Page 2 of Don't Puck Him

“Yes?” says a bored male voice from within the open crack. No face, no limbs, no body. Just the voice.

“Sorry to disturb you. It's, um, it's me. Wren. My mom said you would be expecting me?”

I hate how squeaky I sound.

A few beats pass before the door opens all the way. He’s dressed in black shorts and a knit vest. He holds a tennis racket and sports the most unenthusiastic look I have ever seen in my life. If I didn't know better, I would say the racket is meant to hit me with.

Two piercing green eyes size me up.

“You must be Cash,” I say brightly to the dark haired boy in front of me who looks my age. “I’m Wren. Your new step sister… Crazy, right?” I say with a shrug after a long silence.

His face darkens. A deep scowl forms, and those menacing eyes narrow almost shut. “You already said that, and Idon’thave a sister.”

I inch back a step, then two. My fight or flight response is in overdrive, and right now, flight is winning.

My eyes drop to his hand. It's strangling the racket so tightly his knuckles are white. I raise my head back to his face. It hasn't softened.

Oh, shit, Mother. What did you marry into?

Cash turns around abruptly and stalks into the house. He leaves the door open but neglects to invite me in. I stand there, confused. I wonder if I said something wrong.

This must be weird for him, too,I tell myself.

I inhale and walk in. The house is more modern than its exterior. It also has a very warm and inviting aesthetic. I find a cozy den with natural light and garden views near the front door and perch there.

Cash does not return.

* * *

Later in the evening,the smell of freshly baked pizza knocks on my nose and wakes me up. I'm still seated in an armchair. The den is now bathed in unnatural light, and it's dark outside.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and get up to investigate the smell.

Cash finds me snooping around the kitchen. I can’t seem to find any food. He picks a bunch of keys from the counter without a second glance at me.

“Hey,” I say to his retreating back.

He stops. Doesn’t turn around.

“What smells so good?”

“There was pizza,” he says.

My stomach grumbles and falls at the use of past tense.

He spins on his heel very slowly and faces me. “I threw the leftovers out. Then I took the liberty of emptying the fridge and locking the pantry. Now I’m going out. Good luck finding something to eat.”

A cold, empty smile stamps his face. Then he leaves me with my mouth ajar.

I stumble towards a barstool and plop onto it once he walks out. My head falls into my hands, and I lean my elbows on the kitchen island.

This whole situation sucks for me, too. Why does Cash have to be so angsty about it? He’s being so fucking mean, but I’m not the one who married his dad.

My ears prick at the sound of tires over the stones in the driveway. I hear car doors open and shut and indistinct voices near the house.He hasn’t been gone that long.

The front door opens and laughter rings in the house. I freeze where I’m sitting and hope they won’t enter the kitchen.

No such luck.

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