12

two

Diana~Aries

I was sitting at my desk, finishing my English homework, when my little brother toddled into my room. He was only two-years-old, and he reached up to me with his chubby fingers, sticky from something my mother had given him.

"Mama," I cried, lightly shoving his hands away from the paper. "Francis is in my room again."

I heard some stirring in the other room, probably the kitchen, as that is the most popular room in the apartment, and footsteps coming down the hall. I heard someone else pick up some plates back in the kitchen and place them in the sink.

When she appeared around my door, she frowned at Francis. "Non, non," she scolded in her perfect French accent. "Leave your sister alone." She walked over to the baby and lifted him up into the air.

The thing about our family, the Lore's, is that I have two mothers. Obviously, unable to reproduce, they adopted me, Diana, and then little Francis. I came into this family when I was about four, and Francis was brought here from America only a year ago.

I looked up at my mother, Elouise. She was a beautiful woman with long brown hair. Her eyes were a dull grey, the color of rainy days here in France. She held the little one carefully in her arms and sighed.

"Breakfast is in cinq minutes," she said, holding up five fingers. I nodded and scribbled one last note on the page before packing my bag for school.

As I walked down the hallway, I almost screamed in pain when I felt a burning sensation on my left wrist. I held it out, gritting my teeth together as I told myself not to scream. A tiny etching of a "V" was scraped into my skin, feeling like fire. I examined it closer, never noticing the strange mark before.

When the pain died away, I waddled into the kitchen, rubbing my thumb against my wrist. My other mom, Clare, was putting sausages, toast with butter, and a boiled egg on a plate. She was a short woman with blond hair, her brown eyes always staring at food. Luckily for me, she was a great cook.

Francis was seated in a high chair, gurgling slightly as he shoved fruit down his throat. Elouise scraped scrambled eggs onto the platform on his chair, and he scooped them up with his little fingers. When he saw me, he cried, "Diaha, mama," pointing at me. Elouise nodded her head and grinned at the baby. Since he was too young to speak properly, he couldn't pronounce my name with the "n."

"Good boy," she cooed, tickling his stomach with a long finger. "Diana is here!"

I rolled my eyes and walked over to Clare, grabbing a pastry from a basket on the table. As I took a big bite out of it, I asked, "Is that plate mine?"

Clare looked at me in disgust. "Oui," she muttered, handing the plate to me. "No eating with your mouth open, though, Diana."

I nodded and smiled at her, the pastry still stuck in my teeth. I took the food over to the table and sat down next to Francis.

"I have swimming after school," I said to the family, picking up my fork. Swimming was the only sport I could do, since it is more of an individual sport than a team sport.

My mothers nodded and Francis threw a chunk of melon across the room, landing on the grill with a sizzle. He chuckled to himself and started to clap his hands.

As Clare started to scrape the melon off of the grill, she asked, "Do you want me to walk you to school?"

I groaned. I hated when my parents walked me to places in town. The entire village knew they were gay, and I could feel people staring at me like I was a disease even though France supports gay marriage. I hated those awful words that are spoken about my parents.