I fight the urge to rub my eyes before looking back to make sure that, indeed, three boys are standing there. No, not boys. Men.
Aren’t teenagers supposed to be young and not quite filled out yet?
Most of the boys I’ve met are that way. These boys have to be in their mid-twenties, masquerading as teens.
“Boys, come down and meet my daughter.” She twirls her hand in the air again, and the boys mutter among themselves before slowly descending the stairs.
I take them in. The two who are twins must be my stepbrothers. They are all about the same height, over six feet, and muscular. The twins have dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes that look like a storm, and I can already tell that they are identical, except for hairstyles and one has a nose ring. But when my gaze lands on the friend, I feel the same way I did when my best friend in third grade pushed me off the top of the slide and I landed on my back, unable to draw a breath in. His dirty-blond hair hangs a little on his forehead, wet like he is sweaty or just got out of the shower. His moss-green eyes meet mine and suck me in, holding my attention until Mom clears her throat, giggling again.
“Boys, this is Landry. She’s starting school with you on Monday. Landry, the twins, Brock and Bodhi, and their best friend, Corbin Henson.”
Her hand-twirling is starting to grate on my nerves in this situation, which is only awkward to the four kids. She acts like we will become fast friends and forgive her for her outright lies of omission.
“Hey,” I say, sticking my hand out between the ocean that separates the three boys from me.
They stare for a beat before one of the twins chuckles and steps forward, wrapping strong arms around me and catching me off guard. His arms push the strap of my backpack off my shoulder, and it hits the ground with a thump.
“Hey, sis. Welcome home,” he whispers in my ear, making little strands of my hair fly around, tickling my skin. The words are welcoming, but the tone he says them in is confusing. Almost like he’s playing a part. He doesn’t sound like he’s actually greeting me warmly. He steps back with a smirk and hooks a thumb at his chest. “Bodhi.”
I nod and feel my gaze being drawn back to the green eyes piercing me. Corbin Henson.
His face remains impassive as his gaze sweeps over me, down my body and back up again, making me feel naked. I shiver a little under his perusal before he turns suddenly, picking up the basketball and striding away from us. Bodhi and Brock don’t move for a moment. Then, Brock smirks, and they follow Corbin down the hallway he disappeared into.
“Oh my, that was strange. Don’t you think that was strange?” Mom says, fluttering her hands.
I think this whole situation is strange. Horrid. A debacle.
I turn my hard stare on my mom, and she wilts under my gaze.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I never found the right time to tell you about them. Honestly, I haven’t been able to get to know them myself. We don’t do a lot of things together as a family, but I plan to change that.”
Yippee.
Yeah, the guys really looked like they wanted to get to know me.
I sigh and bend down, grabbing my backpack. I hoist it back onto my shoulder.
“Let me show you to your bedroom. We decided to let you decorate, so it’s bare bones right now, but I’m sure you’ll have it homey in no time. Put up some of your artwork you like to create or something.”
Mom starts up the stairs, and I follow her, nodding at the appropriate times during her speech. A stark contrast to the silence of my dad. A world-renowned photojournalist, he is always trotting off to some remote part of the world, and he used to take me with him when he could. I love my dad, but since I started high school, going to the local public school, he wasn’t around a lot. When Mom found out, she pretty much forced me to come live with her in California, so she could keep an eye on me. As if she hadn’t known he had been gone ninety percent of the time since my freshman year. I think it was just a ruse, her acting like he hadn’t treated us the same way when she was married to him.
Dad didn’t put up much of a fight about me moving to live with Mom. How could he when he was in Sri Lanka when she emailed him?
So, here I am, all the way across the United States, settling in on the West Coast, with a new family and about to start a new school next week. Exhaustion doesn’t even cover how I’m feeling.
“Here we are,” Mom says as she pushes a large door open, flipping on the light and stepping back so I can take in my new room.
It’s open, spacious. A four-poster bed sits in the center of it. Not up against the wall, but right in the middle of the room. Turning in a full circle, I note the white walls and the absence of furniture. The floor is hardwood, and there is a door to the right. I assume it leads into a bathroom.
“It’s great. Thanks,” I say, walking to the bed and setting my backpack on top of it.
We are interrupted by a man bringing the rest of my bags in—Doran, I’m guessing.
“Like I said, we left it for you to decorate. You can let me or Doran know what kind of furniture you would like, and we can arrange to have it brought here. Don’t worry about price.” She gives me a wink.
“I’d like to go to bed,” I tell her.
She nods. “Of course. It’s getting late.” Her gaze goes to the window. The sun is slowly dipping into the horizon, and the room is bathed in a hazy orange light. “Would you like some dinner? I can have Ms. Anderson whip you up a tray.”
Doran? Ms. Anderson? It’s like I’m in an alternate universe.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
We stand there awkwardly, not knowing what else to do.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” Mom steps forward and pulls me into her embrace again. “I’m really happy you’re here, Landry.”
“I’m happy to be here too, Mom.”
I think.
2
Landry
I unzip my bag and pull a change of clothes out. I breathe a sigh of relief as I peel off my travel-worn jeans and T-shirt before slipping on the joggers and hoodie. I put my hands on my hips and do another spin around the room before climbing up onto the bed and throwing myself backward, the fluffy pillows cushioning my fall and the mattress instantly conforming to the shape of my body. I blow air out through my mouth, my lips bumping together as it passes over them, and I blink up at the ceiling. I lie there for a while, my eyelids growing heavy until a knock on the door pulls me from my stupor.
“Beg your pardon,” Doran says as he sticks his head inside my open doorway. He walks into the room, a large tray held in his hands. “Dinner.” He sets the tray on the end of the bed, the only place other than the floor to put it in the room.
“Thanks, Doran,” I say, sitting up and looking at the food.
He gives me a curt nod and walks out the door, leaving me to my first dinner in my new home.
Lovely.
Peeling back the plate cover, I see a full spread. Pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a side salad. My mouth waters, and I reach for the fork to dig in.
Once my belly is full and my teeth are brushed, I finally succumb to the exhaustion pulling me under.
I climb in bed, shedding my pants and hoodie in favor of sleeping in my comfy bra and panties, and let myself fade away to my dreams, which are full of nightmares of my upcoming intro into a real private-school society.