Chapter I- My Grandmother Stabs Herself
YOU KNOW THAT FEELING when something super awesome is promised to you- like a trip to Hawaii, for example- and you're already packed and ready to board the plane when somebody tells you that the flight was cancelled and you would have to plan your exploits for next year? That's exactly how I felt when my father told me at the dinner table we wouldn't be visiting San Francisco this December.
You see, it's our family tradition to go and spend a week with Mom's family in California. We visit the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and get suntans, take pictures on the Golden Gate Bridge, buy souvenirs in Chinatown, and all that other awesome stuff. And my maternal family is really amazing too.
There's Grandpa Frederick, who's this semi-famous history professor down in the San Francisco Bay Area and owns a bunch of wickedly awesome planes, and then Popo (it's pronounced puo-puo; Grandma, in Chinese, since she won't tell us her real name), who makes the best food in the world and can recite the Declaration of Independence backwards.
So you can probably tell why I was pretty down in the trash dumps when Dad told me the bad news, especially since it was also (coincidentally) mystery meatloaf night. And I wasn't the only one.
"Perseus," Mom frowned, putting her hands on her hips. She never calls Dad that unless she's extremely angry or it's a really major situation, which I suppose this can be counted as. "You can't be serious. The kids have looked forward to this vacation for ages-"
Dad was quite unmoved, unfortunately. "The kids are being targeted by them, Annabeth. We don't have any time for a trip to visit your parents this winter. We'll have to spend a couple months laying low, maybe send them to hide at Jason or Frank's place for a while. They'll understand our situation."
"But Percy, think of what-"
"What do you mean we're being targeted, Dad?" My older brother Malcolm frowned, nudging a piece of broccoli practically dripping with meat sauce on his plate rebelliously. "Who are them? Are you talking about Uncle Jason and Uncle Frank? Why aren't we going to visit Popo and Grandpa this year?"
"Yeah," echoed Nathan, my younger brother, mouth cheeks open and revealing chewed up bits of meatloaf. I wrinkled my nose in reflex. Gross... "Schwa war schoo shwashin ashoush?"
The corners of Mom's mouth twitched down. I could practically see her patience level decreasing. "It's none of your business, boys," she chided, trying to keep an even tone. She failed considerably.
Hermione sniffed, twirling curly blonde hair around her fingers. "If you don't want us to ask, you shouldn't talk about it when we're listening," my older sister drawled, her plate barely touched. She was in one of her phases right now: the Oh-my-god-I'm-getting-so-fat-and-depressed-so-I-will-take-out-all-my-anger-on-everyone-and-their-grandma stage that only happened after one of her boyfriends dumped her.
"Hermione's right," Dad said, setting his silverware down next to his half-empty plate. Dad usually always finished his dinner, but since it was mystery meatloaf night, I couldn't really blame him this time. "Annabeth, let's finish this in the bedroom."
Mom raised her eyebrows, but nevertheless relented. "Malcolm, I better see a clean plate when I come back or you'll be sitting there until you're thirty, you hear me? And Hermione, if you really hate the meatloaf so much, at least eat finish off the salad. What's-his-name probably left you for another girl because you're as bony as a skeleton."
Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but speared her fork into a tomato notwithstanding. The sound of our parents' footsteps receded up the staircase, until I heard the sound of a door slam closed and then silence.
"D'you think Mom will notice if I give some of my meatloaf to Dad?" Malcolm muttered, eyeing his plate with sudden interest. "It's not like Dad will eat his meatloaf, anyway. Or better yet, I'll give it all to Nate. At least then there won't be any evidence."
"Yeah, right," Hermione snarked. "Of course she'll know. That woman knows everything."
"You're just bitter," I said matter-of-factly, "that Pete said Mom's better-looking then you." Pete was Hermione's boyfriend two months ago, a rather handsome graduate of NYU who dumped her after discovering his true sexual orientation (he was gay).
"Shut up, Andromeda," she said, viciously stabbing a lettuce leaf that probably didn't deserve being the object of her ire. I vaguely felt sorry for it, but decided that it was better for her to vent her anger on the lettuce then me.
"Is she PMSing?" Malcolm mock-whispered to me, surreptitiously spooning a handful of meatful onto Nathan's plate. "No wonder her new boy-toy broke up with her so quickly this time-"
Thud. Hermione stood up and walked away, presumably back into our shared bedroom. From beside me, Malcolm froze, staring at the butter knife that had landed on the wall behind him and bounced safely onto the ground, nearly missing his head by mere inches.
"She's mad," I said, once I was certain she was gone. "Oh, god, Malcolm, why did you have to rile her up like that? I, unlike you, actually have to share a bed with her at night."
"Shut up, Andromeda," he answered, "Anyways, you were having a go at her, too, don't deny it. You were the one who brought up Pete in the conversation."
"But you're the older one," I argued back, "and you're smarter than me. You should know better, honestly." I imitated Mom's disapproving tone, fixing a stern expression on my face. "Especially you, Malcolm, you're almost seventeen. How are you going to survive in the outside world like this?"
He shrugged. "Whatever. It's your problem, in the end. It doesn't really concern me." He scraped the last scraps of the meatloaf with a spoon, dumping it unceremoniously in the trash bin before settling the empty plate in the sink. "Have fun with the walking land mine."
This story was last edited in 2015 but I think it'd be nice to publish it as a look back on my previous writing. Wow, I was young once haha
