Page 193 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I give her a thumbs-up. Academics was never an issue for me. Both my parents were smart, and I’m like them squared, so…

I point at the silver chafing dish. “Can I?” I stand, and drag my plate over the table. “You know, while you lay down the law.”

Marigold’s mouth tightens. “Rule two. You will be at school on time every morning. You will be home by latest five in the afternoon, unless you have extra-curricular activities.”

“That all one rule, or are we doing like rule two point one, two point two…?”

When I lift the dish’s lid, heavenly steam hits me in the face. I begin heaping greasy things onto my plate, listening to Marigold’s droning with half an ear.

“Rule three. Your homework will always be completed in time. I don’t own a television, so there will be no excuse.”

I’m gonna make me a sandwich of epic proportions. Two slices of toast—nay, three!—and as many layers of fried egg, bacon, and onion as I can pile on top without it collapsing under its own weight.

“…will be in bed and asleep by nine o’clock?—”

“So no one’s told you about my insomnia?” I turn, piled plate held between me and Marigold like a shield.

Her eyes flicker to the plate and back to me as if I’ve somehow managed to offend her with my appetite.

“Insomnia?” Marigold says, voice hushed with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I say, biting into a crispy piece of bacon. “It’s this condition where you can’t go to sleep?—”

Marigold’s fist connects with the table, rattling everything on it.

I pause mid-chew and widen my eyes at her.

Holy hell. I didn’t think my grandma had a line, but I’ve obviously just gone and crossed it.

“Do noteverspeak to me with your mouth full of food.” She stands in a rush, spots of color touching her cheeks. “Did your mother not teach you any manners?”

Bacon turns into a nauseating ball of oily gunk inside my mouth. I bring the plate closer, spit out the half-chewed pork, and slowly set my plate down.

“If you’ll excuse me, Marigold, I’ve inexplicably lost my appetite.”

I turn on my heel, feeling her daggerlike eyes piercing the back of my head.

“You think I wanted this?” comes her yell.

I freeze on the spot, my body suddenly stiff with anger. “You?” I grate, turning on rusty legs. “Youdidn’t want this?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, and for a moment—one brief moment—sympathy flashes over her face.

“You think I wanted to lose her, you fucking hag?” I scream. “You think I wanted to be stuck here with you in this stupid town? No friends, no family,nothing?” My voice bounces back to me, but I’m a wild horse that’s got the bit in between its teeth; nothing’s stopping me now.

“I hate being here. I hate this town. I hate you!” My chest rises and falls like when I got back from my run last night.

Marigold’s face is the same color as her beige carpets.

I expect her to punish me for speaking to her like that. Maybe going straight to the phone and calling me a cab.

Instead, she comes around the table, eyes narrowing the closer she gets.

“Well,” she murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear. “Lucky for us, we only have to bear with each other until you graduate.” She lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a littlesqueeze. Her lips turn up into a fake smile. “Then you’re on your own, young lady.”

Briar

A dull headache forces me out of sleep. I stare at my bedroom’s intricately molded ceiling, and shift my feet into the cool corners of my silk sheets as I try to ignore my morning wood.

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