Leftovers by Laura Wiess

Author:Laura Wiess [Wiess, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9781416584759
Publisher: MTV Books
Published: 2008-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Blair’s Story

Ardith’s kicked out and you’re in the bathroom, peeling off your bloody, black panty hose, while your mother waits in your bedroom. You hate her being alone in there with your stuff, so you change your tampon and put on a velour bathrobe. Throw your clothes in the hamper and pad down the hall to your room, pausing in the doorway.

Your mother is pulling the last pushpin from the “Rainbow Bridge” poem and removing the sheet of paper from the wall.

It’s out of her hands and into yours before either of you knows how it happened.

“I bought you a frame for that,” she says, watching as you skirt the bed and place the poem out of her reach on the desk.

“I like it the way it is,” you say, smoothing the paper’s edges.

Frowning, she traces the faint, pure white square that remains on the wall where the page used to hang. “I can’t believe the paint in here has darkened already. Is it this bad in the rest of the house, too, or only where you’re smoking?”

You open your mouth to deny the accusation, but shut it. Smoking is the lightweight violation, the lead-in to the list of punishable offenses, and you have a feeling you’d better save your best for what comes later.

“I’m glad you didn’t lie to me just now,” she says, perching on the edge of your bed and patting the spot beside her. “Come and sit down. We have to talk.”

You’re wise to her action. Change of venue, change of tactics. You pull out the desk chair and sink into it. “I can hear you fine from here.”

Her mouth tightens. “All right,” she says, nodding. “You’re angry at me for embarrassing you in front of that girl. I can understand that.”

You shrug. She’s wrong, but you let it slide because anything you say can and will be used against you.

“But you have to understand something, too,” she says in a voice that’s soft in the middle but hardening at the edges like old cheese. “We trusted you to act in a mature, responsible manner and you betrayed that trust. You risked not only your, but our entire future by bringing illegal drugs into the house. God only knows what could have happened.” She frowns but she isn’t really seeing you, she’s seeing a potential monkey wrench tossed into the works. Somehow you’ve become the melanoma waging sneaky, silent mutiny while she attends to the more important business of becoming a Your Honor.

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,” you say, just to end the whole thing.

“Oh, I know it won’t,” she says, picking up Wendy’s urn. The lamplight catches the prism-cut glass and shoots sharp, golden diamonds across her face. “Your father and I were wrong to allow you so much unsupervised time. We see that now.” She places the urn on the nightstand and shakes her head, as if unable to understand affording the past such a prominent and unavoidable position in the present. “We’re grounding you to all outside activities until you’ve reearned our trust.

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