“Why can’t I trust her?”
“She’s not one of us. She wants to be part of our world but knows that she can’t. She knows you’re new so she knows she can mess with you. Make you believe shit.”
“I don’t get it. How does that benefit her?”
“Who the hell knows? Probably makes her feel powerful knowing she can make you question shit.”
“What if she’s right? What if my dad reallywashere last week?”
“Doing what? He has no reason to come here.”
“Maybe he wanted to see you and your brother.”
“If he wanted to see us, we’d go to him. Dad doesn’t like him coming to the house.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? I don’t talk to him about that shit. I barely talk to him at all.”
“Do you know when your dad’s coming here?”
“No clue. He doesn’t tell us. He just shows up.”
Shayla appears, holding a laundry basket full of clothes. “I think I got everything. I’ll have it back on Friday.” She looks at me. “Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah. You too.”
She walks off.
“I’m going to the gym,” Trystan says. “Stay out of my room.”
“Like I’d really want to go in there? I can’t even breathe with all the cologne.”
He goes upstairs while I go into my room. I head into the closet and check out the new clothes from the stylist. I like the jeans she picked out, and some of the shirts are okay, but what’s with all the dresses? I don’t wear dresses. Some are really fancy, like the kind you’d wear to a formal event.
Next, I examine what’s in the dressers. More new clothes — shorts, t-shirts, tanks. Even new pajamas.
After pulling out a pair of jean shorts and a tank, I go to the bathroom to shower. I feel gross after being on the plane all night.
Having my own bathroom is a luxury. My mom and I always shared a bathroom, and it was small, and needed updating. This one is new and modern and has a big walk-in shower and soaking tub.
After a long hot shower, I put on my new clothes and head to the kitchen. I open the massive fridge, hoping some real food magically appeared since the time I last checked.
No such luck. The fridge is still filled with stuff I’d never eat.
“There’s gotta be something in here,” I say to myself as I reach toward the back of the fridge. I pull out a plastic container and set it on the granite counter. When I open it, the smell gags me. It’s dozens of hard-boiled eggs, peeled and ready to eat.
I quickly close the lid. “Who the hell needs that many hard-boiled eggs?”
After putting them back in the fridge, I search the freezer. Nothing but raw chicken and frozen fruits and vegetables.
“What is wrong with these people?” I say, closing the freezer.
Next, I go through each cupboard, then do a search of the walk-in pantry. There isn’t a single bag of chips to be found. I can’t even find bread. But I did find peanut butter. It’s all-natural, no sugar added, but I’m desperate.
Grabbing the jar, I take it to the counter and find a spoon.
I dip the spoon in the peanut butter and take a bite.
