Fire Brick.
It’s the name of a paint that lives in my collection, a standard shade of deep red. The exact shade currently staining my younger sister’s hair.
It knocked me back a step when I first saw it glowing in the late October sun. I blinked a couple of times, wondering if it was just a trick of the light. I opened my mouth to say something undoubtedly eloquent along the lines of ‘what the fuck, Lottie?’ But before I could, Lux yanked my arm and shot me a look. A look I know well; shut your mouth or risk the wrath of a hormonal teenage girl.
So, I did. And I have.
But, from where I stand on the front porch, I can’t stop staring at Lottie through the kitchen window, hair even more fiery against her prim and proper white dress. She eyeballs me right back, squinting a silent dare as she presumably reads my mind.
Tugging on the uncomfortably itchy collar of my over-starched shirt, I avert my gaze to the girl standing ram-rod straight beside me, glaring at the hem of her knee-length skirt. “Since when does she like red so much?”
“Since she sold her soul to the devil, maybe.”
“Lux.”
Unbothered by my reprimand, Lux snorts. “See if you’re still defending her by the time this weekend is up.”
“If we survive this weekend.” The slacks suffocating my waist yet billowing too loosely around my calves might kill me first. Or the fancy, previously unworn shoes blistering my feet to hell. Or, more likely, the passengers in the spotless white BMW kicking up dirt on the horizon might be my, our, end.
Dragging my gaze from our impending doom, I glance over my shoulder and sigh at all that red. “They’re not gonna like it.”
“She’s their favorite.” Lux plays nonchalant but her twisted expression gives away her concern. “She’ll be fine.”
It’s not Lottie I’m worried about; it never comes down on her. The responsibility always lands on the girl fiddling with the tarnished pendant hanging between her collarbones. “Everything looks okay, right?”
I plant a hand on my sister’s shoulder and squeeze, the tension rolling off her palpable. “Everything looks great,” I assure her, wishing my false optimism was successful in soothing the dread knotted in my stomach.
Our grandparents’ visit is a rarity. I was surprised as hell when Lux told me about it while requesting my presence. They rarely leave their Malibu mansion—we called it the Barbie Dreamhouse, back when we still used humor to counter the shit hand we’d been dealt—and we like it that way. We like our freedom, our slice of peace and privacy.
But occasionally, they make an appearance. Usually just our grandmother; the only good thing about our grandfather is his blessed indifference. Mercifully quick visits but still long enough to taint our day. And with every inch closer the ridiculously impractical car travels, the sense of foreboding grows.
The screech of a door opening is as slow and reluctant as the rest of my sisters are to join us on the porch. When a body tucks itself against my side, I wrap an arm around the calm to her twin’s chaos. “You think they’re coming to congratulate me for making varsity captain?”
It’s a joke but still, I wish I could say yes. Instead, all I can do is give Grace’s ponytail a tug and say, “I’m proud of you.”
“I know.” A head hits my shoulder. “Lottie made the track team again.”
“She did?” Soft hair brushes my neck as Grace nods. “I didn’t know she was trying out.”
Grace cracks a smile, I can hear it in her voice. “She didn’t. Coach saw her running circles around the boys’ team and practically begged her to join.”
“Good.” Really good. Having something to channel all that anger into can only be a good thing. Maybe she’ll run off some of that goddamn attitude. “You know what sparked the makeover?”
Something in Grace’s expression falls. She glances toward the far side of the porch where her twin lurks, a sad downward tilt to her mouth as she quietly reveals, “They called her a dumb blonde.”
“What?”
“Some boys at school. They called her a dumb blonde so she dyed it.”
Fuck.
Well, now I feel like a dick.
No, worse; I feel like my grandmother.
Following Grace’s line of sight, my stomach twists as I sigh at my angry little sister. I just don’t know what to do with her. I never have, even when there wasn’t something so obviously wrong. If she’d just tell me, I could fix it, but unfortunately, it seems Lottie inherited that standard Jackson urge to fix everything all on your own.
Catching me staring, she barges onto the porch, face twisted in all too familiar glare. “Can I help you?”
Deep breath.
Just take a deep fucking breath.
Holding a hand up in innocence, I shrug and avert my gaze. I wait until the glare falls, until that horrid anticipation infects her too, until she starts to twitch and fret as much as the rest of us, before calling out softly. “Hey, Lot?”
“What?”
“I like your hair.”
Even from a distance, I see my grandmother’s pursed lips as she exits the car—mercifully alone—familiar disapproval heavy in the air between us. I’m unsure if she’s ever looked at us with anything else. Especially Lux and Eliza and I; we have the great misfortune of looking like our mother. Dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin. Not a hint of our father’s lineage. No, we’re all our mother, all Kimura and only Jackson by name.
Sometimes, when she looks at us like that, I get why our mother left. I don’t blame her. They must’ve looked at her a whole lot worse.
The twins, though, Lottie and Grace, they look like our dad. Like our grandmother. They inherited their lighter features, the paler skin and the lighter hair and eyes. Usually, that grants them a little extra kindness. Today, though, I hold my breath when my grandmother’s gaze lands on Lottie. “Charlotte,” she tuts, her heels clacking as she scales the porch steps. Brow raised, she captures a strand of dyed hair between her fingers. “What’s this?”
We all wince at our sister’s dry reply. “Hair dye.”
“The blonde was so lovely.” Our grandmother’s gaze slides towards Lux, and for a second, I catch a flicker of guilt flashing across Lottie’s face. “Honestly, Alexandra. You let her do this?”
There’s no chance for a rebuttal; even if Lux wanted to inform our grandmother that no one lets Lottie do anything, she couldn’t. With a disappointed sigh and a dismissive wave of her hand, the older woman stalks inside.
“I came to check on the renovations,” not to check on her grandchildren, of course, “and to have a little talk,” she pauses, eyeing the kitchen with nothing short of a sneer before settling her attention on the youngest Jackson, “about you.”
The color drains from Eliza’s face. “What?”
“We heard about your suspension,” that palpable disapproval—almost as perceptible as my confusion—bounces to Lux, “from Principal Matthews.”
Her… “Suspension?” Eliza got suspended?
“I was going to tell you.” It’s unclear whether Lux is talking to me or our grandmother but it’s the latter who responds.
“That’s not good enough, Alexandra. We allow you a lot of freedom,” God, that’s a funny way of putting it, “but our generosity has limits. We won’t tolerate you disrespecting our trust.”
I hate that tone. The condescending dissatisfaction within it has a way of making you feel exceptionally small, and watching my sisters shrink is a special kind of torture.
When I whisper for Eliza to go upstairs, she doesn’t need to be told twice. When I nod for the twins to follow, they scarper just as quick. It pains me that I can’t sneak Lux out too, shield her from the full force of Ruth Jackson’s rage, but I do what I can; I deflect.
“It was my fault,” I lie through my teeth, loading my tone with false apology and adopting an expression to match. “I told Lux not to say anything. I didn’t want to bother you over something minor.”
“Hitting another student is not minor, Oscar.”
By some miracle, I swallow my splutter of shock. I resist the urge to gape at Lux—because what the actual fuck—and keep a straight face, an even tone. “It’s under control.”
An unimpressed hum echoes around the kitchen. Reaching into her purse, my grandmother pulls something out, and my stomach twists when I catch sight of leaflets decorated with kids in uniforms lingering in front of big brick buildings. “Some alternative schooling options to consider.”
“They won’t be necessary.”
My grandmother sighs, readjusting her purse with one hand and patting my shoulder with the other. “If something like this happens again, that won’t be your decision to make.”
No one wanted to stay in that house tonight.
It was like in one visit, an almighty speech and a hefty dose of thinly veiled threats, all the warmth we’ve worked so hard to inject into our home was sucked right out. So, after the quickest packing session known to man, I loaded the girls into my car and swept them away to Sun Valley.
Maybe it’s the silence that’s making the journey drag. It’s an odd thing, my sisters being so quiet. I don’t mind though; the longer they go without speaking, the more time I have to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say.
The more time I have to articulate my emotions beyond being pissed off.
Lux should’ve told me. That’s our deal, we both share the girls and any burdens they might induce. I might not be physically there all of the time but I still want to be present. To be involved. There are enough absentee parent figures in our lives, and I have no intention of becoming another.
The girls spark back to life a little when we pull into the Walmart near my house—us Jacksons eat our emotions and my house is pitifully devoid of… well, anything but beer and frozen pizza. When the click of seatbelts being undone fills the truck interior, I shift to face the girl in my passenger seat and the three crammed in the back. “Everyone good?”
Four nodding heads respond, one shakier than the rest.
Sliding Lux a concerned look, we both hone in on the slumped, pale fourteen-year-old. “Eliza?”
The dark eyes looking everywhere but at us shine as Eliza fights a losing battle against a wobbly bottom lip. “Please don’t send me away.”
God, I’m on a steady path towards heartbreak today.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I promise. Reaching back, I set a hand on her knee, the fabric of her godawful grandmother-approved dress rustling beneath my fingertips. “Tell me what happened.”
Eliza stiffens, glancing quickly at the twin on either side of her before sighing. “Some kids at school make fun of me sometimes.”
It’s so quick and subtle, I almost miss the slow slide of Lottie’s arm as she links it through one of Eliza’s, red nails settling against a tan forearm. Grace encroaches on the opposite side, wrapping a protective arm around a pair of defeatedly hunched shoulders.
“Why?”
A hard swallow precedes a quiet, “for not having parents.“
Suddenly, my heart is a lump of granite. Lodged in my throat and sitting there uncomfortably, unmovable no matter how many times I swallow.
“I tried to ignore it, I promise I did, but one of them…” Eliza sniffs loudly, and the utterly dejected look on her face causes me actual pain. “He called me an orphan.”
Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is wrong with the kids in this school? “So, you…”
“I punched him.”
“Good girl.”
I shoot Lottie a hard look, opening my mouth to chastise her but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say. The parental, guardian side of me? He knows there has to be some kind of reprimand for violence, some punishment.
But the big brother?
God, he is trying so hard not to give Eliza a high five.
“I’m sorry.“ Eliza’s voice quivers as a few tears spill. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened.”
Breaths, Jackson. Long, deep breaths. “How long were you suspended for?”
“Three days.”
Okay. Three days isn’t bad. Three days is redeemable. Most importantly, a three-day suspension is not an expulsion.
Silver linings.
“I’m sorry,” Eliza repeats, desperation heavy in her tone.
“I know,” I exhale a long breath. “You can’t punch people, Eliza, okay? Not on school grounds, anyways. Or with any witnesses present.”
Eliza’s watery chuckle is echoed by Lux’s much more enthusiastic one, but it soon cuts out when I turn my frown on her. “And you,” my free hand pokes her on the thigh, “can’t keep shit like that from me.”
They’re my responsibility too, I silently add through raised brows and another, gentler poke.
When her eyes narrow indignantly, I know she got the message. “I had it under control!”
“So you punished her?”
If Lux’s sudden silence didn’t say it all, the snort and snarky comment from the backseat does. “She took her for ice cream.”
A pained half-groan, half-laugh leaves me as my forehead hits the steering wheel.
An early grave. I’m calling it. I have twenty years left, max, before these girls end me.
“Come on.” Lux pats my back. “Let’s get you a drink.”
