Brittany Bends (8 page)

Screw that. Without having
any
of the facts.

Mom squeezes my hand, then lets go. She sighs and looks up at the house.

I don’t. I kinda like staring at the edges of the hollow, the shadows building across the lawn, the dark shapes of the trees against the darkening sky. The air smells wet and cold, something I’ve never smelled in my life before.

“You were raised by so many people,” Mom says. “The lifestyle, the culture, it’s so different.”

“Tell me about it,” I say.

She grins at me. “I know you know. You’ve been dealing with that since you arrived.”

No kidding. But I don’t say anything. She’s going somewhere with this.

“When you’re two parents raising a gaggle of kids, you have to balance the needs of the family against the needs of the individuals,” she says.

“Like Spock,” I say. I know my
Star Trek
(which shocked Leif, who’s this major fan). “ ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.’”

“‘Or the one,’” Mom says, then nods. “I think I’ve seen that movie thirty thousand times.”

She has to be exaggerating, because time is linear here, and she would have wasted sixty thousand hours on one movie. That’s over six years. I don’t think Leif is that fanatical. But then, what do I know?

I don’t say that, though, because saying things like that has already shoved me into an advanced math class that seems both too easy and too hard.

I wait for her to continue. She sighs again.

“What I’m trying to say, honey, is that sometimes I do things because the other kids expect it. They’ve all been raised with several expectations. We tell them that they have to go to college, although I’m not sure how we’ll manage that.” She looks down, then shakes her head. “Sorry. Just thinking out loud. Anyway, they’ve also been told that by the time they’re sixteen, they must have a part-time job.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s why you sent me to get a job.”

“I didn’t think you’d get one right away,” Mom says. “I thought you would be trying and trying, and everyone would know that, and they’d forgive you for not getting one because you’re new here. The fact that you have one is, quite frankly, a surprise.”

“But, shouldn’t I keep it? If everyone’s expected to have one, wouldn’t they wonder why I can get out of mine?”

Mom looks at me. The light from the garage makes her pale skin seem even paler. Her eyes look a little washed-out too.

“I just worry about you,” she says. “I know we’re throwing a lot at you, and you’re handling it really well, but it has to be hard.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she says. “I know you miss your sisters.”

I nod.

“And I know everything seems strange here. You can talk to me, you know.” She squeezes my hand again. I have no idea how her fingers are staying warm when mine are about to freeze off.

“I’m all right,” I say, which is what I always say when she offers to talk to me. I don’t know what I’d say to her. That I’m glad I’m here? I kinda am, but I’m kinda not. I like seeing Mom in her native environment, and meeting my half siblings is cool, but this town is so strange, and school is hard, and now this job….

“Do you want to quit the job?” Mom asks.

“I haven’t even tried it yet,” I say.

“It’s okay if you do,” she says.

“No,” I say, firmer than I expected. “It’s not. I gotta try, right? I mean, otherwise, I’m just a quitter.”

She frowns at me. “Where did you learn that word?”

I’m not going to lie to her. “Ivan.”

“Because you won’t play video games with him?”

I nod.

“Good for you,” she says. “Life is too short.”

Then she frowns even deeper. She knows that life isn’t too short for me. And it probably isn’t for her either. My dad usually doesn’t get involved with mere mortals. He can tell when someone’s going to come into magic one day. Mom will have magic. She just doesn’t want to deal with that yet.

“If the job turns out to be too hard for you or if you can’t keep up in school or if it’s all too overwhelming, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Yes,” I lie. Because what else can I do? I’m already overwhelmed. “I absolutely will.”

SIX

DESPITE BEING CRAMMED into my little closet, the next morning I wake up cold. Shivering, in fact. I put on my robe and slippers and manage to get into the bathroom just after someone steamed it up. Then, instead of taking my shower, I head to the kitchen to see if someone can turn up the heat.

As I walk into the living room, a weird white and gray light coats everything. I look out the windows. White blankets the yard and clings to the trees.

My breath catches.

That has to be snow.

I’ve never seen snow before. It’s dripping out of the sky, even as I look. Big thick flakes of white, like bread plates.

The house is cold and we’re going to get snowed in and even though we have a lot of food, there are eleven of us, and some are boys, and they eat too much, and that doesn’t count the dogs and the cats and—

Something bangs in the kitchen. I’m not the only one up.

I make myself look away from the windows and head into the dining room. Some Fruit Loops sit in drops of milk on the placemat in front of Hilde’s spot. The dogs haven’t gotten to that yet, but one of the cats—a sleek little black and white named Pixie—is standing on the bench, licking something off the placemat beside Hilde’s.

Pixie doesn’t even look up as I go by. I’m supposed to yell at the animals when they get on the table, but technically, she’s not
on
the table; she’s on the bench.

I slip into the kitchen. Leif is scrambling eggs. Ingrid sits at the kitchen table, a book open beside her spot. Ivan is making toast. The smell of eggs makes my stomach growl.

“Hey, Brit,” Leif says. He’s just starting to hit his full growth. His shoulders seem to have gotten broader since I arrived. He has the same wheat-blond hair as the rest of Mom’s children, but his face is square like Karl’s. “I’ll make bacon if you want. These two dweebles don’t like bacon or so they say.”

Everything seems normal. How can it be normal? We’re in the middle of a blizzard.

Ingrid looks up from her book. She seems calm.

Her voice comes to me clearly, as if she has just spoken:
So what’s it like to be a drama queen?

Am I being a drama queen now? Megan says I need to take my cues from everyone around me. And they’re all acting like nothing’s going on.

I swallow. I’m going to try to sound normal too.

“They liked bacon last week,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound terrified. It doesn’t sound normal either.

I clear my throat.

Ingrid’s eyes narrow. “What’s going on with you? You never show up for breakfast in your robe.”

For an eight-year-old, she’s pretty observant. Dang it.

“It’s…snowing,” I say.

“Yeah, so?” Ingrid says.

“Isn’t it…?” I’m not sure if I should say something about a blizzard. Maybe they’re used to blizzards. The whole family calls this the Frozen Northland after all, and they warned me about the winters.

“Early? Yeah, October seems early, but it’s not.” Mom’s standing in the dining room doorway, holding Pixie. Pixie’s squirming. She wants to get down and get back to her snacks. “Who let Hilde leave such a mess on the table?”

“She’s done?” Ivan says. “She said she’d call me when she’s done.”

“She didn’t bring her bowl in here,” Leif says. He waves the spatula at me. “Bacon or not? Last call.”

“Bacon,” Mom says. “I’ll make coffee. And you, Ivan, will find out what Hilde has done with her bowl.”

“Why me?” he wails.

“Because you’re the one she said she’d tell when she was done.”

“Jeez,” he says. “Then Ingrid has to watch the toast.”

“No prob,” Ingrid says, still looking at me.

Ivan stomps toward Mom.

“And clean up that mess in there, would you please?” she asks.

“Why?” Ivan says. “I’m looking for Hilde.”

“Because your language has gotten foul,” Mom says.

I think back. I didn’t hear foul. Then I remember the
jeez
. Karl says it’s a short version of
Jesus
, which means taking the Lord’s name in vain. I always want to ask why is Jesus such a big deal, but Megan told me after my first week here that I had to respect the whole family’s religious beliefs, even if they’re unfamiliar to me.

“Jeez,” Ivan says, softer, as he passes me. I’m not sure Mom heard that.

“You’re pushing it, Ivan,” Mom says. Ivan glares at her, but he goes into the dining room.

She sets Pixie down, and Pixie runs back into the dining room. Clearly, Pixie is Ivan’s problem now.

Mom looks at me. “We get snow in October sometimes. You’ll have to wear something warm today.”

No kidding
, I think, but don’t say. I nod instead. They gave me hand-me-down sweaters and stuff when I arrived. I wore one about a month ago, and everyone laughed—not because the sweater looked bad, but because (as Lise said) if I started wearing sweaters when it was in the fifties outside, I’d freeze my butt off when it got really, really cold.

Leif puts the bacon in a pan, and it sizzles to life.

“How much is it going to snow?” I ask. “I mean, are we…?”

I don’t dare finish that question. Because no one said anything about being snowed in.

And then I decide, screw it. Maybe they’re used to this stuff, but I’m not. “I mean, is this one of those…bli…um, snow storms you all told me about?”

“Were you about to say ‘blizzard’?” Ingrid asks. “Really? You don’t know what a blizzard is? Mom, is she that dumb—”

“Ingrid, enough,” Mom snaps. “You’re being rude.”

Ingrid flushes and sits back. Even I know that “rude” is a cardinal sin around here.

The smell of frying bacon makes my stomach growl. Leif dishes out the eggs, putting them in a gigantic serving bowl. The toast pops up as he does that, and Ingrid gets up to butter it, like she promised, probably happy for the distraction.

“This is just the first snow of the season,” Mom says to me. “It’s not a blizzard, but it is inconvenient, especially since Eric didn’t listen to me and put snow tires on his car.”

“I’ll be all right.” Eric’s voice floats into the room from behind Mom. He’s carrying the placemats from the table, and they’re dripping. He doesn’t seem to notice, but two cats, Pixie and the orange cat (named, conveniently, Orange), follow slowly, licking the floor behind him.

“You will not,” Mom says. She turns and surveys the mess he’s making. “Get that to the sink and clean up the floor.”

Eric looks down and rolls his eyes. He’s wearing skinny black jeans, a red-and-black plaid shirt, and a black t-shirt underneath, as if it’s not cold at all.

“Mom, I can drive—”

“One of the conditions of car privileges,” Mom says in her do-not-mess-with-me voice, “is that snow tires go on the car on the first day of October.”

“I couldn’t afford any,” Eric says. “I told you.”

“And I told you that you can’t drive without them,” Mom says. “Ergo, I’m driving everyone to school this morning.”

Leif puts the eggs on the table, and Ingrid puts the buttered toast there. Beauregard appears from nowhere and rests his head next to Ingrid’s book. She shoos him away.

No one seems freaked out by Mom’s announcement, but I am. This is the first time she’s driven us to school since my first day at school over a month ago.

“So,” she says, looking directly at me, “eat up, and get dressed, because the bus’s leaving in forty-five minutes.”

“B-Bus?” I ask.

“She means the van,” Eric says, setting the placemats beside the sink. “And you better hurry, since I saw Anna heading for the upstairs bathroom.”

Anna and Lise take the longest in the morning, and I hadn’t seen Lise anywhere. I grab a plate, serve myself some eggs and two pieces of toast just as Leif puts bacon on the table.

Mom takes a piece, and shakes it at Leif. “Thank you,” she says, then grins. “Some days it pays to have children.”

Then she leaves the room.

I eat standing up. I don’t want to fight off the dogs, and Pixie and Orange, who are now circling me and crying. Besides, I have to get back to the bathroom before there’s a line.

“Did you really think we’re having a blizzard?” Ingrid asks.

“Leave her alone.” Eric’s washing off the placemats.

“It’s just so weird,” Ingrid says.

“No,” Leif says. “You’re weird. Brit just moved here from someplace that never has snow, right, Brit?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Boy, are you in for it,” Ingrid says to me.

I frown. “In for what?”

“An education,” Eric says. “Snow’s pretty, but now we hit the danger season.”