I take my time chewing.
Before the accident I was a sophomore on the varsity tennis team. But now as a senior I wouldn't even make the freshman squad. Not that I would want to, because then I'd have to wear those short tennis skirts. I'm never wearing a tennis skirt again because I'm never showing anyone my ugly leg scars. Besides, you can't play tennis when you can't even walk straight.
As I swallow the last of the wad of beef, I realize they're all waiting for an answer.
Umm ...
The hopeful look on my mom's face makes me realize she feels sorry for me. As if I care that I'm not friends with them anymore. Mom cares. She's got to deal with paying for half of the medical bills that the insurance didn't cover. My parents are divorced and I hate feeling like I'm adding to her stress. Guilt, like a big wad of roast beef, settles in my French dip-filled gut.
I want to wince when I hear myself say, "Sure, sounds like fun."
Mom lets out a breath while the girls suck in theirs.
"Can you pick her up?" Mom asks my cousin.
"Sure, Aunt Linda," Sabrina says.
Seriously, I feel like a little kid having my mommy make a playdate for me. Especially when I hear my mom ask, "What time?"
"I guess around eight."
"Grrreat!" Mom says like that tiger in the cereal commercial.
How am I going to get out of this without my mom finding out? There's no way I'm going to a party and have people stare and gawk at me. It's bad enough I'll have to deal with the ridicule in school on Monday.
After Mom brings their side salads and leaves us alone for two minutes, Brianne flashes me a sly smile. "Do you know the big news?"
News? Um, I haven't exactly been in the gossip loop lately. "That Mr. Meyer wears a toupee?" I heard that about our school principal a while ago.
Brianne laughs. "No, that's totally old news. I'm talking about Caleb Becker being released tomorrow."
What?
Danielle dips her fork in her dressing and stabs a piece of lettuce. "Mrs. Becker called my mom today and told her. Early release. I wonder if they'll let him back in school."
Early release? He was supposed to be away for at least six more months. I had the perfect plan--to leave for Spain before he got back. A deep, sharp pain in my chest jabs me when I take a breath, and my fingers are shaking. I'm having a mini-panic attack, but trying not to let everyone else know.
"Maggie, are you okay?" Sabrina asks as I push the pie away from me.
No. I'm definitely not okay.
THREE
Caleb
As if having my dad stare at me throughout the entire drive from St. Charles to Paradise wasn't torture enough, my mom has been wringing her hands together since I was discharged from the DOC this afternoon. I don't even think she's looked in my direction once.
What the hell am I supposed to say? Stop being nervous, Ma. Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over well. Her son is a convicted felon. I just wish she would stop constantly reminding me of it.
Okay, so it'll take some time. She never excelled at being the doting mother to begin with.
When we turn down Masey Avenue, Paradise Park is in front of us. I got my front two teeth knocked out at the Paradise Park playground when I was five and had my first fist fight on the basketball court there when I was nine. Those were the good old days. I can't believe I'm seventeen and thinking about the good old days.
A block later we reach the familiar two-story brick house with four white pillars flanking the front door. I step out of the car and take a deep breath.
I'm home.
"Well ..." Dad says as he opens the door. "Welcome to Paradise."
I nod instead of laughing at the most common greeting to visitors in this town. I lurk in the foyer. The decorating hasn't changed in the past year--I can see that right off the bat.
Strangely enough, it doesn't feel like home.
It smells familiar, though. Like apple spice. I haven't smelled this sweet, tangy scent in what seems like forever.
"I'll, uh, be in my room," I tell them, although I say it like I'm asking permission. Why, I have no clue. It used to be my room, it still is my room. So why am I acting like this place is just a pit stop?
I step up the familiar staircase, but this feeling of claustrophobia overcomes me and I start to sweat. I venture farther up the stairs and scan the hallway. My eyes rest on a black vision leaning against the door frame of my sister's room.
Wait.
That black vision is my twin sister, Leah. She's not just a silhouette of my sister, that's her in the flesh. And she's wearing nothing but black.
Black hair, black makeup. Damn, she even has black painted nails. Goth to the core. A shiver runs up my spine. It's hard to believe this is my sister. She resembles a corpse.
Before I let out another breath, Leah throws herself into my arms. Then these huge sobbing noises come out of her mouth and nose, reminding me of my cellmate.
Even when Judge Farkus eyed me with disgust and told me I was going to be locked up for almost a year for my gross negligence and stupidity for driving drunk, I didn't let out a peep. Man, when they made me strip and did a full cavity search, I was humiliated beyond comprehension. And when Dino Alvarez, a gang member from the south side of Chicago, came up to me during exercise hour and cornered me my second day in the DOC I almost shit my pants. But I never once in all that time cried.
I pat my sister's head, not knowing what else to do. I've hardly had any physical contact in the past year, and craved it when I sat in my cell for over three hundred days and nights. But now, when I'm getting some from my own sister, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.