The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

to me, I was borne back in time by a current so strong I feared I’d never return to Guy and the new life I’d carved out for myself. That’s why I’d loved The Great Gatsby so much. When Nick tells Gatsby you can’t repeat the past, I wanted to shout along with Gatsby, why yes of course you can. The past never leaves you. It just lies in wait, sneaking into your present like an unwelcome guest at your party who refuses to leave even after everyone’s gone home. And though you try to shut it out, it shows up over and over again until you have to finally face it. Deal with it. And then erase it from your life.

When the door to the underground parking garage swished open, the sky was leaden and a shower of spring rain slapped at my windshield. But something in my gut told me that was only the beginning.

In the distance a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon.

31

The first few nights after I left Colby’s were rough. After a sleepless night huddled behind the door of an unlocked storage closet, I decided to quit the mall and head to the Capri Motel. I’d met a couple of decent kids on my way to the ice machine the night I was there after Donna’s house. Whole families lived there. Worn out single moms with bleached nests of hair who pinned up their kids’ school drawings or put special Star Wars or Disney Princess bedspreads on the beds to make those bare cubicle rooms look a little more like home. But no matter how hard they tried, they were still stuck in a grungy hotel room, buried in a mess of diaper packages, no-name cereal boxes, empty chip packets and baskets of musty laundry.

I thought they might welcome me in if I offered to babysit, but then I’d be just another mouth to feed. They didn’t need me, a sullen fifteen-year-old, if their skinny, uncomplaining nine-year-old was perfectly capable of feeding the baby and looking after her toddler twin sisters.

I ended up moving from room to room. A night here and a night there on someone’s floor or couch – if I was lucky. I’d look for the next party, hand out a few free beers and soon I was everyone’s welcome guest. Sometimes I even scored a spare blanket to lie on. I spent the day at school, the evening at the library or the mall, then went back to the motel to sleep and shower.

Just about every night was party night. Starting around ten and going on till dawn. It was tough to get a decent sleep, but I managed a few hours once everyone was so hammered they passed out or someone called the cops. At those times I hid in the closet or bathroom because I was a runaway and I didn’t want them to take me back to my own social worker.

My mornings were precious. At six when everyone was still comatose, I took a quiet shower and slipped outside to sit on the wooden bench seat by the drained pool, a cup of coffee steaming in one hand and a book in the other. I imagined the world had stopped just to let me enjoy a silent hour of reflection before school. Unlike the other kids who came up with every excuse in the book to get out of going to class, I cherished my time there. I had a single purpose – to watch my marks climb upwards. It was my only chance of an escape from the dead-end life I was living.

Colby transferred out of all my classes. When I passed him in the hallway, I pulled my hoodie over my face. I was sure he knew about the baseball cards, but he didn’t say anything. I figured he owed me a favor and selling them had given me enough money to buy food and favors for at least a few months. Beyond that I had no plan.

I soon found out which motel rooms housed the prostitutes and junkies and avoided them in favor of the rookie party animals. Everything was working out until Birdie showed up again with Loni in tow and ruined things.

At the time I was staying with three girls who’d been caught shoplifting and were ordered by the court to attend school, but instead they spent their days painting their nails, dying their hair and calling up guys to join a party that never seemed to end.

We’d just finished the extra-large pepperoni pizza I’d bought when the door flew open and Birdie burst in followed by Loni. I barely recognized them. Birdie had transformed into a painted doll, her sleek, blonde hair expertly cut into long, choppy layers. She sashayed into the room like a model in her white crop top and matching skinny designer jeans. Loni followed close behind, a deep mahogany loop of hair hanging over one eye and the rest cut short and spiky. With her black spandex tights and pierced eyebrow she resembled a villain from a superhero movie.

I huddled deeper into my hoodie, to hide from their scrutiny.

“Get the hot wax out,” shrieked Loni. “Your sister’s got a unibrow.”

“Don’t tease her,” said Birdie, standing over me. “Ain’t her fault she got no money and no style.”

“What do you want?” I mumbled, clutching my book. I was re-reading The Great Gatsby.

Birdie tapped her foot and tried not to look me in the eye. “You never went back to Lester’s place then?”

“You guys almost killed him. What am I gonna say? Sorry, Lester. They didn’t mean to smash your face in.”

“Oh but I did mean every bit of it,” said Birdie, her hands curling into fists. “I wanted to make that dickhead suffer.”

Loni loomed up behind her. “Damn right. Some foster parent. Couldn’t keep his miserable little prick in his pants.”

“Okay, so what do you want?”

Birdie placed her hands on her hips and posed like a model, turning