Chapter 3

FAMILY

THE VOICE WAS MUSICAL AND sounded like chimes tingling gently in the wind. “Rose, Rose! Over here!” It called.

I whipped around. No one was there. I looked left and right. No one. I looked down at the concrete and up to the sky. No one.

That was weird. I thought I had heard a voice. Maybe I was just making it up. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and set my backpack down at the foot of the stairs. Michelle and Ricky were already home and so was Kara.

“Hi Rose,” Michelle called, running to give me a hug. She slammed her little body against mine and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Ouch,” I breathed. She sure had a hard little body.

“Huh? Did you say something Rose?” Michelle asked.

“No, not a peep.” I answered. She let go of me and went back to sit next to Ricky. “Hi Kara,” I said.

“Whatever.” She replied. This was one of the days when Kara just ignores you because she’s upset. I was upset, too, but I didn’t express it like that. I guess it’s just the teenager stage. She got out of her chair and walked to her bedroom which was on the first floor. With a loud bang, the door slammed shut.

“She must have had a terrible day,” Ricky said. “How was yours?”

“Uh… it was bad.” The words just blurted out of my mouth. “Oops,” I said.

“Bad? How bad? I bet it couldn’t have been worse than mine.”

“Well, it was bad because all my teachers are either mean, unorganized, or just plain weird. Why was your day bad?”

“A lot of reasons, really, but the most important reason that affected me the most was Chess Club. I’m still not old enough. By next year, I bet chess won’t even be around anymore,” He sighed.

“Too bad you can’t start your own chess club,” I muttered.

Suddenly, Ricky’s eyes widened. I could imagine a light bulb above his head flashing on. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” I asked him, confused.

“I’ll start my own chess club!” He declared.

“What?” Michelle and I said together.

“But you’re not allowed to do it at school.” Michelle pointed out.

“I don’t have to do it at school,” Ricky replied. “I’ll just do it after school.” Ricky smiled and started to plan his chess club meetings.

I didn’t hear the voice anymore the rest of the day and I was sure I made it up. I walked upstairs and started on a first draft for my history essay we were supposed to write before Friday.

Mrs. Mann told us we could do it on anything and I chose the Civil War. To me, that was the only interesting thing I ever learned in history. I was researching the end of the war when I heard the garage door open. There was a loud bang that followed and I knew my mom was home.

She checked on Michelle and Ricky’s homework first, to make sure they knew what they were doing. She was clanging around in the kitchen when I walked downstairs.

“Hey, Rose. How was school?” She asked as she stirred some soup. She put the spoon down and wiped her hands on the white apron she was wearing and walked over by me.

I didn’t reply to her question and just asked, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes, you can. But first, I want to know how school went.” This was how my mom was. If I didn’t tell her about something, she would just keep asking me about it until I answered.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?” She seemed surprised by my answer. Maybe she expected school to go better for me, although it never did, not even when we lived in Kansas.

“Just okay.” I answered. “So, what can I help you with?” I asked in a lighter tone.

“Um, well…the vegetables need to be cut and the meat needs to be seasoned. You sure you’re okay?” She eyed me anxiously and I nodded quickly.

“You don’t look so well to me.” I assured her it was nothing and she said, “Okay, well wash your hands and get started. Dad will be home soon.”

I washed my hands thoroughly and then started on the veggies. I wasn’t really concentrating on cutting, I was mostly just letting my thoughts float around and think about random things. Most of these things I thought about had something to do with school. Like bullies—and how I hadn’t bumped into any yet—, buses—and that horrible smell; I shivered at the thought—history, math, stuff like that.

I was cutting quite absent-mindedly too, so I didn’t realize I wasn’t moving my hand until I felt a stinging in my left index finger. I held it up to the light to examine the cut. It wasn’t very deep or long, it just hurt a lot, like a paper cut.

Mom almost dropped her knife when I walked past her to get a Band-Aid. Luckily, it didn’t fly out of her hand. I cleaned it up and stuck a Care Bears Band-Aid on it. Unfortunately, Michelle only used Care Bears Band-Aids and mom always thinks it’s unnecessary to buy more than one pack at a time.

Mom stopped letting me help her so I just started playing piano. I was the only one who played piano. David played guitar and Kara plays the flute for orchestra. I also swim every day, but this week, my swim team was taking a break. I just started a Mozart Sonata when the garage door opened again.

“It’s dad, it’s dad!” Michelle shouted, running to the garage door. One of the things I loved about Michelle was that if you were gone even for half-an-hour, she would still welcome you back like you’ve been gone for half a day.

“Michelle!” My dad’s gruff voice boomed through the house as he bent down to pick her up. “How was your first day of school, sweet pea?” He asked in a gushy voice. I continued playing, so it wouldn’t sound like I was eavesdropping.

“It was great, daddy! Ricky and I got to sit next to each other!”

“Oh, really? Well, make sure Mr. Ricky doesn’t talk too much.”

“He didn’t, daddy.” She smiled and my dad put her down.

“Ricky! How was your day?” He asked, bending down so his face was level with Ricky’s.

“Absolutely marvelous!” Ricky answered.

“And how was it marvelous?”

“I have the most awesome idea,” Ricky answered. “I’m going to start my own chess club!”

“Whose idea was this?” My dad sounded quite impressed.

“Rose’s,” Ricky and Michelle answered at the same time. I smiled as I played the last couple notes from one of Mozart’s pieces.

“Then that’s a great idea. When shall we start?”

“Next week,” Ricky answered enthusiastically. I didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation because it was mostly about chess, which I suck at, so I just focused on what I was playing.

Dinner was finished a couple minutes after that, and I didn’t talk much. I just chewed, swallowed, and listened. Simple enough. It was working perfectly well until mom asked for details on my day. I simply shrugged and told her how the bus ride was fast—I left out the bumpy part—and how Marilyn behaved.

“What’s her last name?” Mom asked.

“Starr. Why?” I didn’t need to ask because I already knew where this conversation was leading to, but I asked anyway.

“Marilyn Starr? Is she the daughter of Stacy and Daniel Starr? You know, the fashion designer and movie director?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Why? Well because Stacy Starr is my favorite designer! And Daniel Starr’s movies are just amazing! Aren’t they honey?” She asked dad. I just rolled my eyes and finished my dinner quickly.

After dinner, I helped wash the dishes. When I finished, I went upstairs to revise my essay. I had a lot of work to do. I even spelled Abraham Lincoln’s name wrong once! I finished revising and before I knew it, it was bedtime.