I went back to my house on Saturday afternoon, walking quickly and staying on the main roads until I made it to my neighborhood. I live near Lake Ender, still on the East Side but in a better part of town. Instead of an apartment, I live in a bigger house with my mom and dad. I'm an only child. As much as its weird to be the "rich girl" of our group of friends, I like living where I do. It feels safer. I don't have to worry so much about break-ins, or thieves, or getting jumped outside of my house. Of course, walking home from school or to one of my friends places is a different story.
I went inside through the side door and wandered into the kitchen, dropping my bag onto a chair. My dad sat on the couch in the living room and gave me a nod and a muffled hello, not looking up from his newspaper.
"Hey." I said.
I turned and went upstairs to my room, shutting the door behind me and sitting down on my bed. I let myself fall backwards and looked up at my ceiling.
The words of the Columbus boy were still ringing in my head. I could still see that boys wild, angry eyes. His threat scared me. There was nothing we could do and nobody that could help us. The authority in Grenadia is useless when you come from the East Side. I could never tell my parents what was going on. They don't approve of my friends as it is. They don't understand the gangs, or the rivalry, or what kids my age are actually capable of. Basically, my parents ignore me. They simply don't care. I guess that's better than most parents around here, though. None of my friends have really good home situations either. Christina's parents are always working, so she has to take care of her younger sisters. Elle's dad hit her and her younger sister when they don't do what they want. Alex's mom is dead and her father is a drunk. Lacie's parents are divorced; her dad lives in another state and her mom and older sister are always busy with the restaurant they own. I guess I'm just the rich girl with the parents who don't give a shit.
"Gemara!" I heard my dad's voice calling from the kitchen. "Dinner."
My parents always call me by my full name. I stood up and went down to the kitchen, sliding into my chair at my place at our table.
"Would you like to say grace, Peter?" My mother asked my dad.
He nodded. I sat down and bent my head, murmuring a quick prayer. I picked up my fork and started cutting up my piece of steak. We ate in silence, like we always do. I guess none of us really have anything to say to each other.
"Does your face still hurt, Gemara?" My mother asked from her end of the table. I looked up, confused for a minute, before remembering the cut that Columbus girl had given me with her sharp bracelet. It was a shallow cut, but it went all the way from my left eyebrow down the side of my cheek. I had told my parents I had tripped and fallen on a piece of broken glass on the sidewalk.
"No, I can't even feel it." I lied. "It's a lot better."
She nodded. "That's good."
I had been able to hide the bruises on my alarm and shoulder with concealer and long sleeved shirts, but the cut wasn't something I could cover. At least it was getting cold and I could wear long sleeves to hide it.
