Atomic Rebooted

9. Stepfamily

CLAIRE

As soon as I entered the porch, Holly embraced me. As in, full-on bear hug, nearly choking the life out of me.

"What—" I wheezed. "What's going on—"

That caused Holly to stop hugging me, gently pushing me back to clap her hands on my shoulders.

"You're kidding me, right?" Holly had very expressive thick eyebrows that were now arched like a confused cartoon character. "It was on the news— the tram crash and Renegade taking you hostage— why didn't you call us?"

"I didn't see any texts on my phone," I protested. "I even checked before heading home."

"You mean you walked from downtown to here?" Holly's eyes widened, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. "You've got to be freezing! Come on, we'd better get you inside, get you some food—"

"Can I take it up to my room?" I asked as I finally stepped into the warmth of the house. "I've got a lot of homework, and it's due tomorrow."

"You'd think they'd let you have an extra day, seeing as those— those vigilantes threatened your life, and after a tram crash all the same!" Holly's hazel eyes locked onto my forehead. "Your head—"

"The field medics checked me out, I don't have a concussion," I reassured her. I hung up my jacket in the hall closet, taking care to retrieve my phone. "They let me leave the scene, I'm fine."

"Without transportation?"

"We weren't that far from the Riverview station." I leaned down to unlace my boots.

"And that's another thing!" Holly yelled as she passed through the house to the kitchen. "You're damn lucky you made it back safe, a young girl like you walking all alone through the night! You should've just called Brandon, or Julien, or me! Any of us would've been happy to come and get you!"

I groaned as I walked through the living room— the quickest path to the kitchen.

Holly worked as a freelance interior designer and it showed. The living room was a modern dream, with all space maximized. There were two desks in the far corners of the room. The one closest to the entryway was smaller, and it belonged to my dad.

It was one of those standing desks, and it had Dad's personal rig set up and was littered with notebooks and lines of code written out on graph paper. Dad had never been all that organized, even before Mom's death— and that had worsened after the fire at City Hall.

On the other end was a long-stretching corner desk with a little Barbie dollhouse that Holly liked to use for remodeling ideas. The shelves were lined with various books and succulents, and everything was perfectly neat. A cork board hung over her desk like a physical representation of her many, many Pinterest boards. Her favorite blue yoga ball functioned as her chair.

In the middle of the living room was a chandelier and big fluffy white carpet that I absolutely loved taking off my socks and walking through. There was a glass coffee table with Holly's favorite magazines from the supermarket displayed on there with the TV remote and another succulent, across from the black couch and matching loveseats that framed the flatscreen TV. On the couch were the turkey and Thanksgiving-themed throw pillows that Holly brought out every November 1st.

By the time I traipsed through the living room and entered the mint green kitchen, Holly was looking frantically on the counter and in the fridge.

"I swear, I ordered a Hawaiian pizza— your favorite— and I got Julien to save some for you," she muttered as she closed the fridge. "It must be around here somewhere—"