I awoke with a loud knock on my door. In the stress of last night I completely forgot to set an alarm.
“Get up, girls! Lydia’s mother will be here in 30 minutes and I don’t want you to keep her waiting,” my mother said from behind the door.
Groggy as I was, I agreed that provoking Mrs. Norman any more was a bad, bad idea. I got up, made sure Lydia was mentally prepared, and opened the door. My own mother’s eyes scanned my body for a moment before coming back to my eyes. I saw worry, and then resolve.
“Well, if you really have to be this way then so be it. Your father is still in the kitchen getting ready, but I told him to pay attention to himself this morning.”
I groaned. I didn’t want to have to deal with him, and I’m sure Lydia felt that twice as strongly. But it was a small trial compared to what today would bring.
We left the room and all of my clothing was still in the plastic bags I left it in, though now they were pushed into one corner. I once again held Lydia’s hand as we crept down the stairs, regretting that choice for a second as it meant I only had one hand to cover myself with. Sure enough, my father was in the kitchen, and I cringed and had to keep myself from running on the spot.
“Morning, girls,” my father said, almost too casually for the circumstances. He checked us out for an almost imperceptible moment before returning his attention to his toast.
“Yeah, morning,” I said. I felt Lydia’s hand shaking slightly and squeezed it harder.
“I just have to finish this toast and then I’ll be out of your hair. Running a little late today,” he said.
Well, it could be worse. I told Lydia to go sit down at the table so she could try to stop shaking. Any attempt at modesty now gone, I decided not to wait for my father to leave and started gathering things for our breakfast. We both made bowls of cereal and the food was a good enough distraction.
Father having now left, we decided what to do for the next 20 minutes. It turns out that not having to pick out clothes dramatically speeds up your morning routine.
“Hey, at least Mateo will enjoy seeing you today.” I was in weirdly high spirits. Maybe it just hadn’t set in yet.
“Don’t joke about that,” Lydia pouted.
“Okay, sorry. I just figured humor might make it easier.”
“I’m more worried about Olivia,” she said, looking away.
Our school wasn’t large, but it had at least one bully, and its name was Olivia. She used to joke that her parents called her that when they saw her perfect, olive-hued skin (yes, she seriously said that). Insufferable, but more importantly she was mean. She was always number two to a more popular girl, and I figured that was why she always attacked people she saw as beneath her.
“Well, don’t worry about her too much. We’re in this together, remember?” I said.
Her spirits did lift a bit, and we finished getting ready without voicing too many other worries. Now sitting on the couch, we anxiously awaited Mrs. Norman’s arrival. Any time now.
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