My mom sighs and shoots a defeated look at Ms. Dean.
“Jasmine, you’re lucky to have someone who loves and cares about you this much,” Ms. Dean says. “Some girls don’t.”
4
My mom bursts into my room on Monday morning. “Jasmine, it’s time to get up. You cannot be late!”
My body doesn’t seem to have gotten used to the softness of this bed yet, and I groan at a slight cramp as I sit up. I’m a pro at doing lots of things with limited time. In the bathroom, I run through the routine I perfected at the center in ten minutes flat and give myself some extra time for my hair since I can finally do something with it. My mom left me a collection of velvet headbands in one of the drawers, and so I use an excessive amount of mousse to brush my hair into a neat bun and choose a mustard band to complement the embroidery on my sweater. Excited to be in a uniform that’s beautiful and fits well—two things in short supply at the center—I put on some earrings from the jewelry box, dainty and pretty like the ones Kayla always has on. There’s a necklace in there too, but I want to save it for something more special. It’s been a long time since I felt…pretty. I got used to hiding in my shapeless clothes, and in a way, it made life easier for us. Uniforms were the great equalizer; they made it hard for other girls to judge you if they were wearing the same thing.
If only they could see me now.
“Jasmine, ten minutes and we’re out of here,” my mom yells from downstairs.
I spritz on some perfume, shove my feet into a pair of white sneakers, and head down the hall. Kayla’s door is wide open, but she isn’t in there. I walk downstairs just as the front door closes.
“You missed Travis and Kayla,” my mom says, loading a pan into the dishwasher. “In this house, we try to have breakfast together in the mornings.”In this house. It wouldn’t be my mom’s house without rules. At least I know some things don’t change. I nod and she moves a plate with toast and eggs in my direction. “That’s yours. You’ve got five minutes.”
My appetite has given way to nerves and she notices I’m picking at the food. She throws me a granola bar from a bowl on the counter and says that just for today, I can eat in the car. I stuff it in my bag. I don’t think I can keep anything down right now.
School is only a few blocks away, but my mom is driving slowly enough for me to almost memorize the neighborhood’s identical-looking houses and neatly trimmed yards. This is a drastically different commute from the one at the center, if you could even call it that. The center’s school was attached to our units by a windowless hallway full of arrows pointing in opposite directions, the words To Education Building in big black letters on the right side of the wall and To Residential Units on the left. No views there.
“Does Travis drop Kayla at school?” I ask, wondering if separate drop-offs are the norm.
My mom pulls up to a huge building with wide steps, rows of big windows on either side. Kayla is running over to meet us, waving.
“She drives herself, in her car,” my mom says, rolling down my window. She parks and motions to the general area. “And she’s your ride home, so this is where you should wait for her after school.”
“Got it,” I say. I push aside any feelings about Kayla having a car. I should just be grateful I get a ride—it’s not like I can drive myself anytime soon. I get to practice driving, but I’ll only be getting my permit, which means someone will always be with me. Mom named “trust” as her major concern, and my therapist at the center suggested that my own mode of transportation probably wouldn’t help with that.
“Ready?” Kayla asks, opening the door for me to get out.
“Kayla offered to wait for you, so you don’t have to walk in alone on your first day,” Mom says.
I surprise myself when I let out a big sigh of relief. Kayla and I haven’t exactly bonded yet, but it’s way less scary than walking in by myself.
“Wow, thank you,” I say.
“You got it, sis,” Kayla says, smiling at my mom and closing the door behind me.
“Remember, a fresh start, Jasmine. A clean slate! Have a good day, girls!” my mom calls out before driving off.
I look at Kayla, half expecting her to roll her eyes the way she does almost every night at the dinner table. She isn’t smiling anymore.
“Seriously, thanks for waiting for me. I’m a little nervous,” I admit.
“Well, just don’t be embarrassing, please, I don’t need people talking about me this year,” Kayla says.
I pause, thrown off by her sudden switch in attitude. “I won’t,” I mumble, confused.
She doesn’t even look at me before she starts walking up thesteps. I glance back in the direction I came from and fight the urge to run all the way home.
Kayla pauses and turns to me. “You coming or not?” she demands. I scramble up the stairs. “Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, but I have my own friends and my own life. You do you and I’ll do me. Kay?”
I nod, the truth hitting me full in the chest. Everything Kayla has said or done in front of our parents has been an act. She’s not thrilled I’m here, encroaching on her space. She’s not thrilled about having to introduce me as her new stepsister and to lie to everyone about who I am and where I’ve been.
So much for “the sister I’d always begged for.” She certainly wasn’t begging for me.
It’s quiet in the hallway and most doors are closed. I’m trying to decipher the scribbles on the schedule the receptionist handed me when I notice colorful arrows on the walls. I follow them. Something familiar.
