don’t have the wrong house. I also hope I’m not interrupting anything, even though Aurora told me to come at six p.m. I stand, waiting for someone to open the door.
Eventually, the door creaks open. A woman, who doesn’t look over thirty, peeks around the door slowly to see who it is. Her brown hair is tied up, revealing her pale skin. She looks exactly as I remember her. April Miller. She looks more tired than in the pictures I’ve seen, but she’s still almost the same.
When she sees me, she opens the door wider. “Hello?” she asks.
“Hey Mrs. Miller. I’m Violet, Aurora’s . . . friend. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I introduce myself, smiling in what I hope is a friendly manner. Now that I’m thinking about it, Aurora and I didn’t really put a label on what we are, so callingmyself her friend might be a misunderstanding. Let’s hope it’s not.
“Oh, yes, Aurora told me you were coming. Violet Hart, right? You’re Lorenzo’s friend, too,” she states, as if talking to herself. Oh, wow, she knows a lot about me already. More than I had expected.
“Yeah. Aurora said I could come over today,” I tell her.
“Yes, of course, come in.” She smiles, moving to the side to let me in. “You know, you look familiar.” She points out, just as I suspected she would.
I enter and take off my shoes before standing up. “I’m Ellie’s sister, that’s probably why.” I reply, looking around. She hums in acceptance. Right in front of us is a kitchen, leading to a dining table. A small wall divides the kitchen and what seems to be a small passageway to the living room, where there are two black leather couches and a television. Loud footsteps come closer until I see Aurora descending the staircase.
“Violet. You’re here!” she exclaims, walking up to me. She’s changed from her outfit at school, and is now wearing a white tank top and gray sweatpants, with her hair tied up.
“I told you I would. Is it a problem?” I ask.
“No, I just didn’t think you’d be here on time. Most people come late, or not at all.” she says, turning to her mom. Not at all? I mean, me being here right on time is a trait I picked up from meetings. I physically cannot be late for something, even though many people are. But what does she meannot at all? She says it like it always happens to her. “Ma, this is Violet. She’s Ellie’s sister, and she’s not here to murder me when I’m not looking so you don’t have to do background checks on her,” she says.
I spring back to reality, trying to hide my confusion. Backgroundwhat? Murder her? Wow, I never thought someone would accuse me of attempted murder, though it sounds like she does that to everybody. Now that I think about it, Ellie did sayElaina’s mom was strict about where she went and who she hung out with.
“I never do background checks for murder, I do them in general. I don’t trust people, you know why. I will not have you kidnapped to find you dead a couple of days later,” April explains. Wow. Kidnap. I’m being suspected of kidnap now, I guess.
“You’re scaring her, she’s innocent. And yes, I know why, and I also know I’ll be fine,” Aurora assures her mom, then gestures to the stairs. “We’ll be upstairs,” she says, and I follow her up.
I hang out with her for a while, and we go out on a small walk. I’m not the best at cheering people up, but I try my best. When I find a plan to stop Roland, I won’t need to cheer up anybody. However, I still need to come up with a plan.
After a bit, I excuse myself and go downstairs to grab some water. I walk over to the kitchen, which is narrow but long. April is standing there, as expected. She senses my presence and turns around.
“Violet. Need anything?” she asks.
“Uh, yes. Water, please,” I answer. She grabs a glass and fills it up. She then hands it over to me, and I drink it slowly. When I’m finished, I put it on the countertop and turn back. “I actually wanted to ask you something else too,” I say. Here goes nothing.
“Sure. Ask away,” she replies. I take a deep breath. Why does this seem so stressful? Just ask her, what’s the worst that can happen.
“It’s about Roland. I’m sure Aurora told you,” I utter. She purses her lips, her eyes narrowing. Well, at least I know she knows and I won’t be the one to tell her.
“Yes, I know about Roland and his suddenly planned departure,” she tells me, her voice rough and darker. It’s also obvious she’s not happy about it. That gives me some kind of advantage.
“Well, I wanted to ask about him. I’ve been told that he listens to you,” I point out, hesitant on what to say. She crosses her arms over her chest, and leans back at the sink’s counter. The thought of whether that means I’m going to get an answer or an insult stresses me. Daniel, our old neighbor, always told me about her being tight and protective, which I confirmed when I first came in.
“So, you want me to talk to him? I can’t, if that’s what you want. My family is on what we call an ‘argument ban’ when it comes to Roland. It’s obvious he starts many things that need arguing about,” she clarifies. Wow. Roland even argues with his sister. I thought they’re relationship was top key. Yet, I did say Roland continues to disappoint me every day, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I don’t need you to talk to him, I just need advice. On changing his mind or forcing him to stop.”
She tilts her head back, looking at the ceiling as though she’s searching for ideas. I wait a while until she looks at me again.
“I can’t give you much advice, since you need to know Roland personally to get to him. But, he’s stubborn. If you plan on changing his mind, you need to threaten what he cares about the most—his bank account. He doesn’t seem bothered with having to move everything, but if the success of his business starts being targeted directly, he might change his mind,” She tells me. Money. Success. Of course those are the things that control him. Time and time again, he continues to prove his arrogance.
Roland’s business. I need to threaten it. Well, not literally, that would be a bad idea. I need to give him a reason to stay. I think I can do that. Can I? Yes, I can. After I go home and do some research, I’ll find a plan. I have to. I can do this. I can do anything.
I arrive home at eight p.m., and immediately go to my room. I need to get some things done before I get some sleep. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to sleep this early, but if I don’t start now, I never will. My energy and motivation are very selective. I go to my desk and pull up the email Oliver sent me, scanning through the list of things I need to do, as well as the things he's doing. It isn’t too much, so I know I can start working on all of them. I just need to put in some extra effort. I mean, the hardest task might be actually writing a song.
I begin checking off the tasks, working non-stop, except for the ten minutes I got up to make myself coffee. The white-and-purple marble mug was empty in five minutes, however. I finish the daily tasks before midnight, but don’t stop. Instead, my brain decides it wants to look through what Oliver is doing in more detail before I turn off for the day. I have no choice but to listen to my cruel brain. I open the document, skimming through it as my laptop sits on my lap. My chair spins slowly, my foot occasionally pushing it forward while I look briefly at what awaits me.
As I scan, I find a task labeled “Plan with Vid Vibez.” Who the hell is Vid Vibez? And what kind of name is that? People really need to stop being lazy with company names, they aren’t temporary.
