Living in Power (First Draft)

Chapter Four: Danica(2 weeks later)

I throw my bag on the floor. "Mama!" I scream downstairs.

"What!" she screams in return, "I am trying to set up Ricardo's room."

"Why do I have share a room with Luciana!" In Sicily, we had our own rooms, but Luciana always complained about how messy I kept my room. She was always Miss "Prim and Proper", her O.C.D. was so bad she had to make sure the toilet paper was facing the right way, and if it wasn't, god help the person begging to get into the bathroom next.

"Because the house as not as big, all of us are sharing rooms sweetheart," she says sweetly, trying not to make me angry.

"Fine," I scoff. I plop onto my queen bed and sigh. It's so small compared to the king I had in Scially. Sharing a room with Luciana will be a nightmare.

She walks in and softly shuts the door behind her.

"So, what color should we paint the walls."

I look around the room at the mustard yellow walls with nicks and scratches. Nothing could ever fix this room, I think. Not even if it was plated gold.

I look at the floor, the dark, mesmerizing wood might be the best part about this room. It reminds me of the stage in the opera house back home. When I was younger, I'd fight the urge to hop on stage with the beautiful performers. I figured it wasn't for me after papa told me that Forza's were good at numbers and combat, not entertainment. So I keep my voice for the shower, where it belongs.

"Gray," I respond.

"What?" Luciana answers, turning towards me. "What about all the bright colors you wanted?"

"Gray," I repeat. "It's calming and neutral. We need a new start for a new year."

"S...speaking of a 'new start'," She stutters over her bad English, "Mother said we do not have school on Monday. Do you know why?"

"I don't know," I say staring at the ceiling, not taking my eyes off the swirling fan above me. I could feel the warm fall breeze coming in through both windows, tossing the two sets of white, cotton curtains around. "Some American holiday."

On monday, after a long morning of unpacking and setting up our room, me and Luciana found ourselves in the same situation we had been in two days earlier, sitting on our beds. We had painted the room gray, with a white chevrons on one wall. Our beds perfectly centered under the windows, Luciana's side of the room immaculate, with a perfectly folded duvé, her old artworks hung on the wall, her violin sat nicely against the wall in its case. My side already had clutter surrounding the floor of my canopy bed. Although our sides had been identical originally, with the exception of our comforters, we had made the side our own. I hung posters and pictures from Italy, making my wall space way more crowded than her's. My duvé was a mix of blue and purple which formed a triangle pattern. Luciana's comforter was cream and white blocks.

The windows were open, funneling the unnaturally hot air into our room because neither of us had the common sense to close them. Outside the window we could hear cars passing over the bridge that was a little while away, and every so often, we would hear the train rumble around and blast it's horn, making Ricardo cry, everytime, without fail. I pick up my new phone and put my earbuds in. I listen to some peaceful music as I doze off.

The next thing I know, Luciana, who also seems to have just woken up, is waking me for dinner.

"I'm not hungry," I tell her, "Just tell Mama I'm tired."

"Ok," She replies, leaving the room. I fall back to sleep a little while later, with the smell of fresh paint surrounding me.

My beautiful slumber is ended by the sound of my pounding alarm. When I wake up and check my phone, Luciana is already awake and dressed, sitting in her desk chair. It's only six o'clock, I think as I get ready to go in the shower. When I get out, I begin dousing my hair with product. I put on a tight, floral-printed, off the shoulder crop top and shredded overalls with a Gucci belt. I slip on my Steve Maddens and walk past Luciana again. I notice she is wearing a bright green Nike shirt and long, black shorts.

"Luciana," I scold her, "What are you wearing?"

"Clothes," she replied innocently, "Do you like them?"

I grab her wrist and pull her into the closet, throwing a hooded crop top and ripped jeans at her. Reluctantly, she slides them on. The look is good on her. I run downstairs for breakfast, Luciana says that she wants to find her earings, and that she'll be down soon. Mama made us eggs with chicken sausage and vanilla gelato. By seven, I have my makeup on, Luciana had changed her shirt into a pale blue blouse with roses, and we are ready to leave for school, along with the twins, Giuseppe, Ricardo, Angelina, Marcilina and Valentina. We all say goodbye to Mama and file out the door as no one else is awake yet. As I walk, I put in my ear buds once again, and tune out the world, only this time, I can't escape by dreaming.