Author: Cheryl McIntyre

As soon as he comes home and lays eyes on Annie in her pajama pants, studying on the couch, I know he’s going to start shit. In a preemptive attempt to keep the peace, I try to distract him by being nice.

“Hey, Pauly, how’s it going, man?”

“Don’t call me Pauly.” He looks from Annie to me, as he lifts his hand to toss his keys on the table that isn’t there. It’s going to take some getting used to.

“Where’s the table?”

“Yeah, uh, it broke.”

“Did you let the RA know?”

Did I also mention that Pauly likes rules? In fact, he likes rules so much, he follows them. All of them. Even the stupid ones. Whereas I don’t give a shit about rules, per se.

It must be hell for Pauly to room with me.

“I’m right on top of that, chief.” I salute him with two fingers and Annie makes a garbled noise beside me, regaining Pauly’s attention. I’m not sure, but I think she may have laughed. Or tried not to. Either way, it doesn’t matter because now he’s not only reminded of her presence, but pissed she was laughing (or trying not to laugh) at his expense.

Well, I tried to keep peace—poorly, I’ll admit—but I did try.

“It’s after midnight,” he announces. “Your friend can’t stay.”

“Who?” I ask. “Her?” I point at Annie. “She ain’t my friend.” I see Annie squirm out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know if it’s because I claim she’s not my friend or if it’s from my use of “ain’t.”

Pauly looks at Guy expectantly. “What? She’s not my friend, either,” he says.

“I have no idea why you guys are both such assholes to me,” Annie states.

“Technically,” Guy begins, “you’re not my friend. You’re my step-sister.”

I laugh and Annie kicks my leg. “Just because I’m your step-sister—”

“Evil step-sister.”

She glares at me before continuing. “Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“I think it’s more that you’re a bitch than the whole step-siblings thing,” I say with a grin.

Pauly’s head swings back and forth, trying to follow our dumbass conversation.

“Maybe I wouldn’t need to be such a bitch if you were nicer to me,” Annie states slowly.

“Maybe we’d be nicer to you if you weren’t such a bitch,” I retort. “Break the cycle, Annie.”

“I want to break your neck right now, Chase.”

“You couldn’t break an insect’s neck.”

“What’s happening?” Pauly asks.

“I could break an insect’s neck and shove it up your ass.”

“You want to shove things up my ass?” I wiggle my brows. “I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

“There’s plenty you don’t know about me,” Annie says coolly.

“Thank God for small favors,” I reply.

“Speaking of small favors…” Her eyes flick down to my pants, then back up to my face.

And then I lose because I laugh. But it’s not a total loss since Pauly gave up and retreated to our room at the first mention of the word kinky.

“You’re lucky I’m such a nice guy or I’d show you just how un-small my favor is.”

“Nice, my ass,” Annie snorts.

“What about your nice ass?”

“You’re getting on my nerves,” Guy sighs. “I’m going to bed.”

“He means you,” I whisper, wiggling my finger in front of her face. She smacks my hand away. I flip my wrist, showing her my middle finger.

“It’s your finger, you fuck it.”

“I’m not that hard up.”

She smirks as her eyes rake over me. “Your impotence issues are no concern of mine.” She gets up, trailing after Guy and my eyes follow, hypnotized by the swing of her hips.

Damn.

Not only did Annie get the last word, but she bested me on insults. Sans water boarding, I’d never willingly say this aloud, but I actually like Annie’s bitchy attitude. When I get her angry, that’s when she’s the most fun.

5

The Descent

Annie

Something most people don’t know about me is I have a mild form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Self-diagnosed.

Everything has a place. Organization is key. If you can’t keep your belongings in order, then how can you manage your life? Seriously think about that for a moment. Chaos breeds chaos.

There is a wrong way to do a task, and then there’s a right way—my way. And it bothers me when people don’t perform a task in the way I would. Bother may not be the correct word, either. It’s like watching someone purposely walk into a burning building for absolutely no reason. My heart races and I get slightly panicky. I want to stop them. Help them. Save them. And when they ignore my offered corrective criticism, it gets worse. In which case it usually ends with me acting in such a way that I get called a bitch.

I try not to think too hard about this as I make the bed. I had the worst time sleeping last night. It may have been the fact I was in Park’s bed, and not that I’m judging, but the boy has turned into a man-whore since school started. Or maybe my sleepless night had more to do with sleeping across from my snoring step-brother. Either way, I stepped off the cranky side of my borrowed bed this morning.

Picking up my bag, I slip out the door, careful not to wake Guy. I got up early partially because I couldn’t sleep anyway, but mostly so I could get into the shared bathroom before the other guys in the dorm room wake up. Showering while some random guy relieves himself in the urinal across the room is something I’m not real comfortable with. And yes, I could go back to my own dorm and take a shower there, but I never let people see me without my hair and make-up being done.

I set my playlist and hop into the shower. It’s the same set of songs I listen to every morning. I chose them purposely for the fast paced beat and easy-to-sing-along-to lyrics.

I have a playlist full of inspirational songs that I work out to. And one that’s specifically for when I take the next step in a relationship. A good make-out playlist is a must.

I’ve just rinsed the shampoo from my hair when my music abruptly stops mid-song. I’m habitual when it comes to charging my electronics—you never know when there might be a power outage—so I’m almost positive it had a full battery.

“How can you listen to this shit?” Chase asks, his unexpected voice startling me.

“Oh, my God. Get out,” I call as I automatically attempt to cover as much of myself as possible with only a loofah and my hands. I may be hidden behind a thick shower curtain, but I’m not taking any chances. I mean it’s a shower curtain, not a locked door.

“Hold on,” he replies with a sigh. “I’m putting on some good tunes for you.”

“I want the music I had on.” What the hell? Why is he messing with my routine? I have a process. There are certain cleansing and moisturizing procedures I perform for the lengths of certain songs. He’s completely throwing me off. How will I know how long I have my conditioner in my hair without Party in the U.S.A. playing?

“Your music is crap. I can hear it through the wall and it’s making me want to insert sharp objects into my eardrums.” The screech of a guitar fills the room as music begins to play. “This is Bob Mould. Listen. Learn.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else and then I hear the door open and close.

I peek around the shower curtain, my eyes trailing through the empty room. Um…okay… I glance over at the counter where my iPod was sitting. In its place is Chase’s.

He totally just stole my iPod.

~*~

Even though I was furious with Chase, I had to take the time to put my make-up on and dry and straighten my hair. By the time I’m completely ready, most of my previous anger has faded. It helped that I actually kind of liked the music he had playing on his iPod.

Okay, I liked it a lot.

I knock on his door, preparing my argument in my head. There’s no answer, so I knock again. When I’m greeted once again with silence, I open the door slowly, peering inside.

Chase is sound asleep, his arm flung over his eyes. I pause, trying to decide what I want to do. I should go jump on him and demand my iPod back, but he looks so…

I’ll come back later. It’s not like he’s going to keep it. I have his as collateral.

I go back to my own dorm, but I just drop my stuff off and head over to the library because, by the dark-haired guy lying in Gretchen’s bed, I’m guessing things went well for her. I hate that I envy her. I’ll never understand how things come so easy to the people that seem to never try.

I say a quick hello to Lynn, the librarian, and settle into my usual table. I like this one because it’s close to the exits in case there’s an emergency, and the windows, so the lighting is good. But it’s still far enough from both that I’m not easily distracted.

I always sit facing the doors. I like to be aware of my surroundings. It’s good to know who is coming and going.

Ella Hamilton’s a few tables away with a large cup of coffee and several books. I smile as I recall what I told her about Chase, which she takes as an invitation to come talk to me.

Great.

“Hey,” she says as she pulls out the chair across from me. “Are you going to that pool thing?”

“What pool thing?”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and leans forward. “That party thing the swim team’s having on Friday.”

I vaguely recall Chase mentioning that. He’s not on the swim team because that would require commitment and responsibility on his part, but he likes to swim. Somehow he managed to become buddies with the entire team. I even heard a rumor they tried to talk him into joining. And true to form, he blew it off.

I shrug. “I might stop by.”

Really I have no intentions of going. Pool parties mean swimming suits. I work my ass off to maintain my 115 pounds, which is exactly the recommended weight for my height, age, and activity level. I’m in great shape. But years of cheerleading have rewarded me with zero hips and my chest is still a lot smaller than it should be. I barely fill a B cup. I feel like a boy when I stand next to other girls in swimsuits.

“It should be fun. I love pool parties.” Ella grins and I stifle an eye roll.

Of course she loves pool parties. I’m sure Ella adores any excuse to put on a bikini and flaunt her hourglass figure in front of all the half naked boys. To girls like Ella, a swim party is like a boy smorgasbord. She can just walk up and down poolside and point her finger at whatever she wants. And get it.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Me too.”

She smiles again before returning to her table. I’ve gotten so good at lying it’s scary. People are so eager to believe you when you’re agreeing with them. This is how I made it through high school. I just followed what everybody else was saying and doing. Joined in on the gossip. Wore the right clothes. Connected myself to the right groups.

It was easy.

It was also incredibly lonely. Because at the end of the day, I didn’t have any real friends. I disliked everybody that I hung out with. Except for Guy and his friends. But we were from different social circles. And my circle didn’t associate with his. So neither did I. Not really.

After my Uncle Donnie died in a car accident with Hope’s mom, my family started fostering Hope. When she came to live with us, everything changed. Again. She was this quiet drummer girl with ridiculously dyed hair and crazy clothes. She had a bad attitude and got bad grades. But everybody loved her.

She did everything in her power to hide herself. Make herself unappealing. But it was like, the more she tried to hide, the more people began to notice her. I was doing everything I could at that age to stand out, to be noticed by somebody. Anybody.