“Jesus Christ.” I can’t help it; I start to laugh and have to squeeze my lips together to keep the sound from bursting out of my mouth into the night. “Kitty, you scared me half to death, no joke.” I reach out and run a hand along the side of its fur, only realizing after that I’ve left a faint red line all the way down its back. I glance at my arm and see that it’s streaked with paint from fingers to elbow. I must have sprayed myself when the cat freaked me out.
This last part of the night is not going as planned. I’m definitely going to give Lucy shit for abandoning me. Tired, my ass.
Whatever, the cat will just have to deal with its new color. A little red paint never killed anyone, right? (I actually have no idea if that’s true, but I’m going to go ahead and believe it for the time being, otherwise I could potentially end up washing a cat in the dark.)
I’m still lying here in the driveway with a cat nudging at my face when the spotlight goes out, leaving me in dark.
BITCH.
That word, still slightly wet, dripping red paint onto the asphalt of our driveway, is the first thing I see as I leave the house to head to school. First day back after winter break—what a great way to start the semester.
The letters are huge—massive, in fact—tearing their way across the garage door.
When I see them, I stop in my tracks.
Gwenie slams into my back and screeches, “Zach, what the hell?” Her curly blond hair is a mess, all unruly and tangled, and I make a mental note to find her a better brush. File under yet another thing a parent should do for their daughter that I’ll be doing instead.
My sister thinks she’s so grown-up this year, what with her cursing and the belly-button piercing she got without permission at some shady place down near the Venice Boardwalk. She’s convinced that entering high school has made her a full-fledged grown-up. What she doesn’t know is how little she still is. How much she should always want to be little. Playing on her swing set in the backyard, ignorant of messages like the one that’s been spray-painted on our house, yet again.
Instead she’s standing behind me, glowering at my back.
“Gwenie, go inside.” I turn and try to shove her back through the front door so she doesn’t see, but she’s too quick. She darts under my arm and stops at the corner of the porch.
“What is it?” She’s squinting; she doesn’t have her glasses on, and the contacts she normally wears have been retired for the time being, until she can remember to take them out at night. “They were here again? In our driveway?” Her voice is rising, her breath coming out in short bursts.
“Go back inside.” I’m trying to stay calm, but my voice comes out like a growl, and her spine stiffens.
“It says bitch!” Her voice squeaks; she sounds like another version of herself, the one that would follow me around constantly when we were younger, trying to get me to play with her.
I sigh. “Gwen. It’s nothing. Just the same stupid crap that people have been doing ever since Mom took this case, you know?”
“But…it’s on our house. Again. They keep coming, Zach. When we’re sleeping inside! They’re out here, and we don’t even know it.” A sob escapes her mouth and she turns back to me, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “We should get Dad.”
I run a hand through my hair and tug at its ends, trying to think. Our dad’s still asleep upstairs. It’s my job to drag Gwenie out of bed in the morning; my job to drive her to school, to make sure she has dinner, to make sure she gets all her homework done and handed in on time. Over the break, that’s all I did—drive Gwenie to the mall, order dinner for the two of us, stay on top of her to finish the reading she needed to do for her new classes.
I don’t know when I became my sister’s keeper. Was it when my mom took this stupid case and my family became a fixture in local gossip? When this fucking vandalism started, escalating from mean notes left in our mailbox to graffiti marking the house and salt killing our front lawn? When Gwen started waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares? Or did it begin way before any of that? It’s not like our mom was ever here much—it’s not like our dad’s been present in years. Not since he was laid off five years ago and instead of looking for a new grown-up job decided to pursue a career as a musician at the ripe old age of forty-five. Surprising no one, except maybe him, his career didn’t take off, and six months ago he collapsed into a useless heap of skin and bones. I’m sure the total lack of support from my mom’s end these past few months didn’t help matters; she basically ignored the entire situation, per usual, and, from what I can see, has started to treat him like her third child. A role that he’s readily adopted, a role that’s overshadowed his identity as, you know, a FATHER. Gwen and I are so lucky.
“Dad’s sleeping.” I glance up at his dark window. “C’mon. Let’s just get to school. I’ll text him so he knows what to expect when he goes downstairs today.”
If he goes downstairs today.
“We’re just going to…leave that word? Sitting there? What if the neighbors see it?” Gwen asks.
Considering it’s light out and I can see the kids down the block waiting for the school bus, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed, but I’m not going to tell her that. Not to mention, I think the neighbors are used to it by now, although I wouldn’t know because they ignore us just like everyone else.
“It’s fine, okay?” I hoist my heavy backpack farther up on my shoulders and walk over to where she’s standing, frozen, a statue made of ice and fear.
I put a hand on her arm. “Gwenie. C’mon. We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave.”
“I don’t care if we’re late. I hate that place.” She mutters this so softly that I almost miss it. I grit my teeth and turn away, pretending that I didn’t hear, pretending that the hot, blustery Santa Ana winds snatched up her words before they could reach me.
I walk by her motionless figure to my car and beep it unlocked.
Behind me there’s silence, and then the sound of her footsteps, running to catch up.
* * *
—
We pull into the parking lot at school, and it’s all I can do to remember how to find my space. I’ve been driving us to school every day since senior year began, but I still can’t seem to wrap my mind around this labyrinth of a lot, which they opened this year when all the Carter kids were transferred here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it changes shape and size every night after everyone goes home.
After an embarrassing amount of time, I remember that we need to take a left at space 355 instead of a right, and moments later I’m parking.