Tears of the Broken (11 page)

Dad’s house has that fairy-tale look to it, too—especially
with the daisy-filled garden bed on the side of the house that
faces the school. It’s not so much the daisies that bother me, but
the Seven Dwarfs and the small garden statue of Snow White is
nauseating proof of Vicki’s deprived childhood.

There’s a low-lying hedge fence behind it that borders the
backyard and the side of the house—but no fencing on the front
lawns. No one has fencing on their lawns around here. It’s not like
my old street back home, where everyone has fences or properties
that are so close to the verge you can only fit a gate beside the
house to stop your dog getting out. We don’t have that problem,
though, since Vicki doesn’t like dogs.

Instead, we have an overfed cat that suns himself on the
black tin roof, then gets stuck and cries for somebody to rescue
him.

He’s
so annoying. The only thing he’s good for is keeping my feet warm
in the winter. He’s up there now. I can see the edge of his grey
tail sticking out from the gutter over the porch.

Last
time he was up there he actually fell down—straight into the rose
garden by the porch steps. He wasn’t hurt, but if cats have pride,
then he totally damaged it. He looked ridiculous when he tried to
scramble out of the prickling grasp of the roses, and even funnier
than that was my reaction; I’d been sitting on the porch with my
feet up on the stool in front of Dad’s old rocking chair—just
minding my own business, reading a book, when all of a sudden, a
great yowl startled me. I threw my book into the wall, jumped to my
feet and was confronted by a scampering fluff-ball clawing its way
up the edge of the porch.

I
didn’t know whether to kick it and run, or investigate the grossly
distorted fuzz for signs of alien life. When I realised it was the
cat, I burst out laughing at my own stupidity.

“
Hey, Ara.”

I
looked to the source of the voice then stood up. “Hi—” Oh, crap.
Name. Red head. What was her name? “Ellie. Hi.”

“
Do
you live around here?” she asked.

“
Uh,
yeah—just over there.” I pointed across the road.

“
The
house with the blue door?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Wow. I wish my parents would paint our door blue—that looks
cool.”

I
chuckled. “Yeah, it’s only blue because it’s supposed to be good
luck.”

She
grimaced, hugging her books. “Really? I thought that was
red?”

“
Yeah.” I nodded. “It is. But I didn’t have the heart to tell
my mum that. She’s old—she gets confused,” I joked.

“
Well, I think it’s nice.”

“
Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell her.”

“
Well, I better go—got heaps of homework to do. It was nice
meeting you.” She smiled as she walked away, then crossed the road,
disappearing into the shade of the dancing green maple
leaves.

She
seems all right. Dad was right; kids at the school are
nice.

A
smile fixed itself across my lips at the thought of Ryan and Alana,
and their undiscovered love for each other. Meanwhile, perky Emily
has taken a liking to a married man, my dad, nonetheless, and I’ve
fallen for a guy who admitted he likes me on the first day.
However, I’m in no way willing to admit I like him yet—especially
since I’ve known him for only one day.

“
You
can go in,” someone muttered sarcastically from behind
me.

“
Hey, Sam.”

“
Hey. What-ya starin’ at?”

“
Balcony,” I lied.

Sam
chuckled. “Flashback, huh?”

“
Flashback?”

“
Yeah, remember…when you were running on the railing in the
snow? What were you, like, seven, then?”

“
Six, actually.” I looked at the second story of the house.
“And you shouldn’t laugh. It was a big fall. I could’ve been
killed.”

“
Ha! All I remember is Dad running down the
stairs, and Mum screaming
she’s dead—oh,
my God, Greg—she’s dead
. Vivid memory.” He
tapped his temple. I chuckled. He imitates a very good version of
Vicki’s panicky voice. “That was my first traumatic experience,
y’know? And I owe it all to you.”

“
Well. You’re welcome.” I rolled my eyes.

“
Isn’t that why Dad bricked up your balcony door—and put a
desk there?”

“
Yes. But probably also ‘cause it’s harder to sneak out a
window than a door.”

Sam
smiled. He has a happy face—nothing much bothers him. He’s the only
one around here that doesn’t take me so seriously all the time. I
never thought that one day I might actually start to see him as my
brother. “Do you smell that?” he asked.

“
Yeah, Vicki’s making casserole.” I breathed the scent of
gravy and Italian herb.

“
I’ll race you?” Sam started running before his words
registered in my ears.

I
darted after him and we both jumped the creaky bottom step of the
porch and burst through the front door.

“
Sam? Ara-Rose, is that you?” Vicki called from the
kitchen.

Who
else would it be? We dumped our schoolbags on the staircase and
went into the dining area to the left, where the smell from outside
blended warmly with garlic and onion, forcing a memory of roast
dinners into my mind.

“
Did
you shut the front door? You’re letting all the cool air out,”
Vicki yapped from her position at the island bench.

Sam
shrugged. “Sorry—I got homework to do.”

“
What, and I don’t?”

He
shrugged again and headed into the forbidden formal rooms through
an archway on the other side of kitchen. Fine, I’ll do it myself. I
stomped back to the entranceway, slammed the door slightly as my
temper boiled, then stomped back into the kitchen.

“
Tough day?” asked Vicki.

“
No.
Why?” I slumped my elbows on the bench and grabbed an apple from
the fruit bowl.

“
You
just seem moodier than your usual self.”

“
Moody? I’m never moody.” I sauntered across the room to the
square dining table by the window and plonked into the chair.
Gross—chair’s still warm. Vicki must’ve been sitting here before we
came home.

I
looked through the front window to the tree-stump across the road
where I’d been sitting a few minutes ago. Oh, for God’s sake. Who
is she kidding? She
was
sitting here and she would’ve been watching me,
too—she must’ve jumped up real quick when she saw us
coming.

“
So?” Vicki said; I turned around and leaned my arm over the
back of the chair to face her. “How was school?”

Oh,
you’re just dying to know, aren’t you? My eyes narrowed. That
wasn’t just a question formed out of a light attempt at decent
conversation—it was a probe—and busying herself with sprigs of
coriander or chopping up onions by the sink isn’t going to disguise
that meddlesome undertone in her voice. She should know better.
After all, it’s her profession. Okay, so she hasn’t worked as a
psychiatrist since Sam was born, but it’s in her blood.

“
School was fine,” I muttered absently and spun back to the
tablecloth of scattered photos and scrapbooking
cut-outs.

“
Did
you make any friends?”

“
No
one makes friends on the first day, Vicki.”

“
Oh.
I’m sorry to hear that.”

No,
you’re not. As if you really care. All you want to know is that
your precious little family’s not going to get torn apart if I
decide to become a troublesome teen—which I would never
do.

“
Did
you see any cute guys?” her tone became light, suggestive. I know
she’s trying to place herself on my level, but it won’t make me
open up to her. With a short sigh, I bit into my apple, licking the
sweet juice as it spilled out onto my lip. I better play along with
the ‘light-hearted’ conversation or she’ll tell my dad I’m not
being sociable. It’s bad enough she’s already going to have a
whinge to him about me calling her Vicki, again. But I can’t call
her Mum. All she’ll ever be to me is Dad’s new wife—even though
they just celebrated their thirteenth anniversary. “Ara?” Vicki
probed.

Oh,
right, she asked me a question, didn’t she? “Um…yes.” I grinned
widely, keeping my face down. “A guy that’s so cute he makes Stefan
look like a dweeb.”

“
Who’s Stefan?” she asked.

I
rolled my eyes; clearly she doesn’t read books. “Never mind. He’s
cute—that’s all that matters.”

“
Do
you…like him?” She stood beside me and her nostalgic gaze washed
over the photos on the table.

“
Like him?”

“
Yeah, do you like him?” she repeated.

Yes,
I do. “No. I just met him. But he’s cute.”

Vicki breathed out and her shoulders dropped. The movement
was small, but so obvious to me, since I’m so used to the way she
casually displays indifference in order to psychologically assess
me. She counts on the fact that I’m a docile teen with no clue
what’s going on around me. Clearly, she’s never been a teenager. I
know all the tricks, and I am not giving anything away to Vicki
about my psychological well-being. I wouldn’t give her the
satisfaction.

She
walked off again and I shifted the photos away from me until the
dark wood of the table bared itself from under them. Not one of
those photos is of me. I spent every summer and at least six
winters here since I was child, but the absence of my face in these
scrapbooks is just one more indicator that I really am just a
walk-in—a temporary fixture made permanent by circumstance. I’m
like a painting that got hung on the wrong wall using your last
nail.

“
Did
you sit with anyone at lunch?” Vicki said.

I
spun around again and watched her fussing about near the stove.
“Yes.”

“
Well, that’s good. I knew you wouldn’t end up sitting
alone—even though you were so sure you would.” She laughed lightly,
and I huffed indignantly under my breath. The chopping board broke
the flow of steam over the pot as Vicki scraped the vegetables in,
spreading the homely smell of dinner through the kitchen. Mmm. One
good thing about Vicki is that she can cook. “So, do you like any
of your teachers?”

“
No.” But my friend likes your husband.

“
What about Dad? You’re in his class, right?”

“
Yeah, but he gives boring lectures.” I assume. Not that I was
listening to it.

“
Well, don’t tell him that—you’ll hurt his
feelings.”

Feelings? Do Dads have feelings? Almost as if his past-self
had heard me thinking, his smiling face appeared among the pile of
photos. He was so much younger, then. His hair was darker, and his
eyes, even though he still had those crinkle lines when he smiled,
they weren’t as deep. Vicki was younger, too. Her hair was still
the same straight blonde it is now, but her thin, white face had no
smile lines. They’re deep now, running down from her nose to the
outside corners of her mouth like a V… for Vicki.

When
I’m old, I hope I look like my mum. But right now, I’m more like
Dad, except for my chocolate-coloured hair. My friends hated me,
affectionately, for the way it was always kinda shiny and silky no
matter what the weather. I’d trade it, though—my shiny hair and
clear skin—to go home and be a normal teenager again.

“
What did you think of the canteen food?” Vicki asked, tasting
her casserole.

I
spun my apple core around between my fingers and watched her rinse
the spoon off under the tap. “It was okay. Pricey,
though.”

“
Shall I give you some extra money tomorrow—did you have
enough today?” She looked up with round eyes of concern.

“
Actually, I didn’t use my own money.”

“
Well, how—”

“
Someone offered to shout me lunch.” Well, forced me to let
them.

“
Oh,
that was nice. Who was it?”

“
A
guy named David Knight.”

She
seemed to count something inside her own head. “Hm. David…David,”
she muttered his name under breath. “Nope. Never heard of
him.”

I
shrugged.

“
Well,” she said, “it sounds like you’ve made an impression,
Ara-Rose. I told you people would like you—you’re a very lovely
girl.”

I
dropped the snotty teen facade and sat back against my chair. It’s
hard to be hostile to someone who won’t take the confrontation
bait. “Um, thanks, I mean, that’s great and all, but I don’t think
being a lovely girl is an asset in high school these days, Vicki.
Also, I’m just gonna go by Ara now.”

“
Oh?
Really? But you always loved your name? What does your dad think of
that?”

“
Well, it’s
my
name? I’m sure he’s fine with
it,” I said defensively, my brow folding over one
eye.

“
Okay. Well, if you’re sure?” Vicki shook her head and turned
back to the stove.