Page 60 of Getting It Twisted
“Where’s Daniel at?”
Her smile doesn’t budge. “He’s still at work. You’re welcome to wait inside if you’d like.”
“No, thanks.” The words come out on their own. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because April gives off the same vibe I used to get from my English teacher. They both strive to make me feel comfortable in their company—comfortable enough to make me spill my inner thoughts.
In third grade, Miss Allister sat me down in her office. Her eyes looked so warm and so patient that I almost told her everything. Only the thought of the beating I’d get if my mom ever found out kept me from it.
No one would beat me now, but the apprehension remains.
April grabs my wrist, her hand cool and soft. “Come on. I’ve got a pot of tea brewing.”
I grimace but allow her to pull me inside. So what if she wants to ask me questions? I can simply refuse to answer, or do what I do best: lie.
April smiles at everything I say, laughs at my jokes, and feeds me copious amounts of snacks. This isn’t so bad. It’s pretty fun actually. I’d rather hang out with Daniel though. The clock on the kitchen wall is approaching four, yet he still hasn’t arrived.
“I get it now,” April says in between giggles. “I get why Daniel likes you so much.” She sends me a thoughtful look. “He’s changed since you arrived, you know.”
“Changed how?”
“For one, he’s smiling more. He used to spend hours alone in his room, drawing or brooding or whatnot. When he wasn’t hanging out with his girlfriends, that is.”
“Oh yeah? How many girlfriends are we talking?”
“You’re not jealous, are you?” she teases.
Jealousisn’t the right word, but the thought of Daniel with someone else . . . Well, I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“You shouldn’t be,” April says. “Daniel never cared about any of them like he cares about you.”
“How do you know?” I keep my voice casual, but inside I’m aching for the answer.
“Well, he never argued for any ofthemto move in with us.”
“He didn’t have to do that,” I mutter. “I’m fine where I am.”
“He’s probably just worried about you.”
“What’s there to worry about?”
April grows quiet for a moment and leans her cheek in her hand. “That house you live in, did you grow up there?” She says it lightly, as if she doesn’t care for the answer either way, but I know better: This is all just a ruse to get my guard down. And it’s working.
“Yeah. With my mom.”
“Have you talked with someone about it?”
“About what?”
“About your mother.”
I frown and lean back in the chair, away from her inquiring gaze. “Why would I do that?”
“She passed away. For most people, that’s complicated stuff, too complicated to sort through on your own.”
“I’m not on my own.”I have Daniel.
“There are people you can talk to, you know.”
“What, you mean a shrink?” I scoff. “They’ll just push a bunch of pills on me. Been there, done that.” When I was eight, the doctors wanted to put me on ADHD meds for my supposed attention disorder, but the pills made me even more sleepless than I already was and laced my anxiety with fits of anger I couldn’t control. Besides, they were far too expensive for my mother to pay for.