Page 3 of The Other Half

My dad is the CFO of Poplar Textile Factory. He’s always been brilliant when it comes to numbers and dollar signs, but it was never his dream to become a businessman. He was a running back in college before he tore his ACL. He often voices his anger and regret about not being able to go further with his career in football, and I wonder if that’s part of the reason he’s so unhappy all the time.

Even though my parents both have good jobs most of our money comes from their rental properties. There are a lot of people who travel here to see the mountains, so short term rentals bring in a lot of income. Sometimes I think they only keep their jobs so they don’t have to be around each other as often.

He and my mom haven’t been happy together for a long time. Oh sure, they act like a perfect couple when we’re at the country club, but at home they can hardly be in the same room without yelling at each other. Sometimes I can’t help but feel angry towards Mom, there’s no rational reason for her to stay with him, other than money and image. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a slight urge to rebel against their lifestyle of luxury cars and designer clothes; because I know that no amount of money can make a house feel like home if the people inside it aren’t really happy.

I scurry out of the kitchen and up the stairs, luckily avoiding any more interrogation from my father. He’s obviously three sheets to the wind, I think he forgot I was standing there halfway through our conversation.

“How was your first day, darling?” Mom asks as I walk by her on the way to my bedroom. Her long, chestnut hair hangs over her shoulders in perfect waves. People tell us we look alike, but I don’t see it. I inherited her green eyes, but I have my dad’s mousy-blonde hair.

Sometimes people mistake her for being my sister instead of my mom. She’s had so much work done that she can easily pass for being in her late twenties, rather than her early forties. Her face and body probably cost at least $10,000.

“Fine,” I reply

She examines my outfit, scrunching up her nose at the sight of it, “We still need to go shopping together. There’s a new Lilly Pulitzer store that opened about an hour from here, you would like it. They have lots of colorful clothes.” She smiles warmly. I know she means well, but the way she goes about it is insulting.

I glance down at the designer pantsuit she’s wearing. It’s so boring to me, plain black and white. Even though she works from home she still wakes up at 5:30 AM every morning, attends an early yoga class, curls her hair, and then gets dressed up in something like that.

“You know that’s not really my style, Mom. I like going to the thrift store.”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you realize most people shop at those stores because it’s their only option? Why not buy something new when we can afford it?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, knowing I’ll never be able to explain it to her in a way that she’ll understand. “We can go check out that Lilly place if you want to, I guess.”

She claps her hands, “Good! You’ll like it, I promise.” She leans towards me, “And don’t worry about your dad, he’s just in a mood today,” she whispers, shaking her head casually and rolling her eyes almost like it’s humorous. I don’t see anything funny about the situation, though.

“When isn’t he?” I deadpan. I study her face and arms for signs of bruising, but I don’t see any, and my heart fills with relief. Even though my mom irritates me, I’d never want her to endure any physical pain. I just wish she’d do something to change the situation.

“He’ll be fine.” She waves her hand at me flippantly, like I’m the one that’s crazy. “We’re going to the beach house in a couple of weeks, that always puts him in a better mood, you know.” She winks at me conspiratorially.

“I’m going to do some homework,” I say as I head towards my room, ignoring her attempt at making light of my Dad’s abuse towards her.

I pull my books and notes from my backpack and splay them across my bed. My grades were struggling when I was at St. Francis, it’s an extremely competitive school with rigorous academics. I was worried that if my grades kept going the way they were it could affect my chances of getting into college. I don’t anticipate having nearly as much trouble keeping up at my new school, but I know I still need to study hard and take my classes seriously.

I have to get into college. I have to get away from this house. I focus on that mantra over and over as I thumb through all of the papers I was given today.

Chapter 4

Oakley

The first week of school has been mostly uneventful so far. I’ve made an effort to tone down my outfits a bit so that I won’t stick out like a sore thumb around here. I just want to get through senior year, graduate, and get out of Poplar Valley for good. I really don’t want to draw any attention. I’d like to make some friends, but so far that hasn’t happened.

At my old school nearly everyone was “friends’’ with everyone, only because it was such a small school. Most of our parents were friends, too, so it didn’t look good to exclude someone. But none of them were really my friends. It was just as cliquey as any other high school, the only difference was that they pretended to be nice in front of adults and teachers. They all talked about me behind my back, many times when I was still within earshot of them. I’ve been called weird, ugly, and a prude more times than I can count.

That’s how the girls were at least, the boys were a different story. Unless they wanted to sleep with you, they treated girls like absolute dirt, and typically after they got done sleeping with one they’d treat her like dirt, too. They didn’t even pretend to be nice. So of course I was considered a prude, I had no desire to be another notch in any of their belts.

I walk into my second period class. The teacher has written on the white board: Find a partner for today’s activity! I look around at the other students that are coupled up and chatting away, it looks like they’ve all found a partner already. Perfect.

As the bell begins to ring, the boy who usually sits next to me strolls into the room, one headphone in his ear and the other swinging from his neck. He looks up at the board after settling into his chair next to mine.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. He glances around the room and his eyes land on me, “Guess we’re partners, huh?” He shrugs. He doesn’t look especially excited about it.

Even with his cold expression, I’m momentarily stunned by how handsome he is. I didn’t get a great look at his face the last time we spoke, partially because I was so nervous and distracted on the first day of school. He has the sharp jawline of a man, not a boy, and bright blue eyes the color of the summer sky, outlined by dark lashes that are longer than my own. Minus the tattered clothing, he could pass for one of those male models you see in cologne ads.

“Uh…I guess so, yeah.” I smile anxiously.

“What’s your name?”

“Oakley,” I answered hesitantly. “What’s yours?”

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