clementine

chapter 45: clementine is 17 years old

Somehow, Connor is home before me. He is already in the kitchen, making a peanut butter sandwich.

"Hey," I swing my backpack off my shoulder, and his head snaps up. His eyes almost bulge out of his skull. "What?" I ask, baffled.

He brings a finger to his lips, eyebrows raised in brotherly warning. This can only mean one thing.

"Is Sam home?" Mom calls from the living room. We exchange panicked looks. Connor points to the door dramatically and mouths 'run'.

I would have taken his advice if the heeled threat in question hadn't already taken four clipped steps into the kitchen. Her eyes are set in disapproval. "Connor," She says with her eyes fixed on me, "go to your room. Samantha and I need to have a chat."

Shit.

When Connor departs, I make sure to remain staring at mom, even though the sight chills me. Rule number one, remember? Eye contact.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I received a call today from the school, wondering why you have been falling asleep during class." She presses her lips together, waiting and not waiting for an excuse. "I mean, really, Sam. You used to be an A student, and now I am getting concerned whispers about papers that you haven't handed in and quizzes that you don't complete."

I think that I have said something about news travelling fast in Crimson Valley.

"I've just had a lot on my mind, that's all." This is not a lie. Just an omission of the truth.

She shakes her head. "What things?"

My brain churns for an excuse. I furrow my eyebrows. "Track. Coach has been pushing me after I won the meet."

The wrinkles around mom's eyes thin as she assesses me, and it takes all of my willpower to keep an empty expression. I want so badly to scowl and grimace and roll my eyes, but this would not go well with Amanda Hall.

"Well," Her arms release, falling to the sides of her flared polka dot dress. "I will have to have a word with your coach, because this is not fair on you."

My eyes widen, and before I can think about it, "Don't!"

She stares at me, eyebrow raised. It's like she knows. "I'm not going to let this continue, Samantha."

If she talks to Coach Wesley, then she will know that I haven't been going to track. She'll start digging into places that I don't want her to uncover. "I..." I stutter, "I'll tell her. To back off a bit."

Mom leans forward, as if telling me an urgent secret. Her voice is hushed, even though we are the only ones in the room. "People talk, Samantha." I wish she would stop calling me that. I'm not eight years old anymore. "I have worked very hard to keep our family high on the hierarchy in this town. Your behaviour is not going unnoticed."

"What are you talking about? What hierarchy?" Immediately, Linda's lipstick grin surfaces in my mind.

She doesn't answer me. Instead, she returns to her stern posture and stoic expression. "I am trusting you to pull yourself together."

I nod tensely.

Brushing past her, and toward the staircase, I pause at the bottom. It's the picture, the one of us all as a perfect little family in front of our perfect little home in this perfect little town. Mom's eyes in this photo, they remind me of everything I am afraid of.

"Mom?" I call back to her, eyes on the photo frame. "Do you ever feel like this place..." I know she's listening. "This town, is just a huge rock, pressing down on your chest, and there's no way you can ever escape?"

When she doesn't answer, I turnback, expecting her to be giving me a warning look. A look that says the neighbours might hear you, Samantha. Instead, she is standing in front of the kitchen window, her back to me. She's staring into the street.

When she does speak, her voice is as lifeless as her eyes in the photograph beside me. "Everyday. But that's just the way it is. Someday you'll understand."

Something inside of me deflates. "I don't think I want to understand."