The Feel of Water

One - Under the Faucet

A/N: Hello! I decided to post the first five chapters to give a more thorough taste of what this story is about. All feedback is welcome. Thanks for supporting!

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"You know what, Dani? That was rude. This was your mother's top," Aunt Tammy says, pinches the cheap fabric, then takes the cigarette from her lips. "Your dead mother's top, and you tell me I look like a hooker."

"You do, Tammy. You look like Betty from the gas station on the corner of Elliot and Flamingo."

I watch from the small breakfast table as she dumps the coffee from her lip-stick stained mug into a thermos. Coffee drips down the side and she licks it off. "Whatever. You don't even know that woman-don't give her names."

I lift my spoon of sugar-coated cereal to my mouth. As I chew, I say, "She looks like a Betty to me."

"Yeah, and last week she was Sharon, and she was Julie before that."

"She's a mystery to me," I murmur.

Tammy rolls her eyes. "I'm late for work. Clean up after yourself, will you? Your sister gets home today."

"I know. You've been mentioning it for weeks."

"Just-just rinse your dish in the right, place in the left. I'm tired of loading the dishwasher and getting little bits of crap on my fingers. It's gross. It makes my skin curl."

"You're going to be late," I say and drink the last bit of milk.

"Okay, okay, uh... I'm getting her on my way home. We'll be back around five."

I get up and walk my bowl to the sink. When I turn back around, Aunt Tammy is gone and the sound of the front door opening and closing draws a short breath from my lips. School-right.

After stepping into my shoes and cramming my finger behind my heel-there is never time for laces-I swing my backpack over my shoulder. There's a dodgers cap hanging on one of the three hooks by the door, so I take it and secure it on my head while stepping out. Allison likes to point out greasy roots. Sometimes is easier to conceal.

The California sun is warm on my skin as I walk the few minutes to school. It isn't an interesting walk; it's a boring one, a through-the-neighborhood kind of boring. If I'm lucky, a jogger will trip or a leashed dog will stop to say hello. One time, a guy pulled over beside me and asked for directions to Los Angeles. His car smelled like kitty litter and Avril Lavigne played quietly in the background. I told him that he was in the wrong half of the state.

When I get to school, I meet with Becca. She has a pair of aviator sunglasses on that try to hide a resting bitch face that would scare off any lost freshman.

"She did it again," Becca says flatly.

"Oh no, really?"

She joins me. Together we walk through the main doors. "You look like a nine-year-old boy, and you don't even know what I'm talking about. But, yes, my mom is engaged."

"Taylor, right?" I confirm.

She nods. "God, he's such a-just so smug. Every time he tells me to have a good day, I don't know, a hair falls from my head. He drives around in the stupid little convertible that's literally made for people the size of teddy bears, but that turns my mom on, I guess. What can I say? She's down for anything at this point."

"Your mom still has to meet my Aunt Tammy. I think if they teamed up, they could destroy the entire world. Something about their energies combining would just wipe everything out. One "Hello, nice to meet ya," and it's like a flash. Flash-we're all dead."