She's holding a plate with tinfoil covering the top and sets it on our table.
“How have you been, Anita?” Mom asks politely.
“Oh, you know, same old,” Anita replies, waving a manicured hand. “What about you, Asia? You seem a little distant these days. I’ve noticed you haven't been attending my Saturday gatherings. Is everything alright?” Her voice laced with feigned concern.
Anita is a big woman with a fondness for dark lipstick and an excessive amount of blush—hot pink, always applied so heavily that her cheeks look permanently stained.
The moment I step into the room, her eyes land on me.
“Well, if it isn't Madison Sinclair. Aren't you going to say hello to your dear next-door neighbor?” she says in a taunting tone.
I press my palm against the table and force a smile. “Hello, Anita. How have you been?”
Now, here’s the thing about Anita—she has an insatiable need to pry into every detail of our lives. She never misses a chance to remind us how her children live in Canada and how terribly hard it is for them to be away from her. Personally, I suspect they're relieved to finally have some space. We’ve never gotten along well, and I doubt we ever will. Her eyes scan me up and down before she lets out a dramatic gasp.
“Oh dear! Look at how much you've shrunk! Those dark circles won't fix themselves, you know. You should really try this homemade remedy I use—it works wonders. Otherwise, those boys at school will definitely be chasing after prettier girls than you.”
She laughs, a loud, grating sound that even makes my mom shift uncomfortably.
Before Mom can steer the conversation elsewhere, Anita adds, “And you should fix your sleeping schedule, darling. Put some meat on those bones while you’re at it.”
I say nothing at first, just calmly pour myself a glass of water, down it in one go, and set the steel cup back on the counter with a sharp ting! I meet her gaze with an easy smile.
“You don’t need to worry about my weight. Some people just have a way of making me lose my appetite.”
Anita’s laughter dies in her throat, and her expression hardens into a glare.
“You've got a big mouth, young lady.”
“With all due respect, I’m pretty sure it’s not as big as yours.” I walk out and go into my room, closing the door behind me. I can hear my mom calling out my name but I refuse to make amends. Anita has always been a harsh critique and it does not help mom with her mental health. She has a lot on her plate already and doesn't need these unnecessary comments on how she and her children live their life.
“You've got a thirteen-year-old diva sitting around in the house.” I can hear Anita say about me.
“I'm fourteen!” I say loud enough to let her know.
“What's with all the commotion?” Max barges into my room bleary- eyed.
“It's her again.”
“Loud Anita?”
“Strikes again.” I tell him and fix his hair from the front.
Max’s hazel-green eyes meet mine. No one else in our family except my brother has colored eyes. He resembles Dad, but his features are softer, gentler.
“Why does she always have to come here and complain?” he mutters, leaning his back against my moving chair. He knows exactly what kind of woman Anita is. He’s just as tired of her antics as I am.
“Just another excuse to brag about her kids in Canada and how much they supposedly miss her,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Max snorts. "Yeah, I highly doubt that’s the case."
I stifle a giggle. "That makes two of us."
His expression turns serious. “I really hope she moves out of this neighbourhood soon. Mom pretends like it doesn’t bother her, but I can tell—she gets anxious every time Anita shows up.”
I pick at my cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah... it’s not good for her.”
Max suddenly bolts upright, determination flashing in his eyes. “I’m telling her to leave. Right now.”
“Hey! Wait—” I grab his arm before he can storm out and make a scene. “I get it, okay? I want her gone just as much as you do. But you know how Mom is—she wouldn’t like it if you caused a commotion. Besides, you’ll just end up getting scolded.”
He lets out a deep sigh and pouts, slumping back down in the chair and swiveling side to side.
I sit at the edge of my bed, silently praying that our house will finally be free of our uninvited guest.
Not long after, I hear my mom’s voice. “Madison.”
Oh boy. I take a deep breath and stand up. I knew I was going to get lectured. Slowly, I step out of my room. Mom is standing by the table, arms crossed.
“Why did you speak to her like that? She even brought us a fruitcake— baked it herself.”
I resist the urge to groan. “Mom, I’m tired of her coming here just to talk down to us. We don’t poke our noses into her business, so why does she get to do it to us? Also, I hate fruitcake. Who thought putting raisins in cake was a good idea? I want to sue whoever came up with that recipe.”
Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Is Max awake?"
“Yeah, he’s in my room.”
She slices the fruitcake in half and places a piece on a small plate. “Alright, then you can give this to him.”
Figures. Max actually likes fruitcake—which is strange. Considering he’s the youngest, he should be the picky one, not me.
•••
“What do you think? I have too many options and need advice,” Meghan says as we walk to school together. She’s been debating what food to sell at the carnival this Saturday, and I can tell she’s overthinking it.
“Well, you're amazing at baking. I still remember those Nutella brownies you made during our sleepover—they were delicious.” I clasp my hands together, just thinking about them makes my mouth water. Meghan tilts her head, considering. “You’re too kind, but since you loved them so much, maybe brownies are the way to go. If everyone reacts like you, they’ll sell out fast. Plus, they’re pretty simple to make—I only used, like, twelve ingredients.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “Wait. Twelve ingredients? That’s ‘simple’ to you?”
She bursts out laughing, and I just stare at her, utterly confused. “You’re serious?” I ask.
“Of course! I don’t mind putting in extra effort if it means a great outcome,” she says with a shrug. I shake my head, amused. That’s Meghan for you.
As we step onto the school grounds, we spot Cara waiting for us.
“Hey, what's up?”
“Never been better! By the way, did you see Nathan today? Gosh, he
looked so good.” Cara twirls dreamily, practically swooning. I chuckle and gesture for Meghan to head into class before me. “No, actually... My brother woke up late, and thanks to him, I wasn’t here by seven.”
Cara sighs dramatically. “Well, he just keeps getting more handsome every day. It’s almost unfair to the other boys in our class.” She links her arm with mine, grinning.
Now, most people assume we’re rivals since we both have a thing for Nathan, but honestly, it’s nothing like that. If anything, we’re more like a pair of fangirls crushing on the same celebrity—admiring from afar with no hard feelings attached. Although Nathan Brooks is a normal guy like everyone else, he has a way of turning heads.
Cara and I have been friends for about a year. She was a new transfer student in class. The first thing I noticed about her was her adorable bunny-like teeth and the way her cheeks puff up whenever she laughs.
“I envy how beautiful your long, dark hair is. Mine just keeps falling out—it's ridiculous,” she says smoothing out my hair.
Her own hair is a gorgeous shade of golden brown, which I personally find even prettier. I offer her a small smile and mouth a quick “thank you” before we head into class. I settle in with my friends, and we quickly review our preparations for the upcoming presentation and quiz.
Jasmine and Alyssa have already noted down more than half of the important questions while me and Meghan are struggling to keep up with them. I completely forgot about the history paper and now I'm writing it down thanks to Alyssa's help.
Ah, where would I be without them?
ns216.73.216.38da2
and then Add to home screen.