Thirteen's Thirteenth (NANOWRIMO 2019)

Chapter 3 - Facade

Chapter 3 - Facade

Listening to: Dusk till Dawn by ZAYN & Sia

I rest my head against my mother's thigh, mindlessly following patterns on the ceiling. The Quills were over celebrating Mr. Quill's 40th birthday. Much to my displeasure, there was no cake, no presents, not even any balloons: only football and some smelly drink.

"Can I have a sip?" I lean up and press my cheek against my mother's cold glass. I hold my breath to expel the smell.

My mother laughs and pulls the drink away to press it against her lips. "This isn't for kids. When you're older, maybe."

With an exaggerated exhale, I pout for all of thirty seconds. How much older must I be? I was already six, and that was practically ten. My mother didn't seem to care.

Declaring my boredom, I announce, "Eddie, Amelia. Let's go to my room. I've got some watercolors in my closet we can paint with." They were anxious to escape the football game as well.

We scurry from the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom. I take some paper from my desk and lay it across the floor as Amelia and Eddie carefully lift the container of paint tins out from where its kept in my closet. Amelia settles herself on my floor, picking her favorite colors out from the bin.

"Eddie, will you help me fill water cups in the kitchen?" I ask. After all, I only have two hands and cups filled with water can be quite tricky to balance. He nods.

I'm not quite tall enough to reach the cabinets yet. I swing a leg onto the counter and push on my hands to lift myself. Then, I maneuver the other leg around till I'm squatting stably on the granite.

"Evangeline, what in heaven's name are you doing?" My father catches sight of my acrobatic feat as he walks into the kitchen.

"Watercoloring. We need cups for water to clean our brushes," I explain, burying my face in the cabinet. I pull out a cup and hand it down to Eddie.

My father doesn't ask anyone questions and returns to busying himself in the refrigerator to refill his glass with ice. As he does so, I manage to get two more cups and climb down from the counter. I turn on the kitchen faucet and roll up my sleeves to keep from getting wet. Reaching out, I place one cup under the stream of water when Eddie catches a glimpse of the tattoo on my wrist.

"Vee, what's..." he starts.

Before he could finish, my father is standing between us. He snatches my wrists and yanks my long sleeves down past my fingertips to cover the ink hidden there. He's stiff and holds firm like a defensive barrier. "I think you guys should find a new activity."

I never played with watercolors again.

It had been three days since the news of the crash broke. Three days since Eddie stumbled in on me crying, and he has not dropped the topic since. I did my best to stay clear of him - eating lunch in the library, taking the long way to class, walking home from school - but he was like an itch I couldn't reach.

"You know, you can't avoid me forever, Vee."

The all too familiar voice leaned into the lockers beside me. I kept my face buried in my locker as I packed up my textbooks, closing my eyes and sighing exasperatedly. "I'm not avoiding you, Eddie."

"You've barely spoken to me in three days!" I turned to face him, taking in his astonished expression: raised eyebrows and wide eyes. It was clear he couldn't believe the words coming from my mouth. I didn't blame him. "Did I do something wrong?" Eddie lowered his voice, conscious of any snooping peers around us.