RoseBlood

The Cassias

I study people's expressions. I'm good at it, so it's what I do.

They raise a brow slightly in confusion when I tell them that it's a useful skill to have; just a glance at a person revealing much more than a sentence ever could. It's also useful when detecting a liar. Gazes shifting every so often, not quite meeting the other's eyes. Or when someone says yes with a shake of their head that's so slight that you could miss it all too easily. Trying to convince themselves as well as the other.

Like when mum and dad are working late again, and they know that it's the fifth time this week, but no no, it can't be that bad. They're being silly. This is work, and it's important.

More important than your daughter?

Oh, no one said that. Just drop it in a casual conversation with a smile, and get Hayley from a few houses down your street to pop in. Even though your daughter's turning eighteen in a couple of days.

The daughter who is me, and I know that I don't really meet their expectations of her. I'm an odd girl who doesn't talk very much and yes, studying for school and psychology is good, school is good, but there are... other things.

Associating with friends more outside of school, for example. That doesn't happen very often, unless it's for a homework project with a classmate or two. Reading is encouraged - better than your kid sitting in front of a screen all day - but why are the books so thick? And writing journals and ideas of mysteries and whatever else is jotted down in neat black lettering; is that normal for a girl my age? Or a cause for concern?

My parents work together in one of the largest real estate businesses in town, maybe in the country. Property manager and coordinator. That's Bobby and Judith Cassia. Holly Cassia should be a part of this industry too, when she's old enough. One family in one big business. But she doesn't want that, and it's baffling.

That's what they think, I can tell. And they aren't wrong.

Money shouldn't be as important as it is, but, well, it is. Successful lives, fancy things. Normal things.

Trouble is, normal things bore me.

"Holly?" Mum comes in wearing a black top with sleeves just above her elbows, a white pencil skirt with chubby black flowers snaking up from the bottom, thin black heeled sandals on her feet and a black leather purse in one perfectly manicured hand. Professional and classy, according to her. That's her look.

"I told you about the work meeting, didn't I? Well, more of a gathering. Not a party, but... well, you know."

I keep my gaze trained on the book in my lap, flipping the page absentmindedly. "Mhm."

"Me and your dad are going to be out for a while, so I'll send Hayley a text."

"You don't have to," I mumble, but I know why she does it. Because there's some kind of company around instead of me being alone all the time, too smart for my own good, getting carried away with fictional crime. It doesn't make much of a difference, though. I am who I am.

"Well, I know, but it's sort of a routine now. She's a nice girl. Anyway, I'll see you later. Looking forward to your party on Friday?"

I shrug, having to reread the paragraph of my book. "I suppose."

Mum nods and sighs lightly before leaving the room, Dad popping his head in too and giving me a brief smile.

"You alright?"

I nod, brows raised a little.

"What's, uh, what's the book about?"

I look up at him, then back down at the book. "A mother who has to kidnap a child to get her child back from her child's kidnapper, who had to kidnap the mother's child to get theirs back."

Dad blinks. "Right."

He says 'right', meaning, 'right, that's a bit strange and sounds a bit dark, but I won't argue with you'. Not 'right, because there are people like that out there in the world, people who walk among us every day and we're oblivious to them. Right, because everyone's a suspect. Right, because the most important person to parents is their child. Or, is supposed to be their child.

"Have fun at the party-gathering," I say with a small smile, and he nods, smiling back before leaving to go downstairs, where I hear the secure click of the front door closing a few moments after, and the car engine starting after that.

Silence. Just the way I like it.

And somehow, I'm distracted.

I look at my rucksack at my feet, psychology revision books stacked inside, the zip done up halfway, revealing the pristine white pages and glossy covers with large titles of the subject. You go to school to learn and be educated, and when you're in college, you learn and are educated in the career path you want to enter. Not so easy when you're not entirely sure what path that is.

Not police. Psychiatrist? That's a lot of years in uni and a lot of medical talk. Not a therapist, because I won't be judged as being one and pretending to care because I'll get paid. A detective of some kind? Not one who deals with affairs and contracts and basically being the dirty worker with triple naughts on their prices.

And I'm back to not knowing.

I dogear the page I'm on and put it down on my bed, sliding off it and going downstairs to the kitchen, washing an apple and twisting the core. My eyes wander over the photographs on the neutral walls around me thoughtfully.

Funny how things change, those thoughts say.

There's me as a child in several photos dotted around the house, mum on one side of me, dad on the other, all of us smiling at the camera in different places around town. Genuine smiles, not distractedly before rushing out the door, not in hesitance over what I'm doing or saying. Smiling and defining the word 'family,' before the promotions and the growth of business and the rising numbers all went off. Smiles from when things were a lot simpler, and it always seems to be when you're younger. Can you do anything about that? Debatable. But for me, at the end of the day, it's not worth it. Nothing changes.

Now, for company, there's Hayley, who stays for ten or fifteen minutes to chat before going back home. She doesn't mind. Her honey-blonde hair is always pushed back with a narrow headband, locks clouding at her shoulders and big hazel eyes friendly enough. We'll talk about exams and books and whatever's brought up, and Hayley tells me about taking music in college and her dreams of singing in proper gigs, not just in clubs and bars every so often.

"Oh well. It's not a big deal. Maybe one day, who knows," she'll say with a warm smile.

My phone starts buzzing from my pocket, and Mia comes up on the caller ID. Mia, a girl from my school who's a year below me, often ending up choosing the same books as me from the library for English assignments, clips decorating her wavy chestnut hair.

"Hi, Mia."

"Hey. How far have you gotten?"

"Chapter Nineteen. You?"

"Seven. Wow, you read quickly. It's great, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's pretty good so far. I give every crime novel fifty pages to convince me it's worth the read, and I'm still reading."

"I was just gonna tell you that your mum invited me and my parents to your house on Friday. For your party. Eighteen... wow, I mean, are you excited?"

"Not excited," I respond, "but it is the age of responsibility. Being viewed as an adult, I guess. Can't be any duller than being a teen."

Mia laughs at that. "You could leave school now, if you want."

"No," I disagree with a half-smile. "I've come this far. Look, don't get your hopes up about the party. If my parents are setting it up, they'll use the opportunity to get more clients through it and everything. You know how they are."

"Ah, well. We'll make it fun. I'm gonna get back to the book. See you on Friday, then."

I lower the phone from my ear, putting it down on the kitchen table and looking out the window just in front. I live on a fairly quiet street called Regents Road, in Falmer. There's not much to see from where I'm looking, apart from the busy people pottering around in their homes, their cars frozen in driveways.

Another thought. If the adventure doesn't come to you, go to it.