Pushing the Limits (12 page)

If Aires was here, he would know what to do.

I mean, come freaking on—was there even a question in there? If so, simple English required a question mark. Was the triangle-looking drawing below supposed to help? Did I need a
compass? And why did the answers below have numbers? There weren’t any freaking numbers in the story problem.

“Breathe, Echo,” Aires would tell me. “You’re psyching yourself out. Take a break and come back to it later.”

And he was right. Aires was always right. God, I missed him.

I tossed the ACT study book to the floor and rested my head on the back of the couch. I hated this room. Tacky pink flowered wallpaper hung on the walls to match the tedious curtains and upholstery. The moment she kicked my mother out the door, Ashley traumatized all interior designers of the world with her redecorating. She may have glued paper on the wall to wipe out my mother’s influence, but I knew what remained underneath—the mural of Greece my mother had painted.

I typically studied in Aires’ car, but Ashley had nagged at me until I lugged my books back into the house. I must have killed a lot of cows in a past life for Karma to hate me this much. Maybe I’d died two years ago and unknowingly entered hell. Doomed to spend the rest of eternity living with my father and stepmother and retaking the ACT over and over again.

“How was dance team practice today?” Ashley asked. The Wicked Witch and my father walked into the living room hand in hand. Good God, I must have died, because I’d hate to see the real thing if this wasn’t hell.

“Good.” I blinked several times. Crap—I always blinked when I lied. Worried they’d catch on, I lowered my head. Wait. Dad had attention issues and Ms. Scarecrow Brain wouldn’t notice a flying monkey if it smacked her in the face.

My father eased into his recliner and Ashley sat on his lap.
Dear God, I am so sorry for whatever I did, but honestly, was my sin that bad?
Dad kissed her hand. Swallowing bile, I turned my attention to the fireplace.

“Are you ready to take the ACT on Saturday?” my father asked.

Did chickens enjoy being put on trucks labeled KFC? “Sure.”

“You studied word lists earlier. Focus purely on math. That’s where you have problems.”

Problems? My math scores were way above average, but of course that wasn’t good enough.

Dad continued, “Did Mrs. Collins excuse you from some of your classes so you could prepare?”

“Yes.”

“I noticed fliers for the Valentine’s Day Dance in the office. Are you and Luke going?” When Ashley fished for information her irritating voice entered a higher pitch of annoying. Dogs in Oklahoma winced.

“Luke asked me today. Don’t worry. Our family’s precious reputation will stay intact. Mrs. Collins will never know that you lied to make yourself look better.”

“Echo!”

Crap. I cringed at the disappointment in my father’s voice. The automatic apology fell out of my mouth. “Sorry, Ashley.” Though it was true.

“It’s okay. When do you want to go dress shopping?”

Do what? I tore my eyes away from the fire and stared at her. My father rubbed her baby belly while she caressed his cheek. Gross. “I don’t need a new dress.”

“Yes, you do. Everything you own is either strapless or spaghetti-strapped. You can’t go to a dance with those scars showing.”

“Ashley,” my father whispered. His hand froze on her belly.

My throat swelled as if someone had rammed it with a two-by-four and my stomach cramped as if someone had whacked it. I sat up and my head swayed with the room. Disorientation
in full force, I pulled down my sleeves. “I’m going … to go … upstairs.”

Ashley slid off my father. “Echo, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want you to have a good night. A night you can look back at pictures of and remember how much fun you had.”

I brushed past her to the stairs. I needed my room. The one place Ashley’s bad decorating hadn’t completely ruined. The place where my mother’s colorful paintings hung, where pictures of me and Aires cluttered my desk, the only place I felt comfortable.

My heart ached. I wanted more than my room, but that was all I had. I wanted my mom. She may have been nuts, but she never put me down. I wanted Aires. I wanted the one person who’d loved me.

Ashley called to me from the bottom of the stairs. “Please, let me explain.”

I paused in my door frame. If she had never entered our lives, my mother and Aires would still be here, I wouldn’t be a scarred monster, and I would know love, not the hate currently boiling in my veins. “I liked you better when you were my babysitter. I hope when I graduate from high school I don’t turn into a royal witch like you.” I slammed the door behind me.

AFTER THAT LOVELY EXCHANGE with Ashley, I spent the rest of the night in my room hiding. I lay in bed and stared at the one part of my room Ashley had gotten to—my ceiling. She’d painted over my mother’s hand-painted constellations. The witch had done it while I recovered in the hospital. My mother used to lie in bed with me for hours staring at the ceiling, telling me Greek myths. Having few good memories of my mother, I despised Ashley more for stealing the one I had.

The knock on my door at 11:30 surprised me. The rule of thumb in the house required me to apologize first. Ashley probably wanted to show me in person why my current dresses wouldn’t work. No need to prolong the inevitable. “Come in.”

I bolted upright the moment my father walked in. He never came to my room. The first two buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned and his tie hung loose. Worry lines were carved around his tired eyes. He looked old. Too old to be married to a twenty-some-odd bimbo and too old to be having another baby. “She’s sorry, Echo.”

Of course he’d come on Ashley’s behalf. God forbid anything in this house not revolve around Ashley. “Okay. My apology will have to wait until morning. I’m a little beat.” We both knew what a cop-out that was. I’d be lucky if I slept for an hour.

Surprising me even more, my dad did something he hadn’t done since I came home from the hospital—he sat on my bed. “I’m going to contact your social worker. I don’t think this new therapist is working out.”

“No.” I said it too quickly and my dad caught on. “I already told you, I like her. She’s easy to talk to. Plus you said that you’d give her another try.”

“I know things between you and Ashley have been tough since you found out about our relationship, but you’ve been lashing out at her more than normal. She’s pregnant. I don’t want her under stress.”

My big toe began to rock. Would it kill him to love me? “I’ll try harder. Just let me keep seeing Mrs. Collins.” I needed to give him a reason to back off. “She’s the one that convinced me to focus on my friends and to date.” Lie.

Some of the worry lines disappeared. “I don’t think that’s her.
That’s you. I’ll leave it alone if you try harder with Ashley. She loves you. And you used to adore her.”

Yeah, when on her eighteenth birthday, she let me stay up late and eat popcorn at the age of six or when she let me wear makeup on my first day of fourth grade. Crazy thing happened—she slept with my father and then left my family drowning in a wake of destruction.

“If you really want to show me you’re trying, let her take you dress shopping. She had a whole day planned and is devastated that she upset you. Let her have fun and I’ll drop the SAT retake.”

I raised an eyebrow. My father never negotiated. “Really?”

“The next SAT date is too late for your application deadlines anyway. We’ll have to work with what you got. Your scores should be good enough to get you into some of the best business colleges in the state.”

He typically said accounting, but he must have caught me wincing whenever he said the word. “I’m happy you’re back with Luke and even happier you’re going to the Valentine’s Dance. You loved getting dressed up and going to dances. I thought maybe that part of you died.” He stared down at my sleeve-covered arms. “I have to say, you’ve really made me proud.”

No freaking kidding. I made straight A’s, did whatever he said, and he’s proud of me for going to a dance. Let’s see, if he came to my room over a Valentine’s Dance, maybe he’d do something crazy for prom, like tell me he loved me. My father patted my knee and rose from the bed.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you ever check on Mom?”

The worry lines returned. “She’s not my responsibility anymore.”

“Then is she mine? I am her only living relative.”

A muscle in his jaw jerked. “Your social worker would never allow that and neither would I.” His eyes softened, his jaw unclenched. “Are you scared she’s going to hurt you? She will never hurt you or anyone else again. Don’t worry about her.”

But I did. My mother might be crazy and she’d tried to kill me, but she was still my mom. Someone should take care of her, right?

NOAH

I’d seen my brothers. Who knew a miracle could occur? And I’d get to see them again on the second Saturday of February. This called for a celebration. I hoped Isaiah got some weed because I planned on rolling the biggest damn J any of us ever saw.

Last to return for the night, I parked my piece of crap on the street. Dale worked swing shift at the local truck plant. We didn’t know from one day to the next what hours he’d work. I’d made the mistake of parking in the driveway once. Instead of moving my car, Dale took out my driver’s-side mirror.

Lights blared from every window in the house—not a good sign. I stepped into the tiny living room and noticed towels covered in blood. “What the fuck?”

Isaiah appeared instantly by my side. “The bastard beat the shit out of her.”

“I’m fine.” Beth’s voice trembled. She sat in the kitchen with her arm extended on the table. Her aunt Shirley cleaned several cuts and cigarette burns.

Beth’s entire body shook like a seizure. The right side of her face was bruised, scraped and puffy, and her right eye swollen shut. Blood soaked her favorite T-shirt. She raised the cigarette to her mouth and sucked in a long draw. “Mom’s new fuck wears a class ring. He must have stolen it from someone.”

“Son of a bitch. Why the hell did you go home, Beth? You knew this asshole was bad news.” Three steps and I knelt beside her in the kitchen.

She took another draw as a tear fell from her left eye. “It was Mom’s birthday and the stupid bastard didn’t want to share her, so …” She shrugged.

Pure anger raged through my body, every muscle tightening, preparing to fight. “When are the police getting here?”

“They’re not,” said Shirley. She placed gauze over a burn and taped around it.

I fought for control. “And why not?”

“She’s sixteen and her mom was there. They’ll lock my sister up along with that no-good boyfriend. I don’t agree with how she lives her life, but I won’t send my sister to jail and Beth isn’t interested in it either.”

I waited for Beth to confirm the theory. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, placed another in her mouth and fumbled with the lighter. It clicked several times as she unsuccessfully struck the wheel against the flint. I took it from her and, in one smooth motion, lit the cigarette.

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

The phone rang once, twice, a third time. It stopped ringing and Beth’s cell began to play The Cure’s “Lovesong”—her mom’s ring tone. Her hand shook as she flicked ashes into the ashtray. “She keeps calling. She wants me to come back home.”

“Why?” I snarled.

“He got tired of beating me and fell asleep, passed out, whatever. Probably woke up and missed his piñata.”

I tried to rub the anger out of my neck. “Call the police, Beth.”

“And what do you think’s going to happen to you and Isaiah if she does?” Dale wandered into the kitchen, his dark hair slicked back from a recent shower. “Your social worker has been a little nosy recently, Noah. We put a phone call in to the police, they’ll figure out Beth’s been living here. We can kiss you and Isaiah goodbye.”

Beth’s voice broke. “I can’t lose you guys.” And there it was. She sat here bleeding because she loved me and Isaiah. For the millionth time, I wished the system was a person. One person I could name, know and hold responsible for screwing every single one of us. Right now, Beth’s mom’s new boyfriend would have to do.

I stood up and kissed the top of Beth’s head. “You ready, bro?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up, man.” Isaiah opened the front door, his eyes cold and deadly.

Beth’s one good eye widened. “No,” she whispered.

“I ain’t bailing you boys out,” said Dale.

“Never asked you to,” I said and walked for the door.

A car swerved coming up the street and flew into the grass of the front yard. The passenger door opened before the car stopped, and Beth’s mother hopped out. Her blond hair fell from a ponytail, eyes bloodshot, a bruise forming under her right eye. “I want my baby. I need to tell her I’m sorry.”

“Go to hell,” said Isaiah. “She ain’t your doll to play dress-up with.”

The Beamer’s headlights stayed on. A large man staggered from the driver’s side. “Shut your trap. Sky wants her slut daughter. Tell her to come out or I’m going in to get her.”

Isaiah and I stood side by side, a silent agreement that we’d kill him before he got to the front door. My brothers flashed through my mind. As much as I wanted to protect Beth, I also needed to protect them. “Leave now before I call the police.”

God damn, this guy had to be at least six and a half feet tall and he looked familiar. He stood toe to toe with Isaiah and me. The stench of alcohol rolled off of him. His eyes shifted nervously and his body flinched.

“He’s tweaking, man,” Isaiah said to me.

Fabulous. This night had shifted from the best to bad to
Saw
in record time. The man turned the ring on his finger. That was no regular ring—that was a damn Super Bowl ring. “Go ahead, call the police. Everybody loves me. I ain’t going to jail.”

“Aren’t you that asshole that got kicked off that loser team a couple hours from here?” I said, trying to keep his eyes off the house.

He blinked a couple of times, like his fucked-up mind understood for three seconds that a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker shouldn’t be picking fights with a sixteen-year-old girl and her two stoner friends.