I knew I was supposed to feel bad about her friend's
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back, but considering she'd barely spoken to me in days, I wasn't exactly dying to do Mara a
favor.
"Well," I said, "I'm not sure. Can I think about it?"
Mara's high-wattage smile dimmed. "Of course, Lucy. It's your room."
"God, Lucy, you don't have to be so selfish," said Princess One.
"Yeah," said Princess Two. "Gail was in a car accident when she was a kid."
"And yet I don't see you offering up your bed," I snapped.
"Okay, Lucy, that's enough," said Mara, choosing to overlook the fact that her daughter had just called me selfish. "If you don't want to help, it's up to you."
"I didn't say I don't want to help," I said. "I just said I want to think about it."
"What's there to think about?" asked Princess Two. "Either you want to help or you don't."
"Some of us like to think," I said, glaring at her. "We don't all think it's a crime to actually use our brains."
Mara hit the table with her palm, making her wineglass jump. "Lucy, I will not have you speak
that way to your sister."
"What about how she's talking to me?!" Was Mara deaf? Or did she just choose not to hear what came out of her daughters' mouths?
"All I said is that you're being selfish," said Princess
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One. "It's not bad to say something if it's true." She turned to her mother. "Isn't that right?"
"I am so not selfish," I said. "And I don't exactly see you volunteering your bed for Gail to sleep in."
"I would totally volunteer my bed, but I happen to have a bad back, too," said Princess One.
"Oh, please," I said. "Just because Little Miss Thing likes to sleep in her own bed suddenly she's got back problems?"
Princess One turned to her mother. "Mom, Lucy's being mean to me."
"Talk about being able to dish it out but not take it," I said. "Don't go whining to Mommy, you little brat."
"That's enough, Lucy!" said Mara. "When I tell your father that--"
"Oh, sure, bring my father into this." I made my voice high-pitched and whiny. "Oh, Doug!
Doug, darling. Come home quickly. You'll never believe what Lucy's done this time. Let me get
you the phone, Mara. Let me get the phone so you can tell him all about his terrible daughter."
This was so typical. I knew she'd never tell him the Princesses had called me selfish and
unhelpful. She'd make it sound like they'd been all, Hey, Lucy, how was your day? and I'd
responded, None of your business, you selfish brats.
"I think your father has a right to know how his daughter behaves in his absence," Mara said. Her voice was threatening.
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Talk about unfair. I could feel myself starting to cry. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the
tears. "How about how they behave in his absence?" I pointed across the table.
"The way the girls behave is between them and me," said Mara. "I'll discipline them."
"Oh, please," I said. "If you look up discipline in the dictionary, it doesn't say, 'Take shopping for new clothes.'"
Mara threw her napkin down on the table. "I will not be spoken to like that in my house."
"Oh, so now it's your house." There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from running down
my cheeks. I pushed my chair back and stood up. "I knew all that stuff about it's being 'our'
house was a load of crap."
"How dare you!" hissed Mara, standing up, too. "You go to your room right this minute."
"You're not sending me to my room," I said, half sobbing and half yelling. "I'm choosing to go there because it's as far away from you as I can get!"
When I got to the basement I tried to slam the door shut, but since it opened out, that wasn't
really possible. I had to settle for pulling it closed behind me as hard as I could. I paced around
the room, seething. I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Mara. I wished I was the kind of
person who could commit a murder and make it look like an accident. I wished I was the kind of
person who could commit a murder and not make it
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look like an accident. What did I care if I went to jail? Could life in prison really be that much
worse than life with my stepmother?
Finally I collapsed on my bed and tried to calm myself by letting my eyes get lost in Matisse's
fluid shapes and colors. It didn't work, though. I just lay there, hating Mara and my stepsisters,
until suddenly it occurred to me that I didn't even know the name of my dad's hotel in San
Francisco. There was no way for me to call him unless I first went to Mara and got the number. It
scared me. What if I wanted to talk to him and she wouldn't let me? And even if I could get to
him, what if he wouldn't help me?
I put on my headphones and let whitechocolatespaceegg blast my thoughts out of my brain.
Sometime later, fully dressed and with the lights still on, I must have fallen asleep.
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Chapter Fourteen
I woke up before my alarm went off and lay in my bed for a while, watching the minutes
advance from forty-eight to fifty-five. Then I went upstairs to get some orange juice. On the
kitchen table was a note in Mara's spindly handwriting.
lucy, your father and I expect you home right after school.
I stood there, reading and rereading the note, like it was in some foreign language in which I
wasn't yet fluent.
At eight o'clock, the game that would determine whether or not we made it to the state
championship was going to start, and approximately two hours later, Connor and everyone else I
knew at Glen Lake would be celebrating at Darren Smith's house. Darren's party was going to be
huge. No, not huge. Gigantic. Mind blowing.
Earth shattering.
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I'd already missed the second-biggest party of the year because of Mara. No way was I missing
the biggest. What were the odds I'd come home from school, have a civilized conversation with
my dad and Mara about last night's fight, and then be allowed to go to Darren's party? My
parting shot at Mara floated before my eyes, as if the fight had been close-captioned for the
memory impaired, it's as far away from you as I can get!
No one but me was up yet. I went back downstairs, took a three-minute shower, got dressed,
"forgot" my cell phone on my bed and threw a mind-blowing, party-worthy outfit into my bag
before slipping out the back door. Rather than risk being cornered by Mara's Mercedes at the bus
stop, I walked the mile and a half to Glen Lake, arriving at school almost an hour early.
All morning I sat in my classes feeling like a fugitive. Twice someone knocked on the classroom
door, once in English and once in chemistry, and handed a note to the teacher. Each time I
expected her to look up, catch my eye, and read out loud from the slip of paper, Lucy Norton,
you are grounded for the rest of your life. Pack up your things; the police are waiting for you in