Page 18 of Tell Me When It's Over

It’s stifling hot in the dining room, but I think it’s just me that’s sweating through my clothes. Mom told me to dress up because this dinner is important, but none of my clothes are nice enough for a home like this. The room is huge, the table even bigger, and everyone is spread out and tense. It’s uncomfortable.

Mom says I need to get used to dressing up. I’m not sure what nice clothes she expects me to don on our weekly dinners at the Bishop household, something that they agreed upon until we all got to know each other better. The nicest items I own are what I’m currently wearing—black tights that have a run in them and an olive-green button dress. My shoes are cheaply made ballet flats that are bound to give out any day because I’ve had them for a long time now. I think I found them used at a thrift store.

The chair at the opposite end of the table—polished maple according to Mr. Bishop—is void of the fourth body that’s supposed to be sitting in it. The placemat has an empty plate with silverware placed on both sides.

Trying not to notice the blatant absence of Kyler, or his words from yesterday that echo in my head, I stare at the two different forks and spoons lined neatly in front of me. Confusion sweeps over me until I remember a movie I watched once that explained each piece had a purpose. What were they though? The silverware at our old apartment were cheap finds from Walmart, and most of them were bent, or slightly rusted, from all the use. They certainly weren’t a set.

Mia softly clears her throat when soup is placed in a small bowl in front of me. When I glance up, she’s tapping one of the bigger spoons before shooting me a wink. Grateful, I pick it up and watch as she dips it into the soup.

Harry Bishop, who I think has a few more grays since the first time I saw him only days ago, sighs loudly for what seems like the tenth time in the fifteen minutes we’ve been sitting here. “We might as well start. It’s clear Kyler couldn’t follow simple orders to be back in time.”

Pathetic. As much as I try not thinking about the words, they ring in my head over and over. Am I pathetic? He must think so since he’s not here to give me a shot.

Nibbling my lip, I stare down at the creamy green liquid and pick out a piece of broccoli. My nose scrunches. I hate broccoli, but I don’t want anyone to be offended if I don’t touch it. So, hastily, I begin eating with the rest of them.

“So,” Harry turns his attention to me. My spine straightens, trying to mimic the straight posture of him and Mia. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

Mia giggles and looks between us. “She’s probably a student, Daddy. She’s only twelve.”

A noise rises in his throat. “Of course.” He shifts and studies me a moment, making me slightly uneasy. “I suppose you’re transferring here then. What grade are you in?”

Mom and I haven’t discussed transferring schools, but I should have known that’s what would happen. If Harry really wants to get to know me, then will this last longer than the summer? I have friends at my old school. People who understand me in ways I’m not sure any of these people can.

“I-I just finished sixth grade.” Licking my lips, I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in seventh…sir.”

Mia laughs and shakes her head. I blush, not knowing what to call him. Dad seems too strange, and Harry seems safe but too familiar.

I sip more of my soup for a distraction as he says, “My children went to Saint Michael’s Academy. It’s well known for its reputation.”

My lips press together at his carefully chosen words, and I wonder if he meant to clarify that his children and I are not in the same category. Right now, I feel more like the ugly stepsister than his biological daughter. Hurt shouldn’t lace through my chest because he refers to Kyler and Mia as his own, but it does. We haven’t known each other long at all, so I shouldn’t be upset that he acts like I’m not his. If I were in his shoes, I probably wouldn’t warm up to the fact either.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

Mom dabs her lips with the cloth that has a fancy B stitched into the material. Gone are the dollar store napkins, I guess. “We haven’t had the time to talk about it, Harry. It’s been quite an adjustment trying to find a place to settle in.”

My eyes dart to her, frowning. She hasn’t looked at any places here, so I assumed it was a sure thing we’d be leaving. When I asked when we were going home, she’d never said, only laughed, and told me to let her handle it. I’m not sure what it is she’s handling, but it gives me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Mia clears her throat. “Saint Michael’s is a nice place, Leighton. Do you enjoy school?”

My throat feels dry. “I guess so.”

She smiles. It’s a nice smile. White. Straight. Bright. It’s strange sitting here in front of her when I know the lyrics to her songs. Not all of them, but some, and I’ve sang along when I’ve been alone. The weird thing is, she isn’t as mean as people make her out to be. There’s nothing about her that makes me scared or intimidated. In fact, she’s been the nicest person to me since I showed up. “Kyler and I made a lot of friends there. People we still talk to. You could find that too.”

I offer her a timid smile in return. “That sounds…nice.” It does, but it’s not my old school or friends. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say so, so I opt to stare down at my barely touched soup.

Mom laughs, rubbing my arm like she used to during thunderstorms when I was little and crawled into her bed. “Leighton is being humble. She loves school, don’t you? In fact, she was the top of her class last year. Her teachers all told me they’d be surprised if she wasn’t valedictorian one day.”

My cheeks heat when they all turn to me with raised brows. Mia’s face is light. “Really? That’s impressive.”

Harry huffs clearly not as impressed as his oldest daughter. “Saint Michael’s has students who are academically gifted. It’s a competitive school.”

I sink into my seat over his indication that I wouldn’t be considered impressive or gifted if I go there. Not in that crowd. The school sounds like the kind of challenging atmosphere that the guidance counselor back home told me I needed. Mrs. Petrel said that my academics could allow me to graduate early, but the school wasn’t hard enough. She even called Mom and told her as much, but Mom shut her down saying we couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.

Guess she changed her mind.

“My Leighton would beat all of them,” she insists despite Harry’s doubt. “She’s always been too smart for her own good. Isn’t that right, darling?”

I’m not even sure what that means, so I don’t say anything.

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