The Accidental Siren

10.4 Olivia

T-minus three days until the Fairytale premiere.

I managed to pee one time before the usual commotion overtook the shared bathroom. I noticed a pillow in the bathtub and wondered if it was Livy or Mara who had claimed the porcelain bed.

For the next twenty-four hours, I did my best to ignore the clamor of cosmetics, muffled cries, screaming sobs, lectures, encouragement, and the awkward bouts of laughter. The bathroom had become a spaceship airlock; if my door wasn't closed when Livy's opened, the castle would implode. Steam hissed through the cracks as my sister sucked the furnace dry with hour-long showers.

Because Mara was entitled to her privacy, Mom used my bathroom door whenever she needed to check on Livy. She always knocked... but if Livy didn't answer immediately, she jimmied the lock with a paperclip and barged in, releasing a chemical-cocktail of nail polish, hairspray, and artificial fruit into my room.

Around noon I heard a strange sound from the bathroom; tink-tink-tink-tink like a semi-automatic pellet gun. The sound continued in bursts over the next forty-five minutes, but I wouldn’t discover the source until that evening. Beneath the piano was a plastic toy bin. Inside were Livy's hair beads--a hundred at least--rolling around the bottom between wooden blocks and Tinker Toys.

Mara and I spoke only once that day. I caught her praying on the bedroom floor. Her ratty sweatpants and faded orange tee seemed like a hopeless attempt to look scrubby. “We shouldn't be so affectionate,” she said. “'Specially around Livy.”

“Yeah, but--”

“She's sad, James. If she sees us hugging, it’s only gonna make it worse.”

I grimaced, but took my punishment like a man. At least Ryan Brosh was out of my life for good.

“Does your throat hurt?” she asked.

I lifted my chin and massaged my Adam's apple. “Only when I touch it.”

“Here.” She unzipped a polka-dot bag, fished out a plastic clam, opened it, and tenderly powdered my neck.

“I'm sorry I told her,” I said.

Mara inspected my flesh for patches of purple and dabbed them with a pad.

My father was in the bathroom now. His words were smothered by the cosmetic cloud and brick walls, but his tone with Livy was empathetic. It sounded like he was offering her advice, but her replies were short, sharp, and defiant.

“Do you think she knows?” I asked.

“Knows what?”

“That Ryan was using her to get to you.”

Mara placed the pad back in its shell and snapped it shut. “Yeah,” she said. “She knows.”

Later that evening, Mom enlisted Livy's two closest friends to coax her back to reality.

Kimmy tried first, rattling the door handle and pounding the wood. “Hey girl! Get your skinny butt outta there! Didja fall in the pot?”

Haley had a kinder approach. “Livy? Honey? We miss you. We heard the nasty things that creepo said and we're so sorry. Come in your room so we can talk.”

The girls returned to the parlor without Livy. Kimmy shrugged, then walked to Mara. “Holy smokes. Your eye is bleeding!”

“It’ll go away soon,” Mara said.

Kimmy hugged her. “I heard about Dorothy... you've been through so much!” She stroked Mara’s hair. “I finally got my own phone line, so if you ever need to talk...”

Mara nodded, then broke the embrace. “Thanks.”

We formed a pow-wow on the parlor rug. Mom offered to nuke some Jiffy Pop, but we declined.

Kimmy nodded to the bathroom. “What's she been doing in there?”

“Crying, mostly,” I said. “When she was little, Dad and I called them 'Livy Tivys.'”

“Cute.”

“But they’ve never been this bad.”

For a half hour we chatted on the floor, pausing every few minutes to speculate the bathroom’s thumps and groans until a loud crash stiffened our spines. We sat in absolute silence, swapping a daisy-chain of concerned looks, waiting for another sound to confirm my sister was alive.

“Crap!” she said through the brick wall.

We relaxed.

Haley touched my knee. “I can't wait to see your movie on Wednesday. My whole family's coming to watch.”

“Neat,” I muttered.

“How's it goin’?”

“I don't really wanna talk about it.”

Her hand retreated from leg. Before I could apologize or explain my reaction, the bathroom door creaked and Livy finally emerged.

She was a train wreck, but not in the way we expected. Her hair was not just beadless, but straight, uneven, and white.

We stood... but nobody spoke.

Livy stepped with forced elegance, one foot in front of the other like a busted drunk driver. As she approached, she carried with her the stench of singed hair. Her eyes were encased with liner, thick like melted wax.

She was trying to look older, but the caked makeup and sickly saunter had the opposite effect, evoking the blind loftiness of a teenage prostitute.

“Oh, Livy...” we said. “What did you do?”

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she replied. Her voice horse from crying. “I thought I'd try something new!” She cocked her head and brushed the blonde behind her shoulder.

Mom stirred in the kitchen. “Do I hear that sweet child of mine?” she asked. “You missed a beautiful summer day all locked up in--” She emerged from the archway, saw her daughter, and gasped. Her eyes welled as she crossed the room. She bypassed Livy, took hold of Mara's head, and seethed an inch from her face, “What are you doing to my family?!”