If I could only use one word to describe my new room for the summer, I would use basic. There is no other word for a bed against pale walls and a simple dresser. And nothing else. It’s also incredibly hot.
“I like the view,” I tell Jamie, despite being nowhere near the window to even see what my view is.
Jamie laughs. “Your dad said you can make the room yours.”
I walk around this room of mine, circling the beige carpet and checking out the built-in closets. The sliding doors are mirrored. Much cooler than my tiny closet back home. And there’s an en-suite bathroom too. I peer inside the door, raising my eyebrows in satisfaction. The shower looks as though it’s never been used.
“Do you like it?” Dad asks from somewhere behind me. I spin around to the sound of his voice and he greets me with a grin. I don’t know when he entered the room. “Sorry it’s a little hot, I’ll turn on the AC. Give it five minutes.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I like the room.” It’s almost twice as big as my bedroom in Portland, and so, despite how basic it might be, it is most definitely impossible not to like.
“You hungry?” It seems that questions are the only thing Dad is great at these days. “You’ve been traveling all afternoon; you’re probably starved half to death. What do you want?”
“I’m good,” I say. “I think I’m gonna go for a run. Stretch my legs, you know?” I don’t want to ruin my daily running schedule, and taking a quick jog seems like a good way to explore the neighborhood.
I watch the hesitation cross my dad’s aging face. For a moment or two he frowns and then sighs as though I’ve asked him to buy me pot.
“Dad,” I say firmly. I tilt my head and force out a gentle but fake laugh. “I’m sixteen; I’m allowed to go out. I just wanna look around.”
“At least take Jamie with you,” he suggests. Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up in curiosity. Or surprise. I’m not sure which. “Jamie,” Dad says, “you enjoy running, don’t you? Will you go with Eden and make sure she doesn’t get lost?”
Jamie glances over to me, offers a knowing, sympathetic smile, and then says, “Sure. I’ll get changed.” I suppose he understands the struggle of having overprotective parents that treat you like you’re five.
So, taking all of this into account, I figure that I’m off to a great start here in Santa Monica. It’s only day one and already the awkward tension between my dad and me is close to unbearable. Day one and I’m already being forced to attend a barbecue with a crowd of strangers. Day one and I’m already being escorted while going out for a simple jog.
Day one and I already regret coming here.
“Don’t go too far,” Dad says, and then leaves the room without closing my door, even after I call after him to do so.
Jamie heads over to it and places a hand on the frame, but not before asking, “You wanna go right now?”
I shrug. “If that’s okay with you.”
With a quick nod, he makes his way out of my room. He remembers to shut the door.
I would rather not waste too much time inside, especially when the air conditioning doesn’t seem to be working, so I haul my suitcase up onto the soft mattress and unzip it. I’m happy to discover that my belongings—ranging from my laptop to my favorite underwear—have all arrived safe and intact. Usually my suitcase arrives with half its contents spilling out of it because baggage handlers tend to be lousy. So I dig through my surprisingly sturdy suitcase, straight to the bottom, because my workout gear was one of the first things I packed.
As I’m prancing into my lavish bathroom to freshen up a little and get changed, my phone vibrates to kindly let me know that it’s about to die pretty soon. I remember Amelia asking me to call her when I landed. Setting down my running shorts and sports bra by the sink, I sit down on the sparkling-clean toilet seat and cross my legs. My best friend is on speed dial, so the call starts connecting in a matter of nanoseconds.
“Hello there,” Amelia answers in a goofy voice that sounds something like a cross between a cartoon character and a sports commentator.
“Hello,” I say back, mimicking her tone. I laugh but then sigh. “This place sucks. Let me come spend the summer with you.”
“I want you to! It feels super weird already.”
“As weird as meeting your new stepmom?”
“Not that weird,” Amelia says. “Is she okay? She isn’t like the creepy-ass stepmom in Cinderella, right? What about your stepbrothers? Have you been put on babysitting duty already?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. If only she knew it’s the other way around. “Actually, they’re not even kids.”
“Huh?”
“They’re, like, teenagers.”
“Teenagers?” she echoes. Before I left, I complained for two weeks straight about how terrified I was of meeting my new stepbrothers, because I have a low tolerance for children under the age of six. It turns out they’re all much older than that.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re okay. One of them is sorta shy, but he’s the youngest, so I get it. The other is a little older and I think we’ll get along. I don’t know. His name’s Jamie.”
“I thought you had three brothers,” Amelia says. “You said you had three.”
“Well, I haven’t met the third one yet,” I explain. Until this point I had forgotten that I do actually have three new stepbrothers to judge me rather than just two. “I’ll probably meet him later. I’m about to go for a run with Jamie.”
“Eden,” Amelia says, her voice stern yet gentle. “You just got there. Chill out. You look fine.”
“No.” I press my phone to my ear with my shoulder and reach down to slip off my shoes. “Have they said anything else about me?” I ask slowly, despite however much I’d rather not know. But there’s always that interest, that curiosity that eats away at you—and the inability to handle it. And I always give in.
Silence radiates across the line. “Eden, don’t think about it.”
“So that means yes,” I state, mostly to myself. It’s almost a whisper, so quiet I don’t think Amelia could have heard me. My phone vibrates once more. “Hey, look, this is about to die. I have to go to this lame barbecue tonight. If everyone sucks, I’ll text you the entire time so they know I do actually have friends.”
Amelia laughs, and I picture her rolling her eyes straight to the back of her head like she usually does. “Sure. Keep me posted.”
My phone bails on me before I even get the chance to murmur goodbye, so I toss it onto the sink counter and reach for my clothes instead. Running is great for clearing your head, and clearing my head is exactly what I want to do right now. I change into my running gear effortlessly—I do it so often I could most likely do it in my sleep—and head back downstairs to enter the kitchen for the first time. I’m greeted by black gloss counters and white gloss cabinet doors and more black gloss flooring. Everything is very, very glossy.
“Wow,” I say. I glance down at the water bottle in my hand and then to the spotless sink by the window. I’m almost terrified to use it.
“Like it?” Dad asks, and it’s only then that I realize he’s even in the room. He keeps appearing out of nowhere as though he’s following my every move.
“Was it installed yesterday or something?”
He chuckles, shakes his head at me and then walks over to flick on the faucet. “Here. Jamie’s waiting for you out front. The kid’s stretching.”
I shuffle around the island to awkwardly fill my bottle until it overflows, and then I swivel on the lid and get the hell out of there before my dad has a chance to say anything more. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive eight weeks with him.
Jamie is shuttling up and down the sidewalk when I finally head outside to meet him. He stops and grins. “Just warming up,” he says.
“Can I join you?” When he nods, I take a quick sip of my water and then step parallel to him, and we slowly jog around the lawn a couple times. And then we set off, making our way through the beautiful neighborhood at a comfortable speed.
It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve run without music as my companion, but only because I figure it would be rude to completely block Jamie out. We engage in brief conversation and the occasional “Let’s slow down,” and that’s about it. But I don’t mind. The sun is beating down on us, almost as though its rays have grown stronger over the past hour, and the streets here really are lovely, with their residents walking dogs or cycling or pushing strollers. Perhaps I will fall in love with this city after all.
“Do you hate your dad?” Jamie asks out of nowhere as we retrace our route back toward the house, and it’s so sudden that I almost trip over my own feet.
“What?” is the only response that finds its way to my lips. I collect my thoughts and settle my eyes on the sidewalk ahead of me. “It’s complicated.”
“I like him,” Jamie says, or pants. I’m surprised he’s still keeping up with me.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, but it seems kinda awkward between you and him.”
“Yeah,” I say, gnawing at my lip while I try to figure out a way to change the subject. “Hey, how cool is that house over there?”
Jamie completely ignores me. “Why is it awkward?”
“Because he sucks,” I finally answer. This is true: My dad does suck. “He sucks for walking out. He sucks for not calling. He sucks because he sucks.”
“I get it.”
Our conversation wraps up there and we jog back to the house, stretching on the lawn before heading inside to shower. Dad doesn’t forget to remind us about the barbecue in two hours’ time. Jamie and I split up and go into our own rooms.
By this point I feel sweaty and gross, so, after plugging my phone in to charge, the first thing I do is throw my body into the sparkling shower. The water feels amazing and I stay in there for thirty minutes, spending most of the time simply sitting down and basking in the steam. Showers back home were never this good.
I end up taking the remaining hour and a half to get ready. If I could, I’d turn up on the patio in sweats. But I don’t think that would go down well with Ella, so I rummage through my suitcase and pull out a pair of skinny pants and a blazer. Smart casual. That should do.
I get dressed, dry my hair, curl it into loose waves, and then apply a fresh layer of makeup. I’m just spraying some body spray when I inhale the waft of . . . well, barbecues. It must be nearing seven.
I head downstairs, following the scent into the kitchen. The two glass patio doors are slid open, and I realize the get-together is already in full swing. So, correction, it must be after seven. There’s music playing from speakers somewhere, groups of adults milling around the yard, and everything else that makes social gatherings awful. I spy Chase in the pool with some kids around his age. I also spot Dad flipping burgers on the barbecue over in the corner while attempting to carry out a dance move from the ’80s. He looks lame as hell.
“Eden!” a voice calls. When I turn around, I’m irritated to discover that it belongs to Ella. “Get out here!”
Maybe if I fake a seizure I’ll get to escape back to my room, or, better yet, home. “Sorry I’m a little late. I wasn’t checking the time.”
“No, no, you’re fine,” says Ella. She pushes her sunglasses up to the top of her head as she steps inside for a moment to pull me out onto the grass. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Well, actually I—”
“These are our neighbors from across the street,” she interrupts, nodding toward a middle-aged couple standing in front of us. “Dawn and Philip.”
“It’s great to meet you, Eden,” Dawn says. It’s clear either my dad or Ella or both of them have been informing everyone that I’m here. Philip offers me a half smile.
“You too,” I reply. I’m not sure what else there is to say. Tell me your life story? What are your plans for the future, Dawn and Philip? I smile instead.
“Our daughter should be coming by too,” Dawn continues, which immediately makes me feel unsettled. “She’ll keep you company.”
“Oh, cool,” I say. My eyes drift away from the pair. Clicking with other girls has never been one of my strong points. Girls are terrifying. And meeting new ones is even worse. “Nice to meet you,” I say with a farewell smile.
I make a quick escape from them and Ella, hoping to avoid any more awkward introductions. It works for the first forty minutes. I linger by the fence and screw my face up at the awful mainstream crap that’s echoing from the speakers at the opposite end of the yard. It’s embarrassing to even be here. At least when the food is finally cooked and everyone begins digging in, the noise of their voices helps drown out the horrendous pop music. I pick at the bun of my burger for a few minutes and then end up tossing the entire plate into the trash. And just when I think I’ve successfully avoided Ella for the night, she decides to haul me around each individual or couple or family and introduce me to them as her new stepdaughter.
“Here’s Rachael now!” she says as she’s leading me over to another batch of our neighbors.
“Rachael?” I repeat. If it’s someone I’ve been introduced to already then I don’t remember. I’ve been given so many new names to learn within the space of an hour that I’ve started blanking them all out instead.
“Dawn and Philip’s daughter,” Ella informs me. She nods over my shoulder, and before I even get the chance to turn around, she’s calling, “Rachael! Over here!”
Ugh. I take a deep breath, convince myself that she’ll be friendly and nice, and then I plaster the fakest smile I can across my face. The girl joins us and steps around me. “Oh, uh, hey,” I blurt.
Ella beams at the two of us. “Eden, this is Rachael.”
Rachael smiles too and we end up looking like a trio of serial killers. “Hey!” She shoots Ella an awkward grin.
Ella gets the memo. “I’ll leave you guys be then.” She laughs before striding off to engage in even more boring conversations with boring people.
“Parents make everything awkward,” Rachael says. I immediately like her based on this statement alone. “Have you been stuck here the whole time?”
I wish I could say no. “Unfortunately.”
Her hair is long, blond, and definitely not its natural shade. But I’ll let that slide simply because she doesn’t seem to hate me yet. “I live right across the street, and you probably don’t know anyone here, so we can hang out if you’d like. Seriously, come over whenever you want.”
I’m surprised yet grateful for the suggestion. There’s no way in hell I’m spending eight weeks stuck in the house with my dad and his new family. “Yeah, that sounds good . . .” My voice tapers off as my attention is reeled in by something out front.
I can almost see the road through the gaps in the fence by the side of the house, and I squint through. There’s music playing. More like blaring. I can hear it over the crappy music that’s already bouncing around the back yard, and as a sleek white car speeds up to the edge of the sidewalk and skids against the curb, I grimace in disgust. The music cuts off the second the engine is killed.
“What are you looking at?” Rachael asks, but I’m too busy staring to even attempt to answer.
The car door swings open roughly, and I’m surprised it doesn’t fall straight off its hinges. It’s difficult to see clearly through the fence, but a tall guy gets out and slams the door shut just as aggressively as he opened it. He hesitates for a moment, stares at the house, and then runs a hand through his hair. Whoever he is, he looks super wound up. Like he’s just lost all his life savings or his dog just died. And then he heads straight for the gate.
“Who the hell is this jackass?” I mutter to Rachael as the figure nears us.
But before either of us can say anything more, Jackass decides to hit the gate open with a fist, drawing the attention of everyone around us. It’s like he wants everyone to hate him. I figure he’s probably that one neighbor that everyone despises, and he’s only here in a fit of rage because he wasn’t invited to the lamest barbecue get-together that’s ever been hosted.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jackass comments sarcastically. And loudly too, with a smirk on his lips. His eyes flash green as emeralds. “Did I miss anything besides the slaughtering of animals?” He throws up the infamous middle finger to, from what I can see, the barbecue. “I hope you guys enjoyed the cow you just ate.” And then he laughs. He laughs as though everyone’s expressions of disgust are the most entertaining thing he’s seen all year.
“More beer?” I hear my dad call out to the silent crowd, and as they chuckle and return to their conversations, Jackass heads through the patio doors. He slams them shut so hard I can almost see the glass tremble.
I’m stunned. I have no idea what just happened or who that was or why he’s just entered the house. When I realize I’m slightly slack-jawed, I close my mouth and turn to Rachael.
She bites her lip and pushes her sunglasses down over her eyes. “I’m guessing you haven’t met your stepbrother yet.”
