flashback

f o u r

Ceon

When I walked inside, I expected to see Sarai and Matthew dirty and not yet in bed, as they should have been, but not a bright pink book bag and used tissues on the last step of the stairwell. I opened the door as fast as I could. And there was the girl from the stairwell, with Fletcher standing by the barstools, with Sarai and Matt nearly drooling at her feet. I felt my face getting hot and my ears burned. All the heads in the room turned to me. I stormed over to Fletcher.

“I’m giving you five minutes to explain.” I said to him.

The girl stepped in front of Fletcher and faced me. “I think I should,” she said. “Who are you anyway?” I said, practically spitting in her face. “My name’s Danyelle,” she said hastily, sticking out a slim hand, which I assumed she wanted me to shake. I stared at it. She wiped it on her pants and scowled. “Who are you?” she asked, jabbing a finger in my chest. Her finger left a tingle, which I shrugged off. “I am the owner of this home,” I said. Beside me, Fletcher smirked. “You call this a home?” he asked. “Danyelle can actually help us.” The girl, who apparently was Danyelle, nodded.

“How can you help?” I yelled. The skin behind my eyelids burned and I began to blink furiously. I turned to her. “You’re just a kid, like me! You don’t know what it’s like to have to stay hidden before we get split up to a bunch of lousy foster homes. You don’t know what it’s like to have to beg for food and then get spat on! You don’t know what it’s like to be able to see your own ribs without having to suck your stomach in, to not know where your next meal is coming from. There’s a lot you don’t know! You can’t just enter our lives and change everything! We struggle with enough as it is! You wouldn’t know a thing about struggle, with your fancy pink bags and prep schools, your Abercrombie jeans and fancy cars!” My tears were starting to spill over. I rubbed my eyes furiously, and no one said anything until Danyelle took one step towards me and pointed a finger.

“Well you,” she said, taking another step toward me, “don’t know a thing about me! You don’t know anything about so-called prep schools; Ruby Studebaker High is the absolute worst, I hate it there. You don’t know how it is to be dyslexic, how it is to be embarrassed in front of the whole school because you can’t read, in the 9th grade! And how it is for your mom not even to be able to spend time with you!” She jabbed her finger into my chest again accusingly. You’re lucky you even have a mom, I thought. I took my third step backwards and found my back against the wall. “So you, mister,” she said, jabbing her finger into my chest on every syllable, “need not judge me with out knowing the full story.” Need not, I thought. Need not? My face flushed crimson, and she looked at me with wide watery eyes. With that, she turned and her blue-black hair whipped me in the face across the mouth. She grabbed her bag from the barstool and gave Fletcher a glance that I could not place. He gave her a look of knowing, and I hated him at that one moment for that one look. Matthew tugged on Danyelle’s shirt. “Are you coming back, Danny?” he asked quietly. She looked down at him and I seethed. Danny, I thought mockingly. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Ask him,” she said bitterly, pointing a long slender finger at me. Her nail was painted bright pink. “This isn’t a blame game, Danyelle,” I growled. “Well then, Ceon,” she said, putting the strap of her bag on her shoulders. “Maybe you should stop playing it.” She opened the door and left, leaving me in awe and anger.

When a rather pissed-off Fletcher and tired twins retreated to bed around 9, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Fletcher tried to make it up to me, but I couldn’t let him. I wouldn’t let him. Fletcher finally just went to bed and I washed up the dishes and was cleaning the grill when I realized he had left his drawing pad outside. I went to give it to him, but he was already snoring so I took it back outside and set it on the counter.