Let July Be July

Chapter Four: Cut from Marble

Malia's eyes are two golf balls bulging out of their sockets. There are bags under them, bruised to the colour of shadows. She tries to sit up when I enter the room but she gets about halfway up before collapsing back against the mound of pillows behind her. I'm at her side before I can think. Staring at the newly-tightened skin around her eyes, I almost convince myself that she knows. There's something glinting behind her pupils, something older than both of us combined. Then I blink and it's gone just as fast as it came.

"You look like shit," I say, twisting my fingers into the crisp infirmary sheets bunched up by her feet. Her left foot kicks feebly at me, and I look away to hide my smile.

"Thank you for gracing me with your presence, beloved sister of mine." Her voice is breathy, like her lungs can't keep up with the words. "Did you collect my homework?"

Sighing, I reach down to the bag at my feet and bring out a stack of packets. I drop them with a plop onto the table beside the infirmary bed. It's already crowded with a crystal vase filled with flowers and stacks of expensive cream-coloured cards. Jun always says Get Well Soon cards are a curse at Westwood. Nobody wants you alive, not really. Not when our parents are shelling out over ten grand a year, and it's already impossible to beat people like Jun and Malia academically.

I shove the cards onto the floor. Malia doesn't blink.

"What did Dotty say was wrong with you?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that." She coughs, turning away and pressing a hand against her chest. "She's not sure what's wrong. She says she might need to defer me to Beacon Hospital if it keeps up."

She really does look awful. The whites of her eyes are tinged red, and the dreads that she got done last week lie matted and knotted, drooping from her head like dead vines. I press a hand to her forehead, wincing when it burns against her heated skin.

There's a loud crash from the other side of the infirmary, and the baby blue door to Dotty's office slams open. My mother comes baereling out like a storm, a whirlwind of short black hair and a Versace pantsuit. Her face contorts when she spots me, twisting like she wants to smile but can't. She chooses to ignore me instead, whipping around when Nurse Dotty ambles out of the office. Dotty's a no nonsense type of woman, stocky and so round she looks like the blueberry girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Her face reminds me of a horse, long and so different to mother's angular bone structure.

"Listen to me, my friend, listen very well. I pay my own good money for my daughter to attend this school." Mother stabs a finger in Malia's direction. I grit my teeth, looking away. "If you can't even take care of one sick teenager then this is something I need to alert the Board of."

She's so loud, her voice a braying in my ear that makes it hard to think. I don't want her here.

She ruins everything she touches.

"That won't be necessary, Ms Maasai," Dotty says, cutting over my mother. "Come on, Malia needs to rest and I'm sure Kena is eager to get back to class."

"Hey." Malia reaches up and tugs the sleeve of my blazer. I pretend her hand isn't trembling. She pretends not to see the murder in my eyes. "Tell me about school before you go. Are you still skipping classes?"

There's a smile on her lips even though she sounds stern. That's my older sister, there's always a playful curve to her lips. Lips that look nothing like mine and everything like Dad's. She reminds me so much of him, which is ironic. They couldn't be further apart. When we were little Dad would take me out to Howth, sneaking me in without a Golf Club membership. We spent hours under the sun, under grey clouds that took over the sky, and sometimes even in the pouring rain, practicing and practicing. Malia curled up in her room, devouring books like they were her life source.