"Are you on drugs?" she asks bluntly.
"No." I shake my head.
"Are you sick?" she demands next.
"Is there something wrong with my work?" I ask instead.
"No, but you look like hell."
"I’m not sleeping well." It helps when the truth fits.
Helena scrutinizes me as if trying to ferret out what I’m hiding, or if I’m lying. I meet her stare head-on, unflinchingly. The wrinkles in her brown skin are more severe when she’s suspicious.
"My nephew’s birthday party is being held at the rec center tonight. You’re coming."
Before I can even think to protest, she turns on her heel and heads to the kitchen she’ll clean next.
"I’ll pick you up at seven," she says over her shoulder.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in Magic Maids, it’s to never argue with Helena. Despite the nearly obsessive draw, I have to wait in the corner of my room, watching my bed. I recognize it’s wearing on me. Slowly but surely, I’m disappearing into that dark realm where hope and paranoia consume me whole.
What could one night out hurt?
Feliz Aniversário
10 Years Old
Mark’s screams must be able to reach hell. Someone stole the heart of the deer he hunted over the weekend. Trying to pretend I don’t notice my newest foster parent lose his shit, I focus on my math homework. I love fifth grade, or at least, I love the things I’m learning. Not so much my teacher or the other students.
Eventually Mark ends up spitting in my face, asking if I did it. Did I steal organs from the fridge?
Resisting the urge to recoil, knowing that could be misinterpreted as guilt, I look him in the eye and ask, "Why would I want a gross deer heart?" The words come out dead-even, and I hope I’m convincing.
What are the odds he’d figure out the truth?
That this morning I found a small bloody trail leading to under my bed. I’d already guessed that Shadow helped himself to a midnight snack. There’s no other reason for a monster under a bed to take a deer heart.
Thankfully, Mark buys my line and storms off to yell at his wife, Dana. After thirty more minutes of outraged screams that give me a headache, he slams out of the house, claiming he needs a drink, off to his favorite dive bar.
It’s only minutes before Dana slips into my bedroom. She’s painfully thin to look at, but Mark keeps telling her she’s getting fat, so she continues to gnaw at celery and carrot sticks. Bony hands pluck at each other. She wears a pretty floral dress that almost covers up the ugliness underneath. The ugliness Mark put in her heart. It fears and frets. It roils with insecurity. She’d be so pretty if she was able to cut it out of her.
I’ve only been here a couple of months, but sometimes I think of killing Mark, wondering if that would set Dana free. Or maybe I selfishly just want to silence his dumb mouth.
"He’ll be better after a beer or two," Dana reassures me, before sitting down on the twin bed next to my desk.
Here, I’m the only kid, and I even have my own room. Even with spittle flying from Mark’s mouth, this place is the best landing spot I’ve had.
"Are you happy here, Evie?" Dana asks, hands still nervously fluttering.
Pasting on a smile I know will barely chip at the edges of her insecurity, I say, "Yes. I love my room."
I don’t mention that I wish they would both stop coming into it.
"Oh good, good," she murmurs as she pats at her styled blonde hair. It’s the consistency of straw and has a tendency to fall out in chunks. "I know Mark can seem harsh, but he truly is a sweetheart. He’s just stressed out."
Even at ten, I know his stress is unreasonable to take out on me or Dana. Where I’ve developed a thick skin over the years, Dana’s might as well be made of tissue. It hurts, watching her try to soothe his irrational moods.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I won’t be here forever. I plan to appreciate the bedroom, and not having to "get along" with any other kids.
