M.I.A.

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

Sydney

"Sydney, can you go wake your sister up? She's going to be late for her practice with John."

I hear Mom, but I don't respond. I just continue staring at the back of the box of Lucky Charms and bobbing my head to DeadMau5.

I see Mom glance at Dad from my peripheral vision. "Honestly, I don't know what to do with her."

A moment later, my ear buds are forcefully removed from my ears.

"Ow!" I growl, meeting my father's angry green eyes. For a long moment we glare at each other and I wonder why, if they hate me being plugged in all the time, they insisted I start listening to music in the first place. I know they wanted me to listen to it to drown out the voices, so I couldn't hear them whispering to me. But that comes with a price—if I can't hear the voices of the imagined people, I can't hear the voices of the real people either. It's their own fault.

"Your mother is talking to you."

I scowl at him then turn my attention to my mother. "What?"

Mom makes an obvious effort of composing her face. She's severe looking. The sharp pencil skirt, perfect silk blouse, and French twist don't help to soften her. She speaks to me like I'm both deaf and an idiot. "Can. You. Wake. Up. Your. Sister?"

"I can," I say back. I return to eating.

"Will you," she huffs, her patience for me thin.

I glance back up at her and give her the once over, mentally telling her she's got her own two legs. Two nice, shapely legs—which I did not inherit, by the way—that she spends an hour at spin every day to keep that fit and perfect. I really don't get why parents feel it necessary to delegate to their children, it only makes them more lazy. She stares at me, expectant.

I consider non-compliance. It won't help with anything, though, so I grudgingly rise and head for the stairs.

Mia's door is closed, like always. She treats her room like some kind of inner sanctum of a temple, like there's something secret and wonderful within. All she's hiding is the fact that she's not as perfect as my parents think she is. She's got half-naked guys on her walls, her room's a pigsty like mine, and I know she lost her virginity to John in there.

I bang on the door. "Wake up, Pumpkin Princess, Mummy and Daddy request thine royal presence."

No answer.

I bang again. "Mia! Wake up!"

Sighing out a guttural noise of annoyance and leaning against the door, I lower my voice to be nice. "Look, I realize you might feel like you can't show your face to the world, but seriously, you can't hole up in there forever."

I wait and wait.

"Mia?"

Nothing.

Growling to myself, I grab the door handle. "I'm coming in." I shove into the room. Immediately, the amount of color and the sharp tang of pool chlorine assault my senses. I zero in on the lump in the bed. "Mi, get up. I don't care if you're tired from coming home at the ass-crack of dawn, if you're not down there suited up and ready for laps in three minutes, Mom's gonna eat me for breakfast." I grab the blanket and pull it away.

Only Mia's not there. It's just a pile of clothes.

"Mi?" I glance around the room. Her closet looks like it exploded, but she's not in there. I wander into the bathroom we share. I come back, get on all fours and, feeling like a tool, check under the bed.

Biting my lip, I wander toward the window and part the blades. Her car isn't parked on the side of the house like it always is in the morning. Mia never came home. Mia always comes home.

Suddenly uneasy, I streak across the hall and close the door behind me. What to do...what to do... I pull my cell out of my pocket and call her.

It rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. I hang up. Lowering my cell, I grab the back of my neck with both my hands. Part of me is mad at her for not coming home on time, but a more primal part of me is worried. It's not like Mia to not come home. Mentally, I try to reason that there are many explanations as to why she isn't here, why she wouldn't pick up her phone. But, deep down, I know something is wrong.

Is it? Maybe I'm dreaming? Maybe I'm hallucinating again? I mean, this is really uncharacteristic for Mia, which means it's not real, right? And if that's the case, then I must be going crazy again...

Chest tight, I turn and check my reflection in the mirror, making sure I'm still me—I paw at my cheeks, reassuring that my suddenly burning face isn't exploding with spider pods. Panting for air, I scrutinize my room, making sure that none of the painted monsters are oozing out of the paper. I shove at the piles, making sure that there aren't snakes or rats or dead bodies squirming on the floor.

Nothing. Everything seems normal. But the panic is rising mad in my body, the blood is lava, the skin is ice, the heart is a hammer, the lungs are bellows. I'm crazy. I'm insane. It's all going wrong. I'm losing it.

I close my eyes and pinch myself, really hard. A few times. I don't feel any different. Screams fighting to claw their way out of my mouth, I grab a pen. I have to be sure, have to be certain. I can't let the insanity come back, I have to drive it away, shove it back, let it out of my body before it takes hold. I stab my leg.

The pain skewers me. Makes me yelp. I pant against it, hold my breath, let the blood drip along my fingers.

I'm alive. This is real life. I'm not insane. I'm awake. I'm all better. There is no insanity. Get a grip, Syd. I take a few breaths, wait for my heart and breathing to calm down. I open my eyes. My room is the same. I hold my breath, pull the pen out and get on my hands and knees. Taking a deep breath, I open my door, hoping to see Mia riffling through the mountain of clothes and shoes across the hall, hoping that reality has returned to normal.

No such luck.

The panic crawls back up my throat. I glance down the stairs and scream, "Mom! Dad!"

A moment later, they're both running up the stairs. They stare at me, at the blood on the carpet. Whatever my expression must say, it's not good because I haven't seen them look at me like that in a very long time. It's not me. Don't look at me like that. I'm not insane. I'm not. This is real life.

I point at Mia's room.

And their reactions verify that this is indeed real life. That my insanity is not just in my head. Instead, it has seeped out, and has turned my world upside down.