Proof

Chapter Two

(I might've repeated a paragraph or two, but that's because my Word Processor was acting up. I'll fix it later).

The minute we stepped out of the plane was sheer joy. I threw my head back and reached for the sky.

“Missouri! Home sweet home!” It was good to be back in America. France was brilliant, but there was nothing that could compare to that sunshine in Florida or that snow in Texas. The airport reeked of an antiseptic smell that wafted past our noses the minute we entered. The airport itself was massive, with pale eggshell white walls with tangerine trims. The wallpaper seemed to be ripping off at the edges and the place itself was beautiful, but seemed to be poorly maintained. I pushed back the doors and grinned, while Mia simply cocked her head.

“Calm down,” Mia said scratching her head. She hauled her bag through the corridor  while I followed her, giddy. “We’re only home.”

“Whatever,” I replied. Ever since the museum, I wasn’t myself. It was disheartening to leave France, but admittedly, I didn’t want to go back. Sure, it was beautiful, with it’s beautiful building and it’s beautiful men, but what I saw seemed to make everything else pale. The museum was the last day I spent in France, and it was hard to believe it had only happened hours ago. All of my memories seemed to slur and morph into one big memory that seemed to just be one big blur. I shrugged on my leather jacket and squeezed my eyes shut. They won’t be able to kill me in America, I thought to myself as I awaited my bag that spun around twice on the conveyor belt. I grabbed it and pulled it over my shoulder, sighing. Mr. Arrowsmith was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a wall.

“I’m glad you all had a lovely time in France,” he said loudly. “It was definitely an experience I will remember.” A chorus of ‘yeahs’ and ‘me toos’ being to cascade around the airport. I smiled lightly. It was definitely an experience I’ll remember, I mused, cringing.

“Mom, I’m home,” I said pushing back the door and hauling my suitcase into the house in the process. We lived in simple suburban place in Missouri where dots of houses lined the greenery, and every house looked exactly the same: the same dull cosmic latte color with the bright malachite roof. I dropped my bag at the door way and kicked off my sneakers. Brilliant, I think to myself. My parents decide not to pick me up at the airport, and now they’re not home. I sighed to myself and clicked the door, making sure it was securely locked. I shook my head, allowing my messy blond main to fall awkwardly over my shoulders.

“Kylie.” The voice came from upstairs. I spun around half-way, only to be greeted by Paula, my sister, who didn’t look particularly amused to see me. Paula, like myself, had the same identical blond hair and pasty skin that I had, but instead, it worked on her. On me, I looked like a sallow, washed-out vampire. I cringed.

“You look happy to see me,” I said, pushing past her. She pursed her lips.

“I’m ecstatic,” she mumbled. “Mom and Dad are out for some meeting in Chicago. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

“Oh.” I climbed up the stairs and walked across the hall to my room, hidden at the back. I sighed and opened the door, inhaling the familiar scent. The curtains were open and the room was brightly lit. The hinges of the door squeaked as I kicked the door open and dragged my bag in. The walls, a ghastly chalky color, had the paint chipping off in the middle. My bed was still unmade and the room looked untouched. No one had even bothered to enter my room a week after I’d left. Leaving my bag in the hallway, I jumped excitedly onto my bed, inhaling the scent of the covers. I pulled it over my head and squeezed my eyes shut, the crepuscular memory of yesterday playing over and over again in my mind. The Mona Lisa was stolen. And I was the only one who saw it. I cringed at the thought. In a way, I was responsible. I twisted and turned uncomfortably in the bed, pulling the blanket further and further over my head.