Page 52 of Strelitzias in Spring

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I passed out last night after responding to the ungodly amount of messages on my phone. Despite my initial annoyance with Meg, we ended up speaking for a while and confirmed plans for lunch on Tuesday in the Student Center. Though I’m not as close to Meg as I am to CeCe and Ava, I can’t deny that she’s been a good friend to me despite my distance in recent weeks.

This morning, I have a full schedule of tutoring followed by my coursework. At the end of class last week, Dr. Forester assigned us a write-up on morphological awareness, or how prefixes and suffixes can be utilized to alter the meaning or intent of a word. Unlike other assignments I’ve received in my English courses, Dr. Forester assigned us only that phrase and told us to come up with a discussion or argument around it.

I decided to focus on how morphological awareness can help increase literacy rates and vocabulary comprehension. How I’ll craft that argument, I’m not entirely sure, but I know that I’ll need to scour through multiple sources and lexicon to achieve something presentable.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t register the footsteps that follow me to the private rooms until my backpack is tugged, pulling me backward until my body hits the wall. Startled, I look up and meet the eyes of Marina.

“God, you look like you’re homeless already.”

“Shut up, Marina.” Rolling my eyes, I pull myself out of her hold and step back, placing much-needed distance between us. “What are you even doing here; you know it’s a library—where people study, right?” I draw out my words, speaking slowly as though she has difficulty comprehending it.

“Why Daddy even cares about you is anyone’s guess, you freak. I’m warning you, stay away from Jack. He’s not for you.”

I can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of me. “Stay away from Jack? Marina, are you listening to yourself right now? He’s not even interested in you, and you have no say on who I do or do not spend time with.”

“He’s not interested in meyet. You already stole Devin away from me; don’t be a homewrecker again.”

Looking to the ceiling and calling on deep-buried patience, I release a long sigh before looking into Marina’s face. “Marina, I mean this with everything in me: leave me the hell alone. I toldmydad last night—” I emphasize the possessive pronoun—“I want nothing to do with him, with you, or with your mother. I don’t need his money, my mom doesn’t need it, and I am so damn sick of you, Dylan, and my dad trying to bully me when I am anything other than the good little forgotten daughter. All of you can fuck right off, okay?”

Marina stares at me, clearly stunned over my outburst. In the past, I would take her jibes, internalize my sadness, and then remove myself from the situation. Maybe it’s the influence of CeCe and Ava, or maybe it’s me just acquiring a backbone at nineteen, but I am so done with them and their treatment of me.

“Have a nice day, asshole,” I mutter, lowering my voice now that my tirade is over, and walk past her, pushing into her shoulder so that she gets the hell away from me.

“Yeah, well. Stay away from my big, too.”

Unable to help myself, I turn my head, pausing in my steps. “Who is your big?”

“Bethany.” I can hear the self-satisfied smirk in her voice and internally groan.

“Of course she is.” Shaking my head, I walk away, disgusted and annoyed by Marina, which really isn’t anything new.

24

Serena

Seeing Marina on Sunday put everything out of alignment; she’s like a walking Mercury in retrograde, a human-sized ball of gas that just messes up everyone’s moods and feelings. I tried to put her words and presence out of my mind while I worked with my tutoring clients, but her jabs kept prodding me long after her exit.

I even went as far as cramming ear pods into my ears and blasting The Gaslight Anthem as I worked on my paper, despite typically needing silence and quiet to concentrate.

Casting her from my mind, I ordered a pottery kiln for my apartment last night, which was an extremely impulsive and messy decision. I’m looking forward to having it come this week, just to see if spinning clay in my apartment is the dumbest thing I’ve ever considered doing. There’s something about the clay oozing between my fingers as I create bowls and vases that look more like a Picasso imitation than anything usable that calms my soul.

Shaking my head, I force myself to pay attention to my surroundings as I walk across campus and toward the diner, where I’m meeting Ava and CeCe for lunch before my class with Dr. Forester.

My phone rings just as I step over the threshold of the diner, and I frown at my mom’s picture and name on the screen. My mom rarely uses her phone while working, reserving it only for emergencies and her lunch hour—if she decides to take one. If she’s calling me at one in the afternoon on a Tuesday, something is wrong. Stepping back outside, I answer the call.

“Mamá?”

“Muñeca, hi. Everything is fine,” she hurries to say as if she knows that my thoughts immediately went somewhere bad.

“Thank God. Why are you calling; aren’t you in school?”

“Yes, but I wanted to call to tell you something before I forgot and let it slip my mind.” She pauses, and I can hear the breath on her end of the phone. “I’ll be out of the house by the beginning of next month, and I packed up most of the main areas of the house and basement. I’m packing up your room at the end of the month once I get back from my conference in D.C. If you’re not too busy, can you come home to sort through your room? I’d like to donate whatever you’re not attached to since we’ll be downsizing a bit.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat, keeping as much emotion out of my voice as I possibly can. “Of course, Mom. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I’m sorry I didn’t help more.”

“No, baby. You have school and a life; I didn’t call you to make you feel bad. I just want to make sure that I don’t donate anything you need or want to hold on to. You’ll have your room in the condo, but the layout isn’t as open as the house, and I don’t want to make the space feel cluttered.”

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