Storms 01 - Family Storms

eat any more.”
    She looked at me with indifference, put it on the tray, and rolled the food wagon out of the room. I closed my eyes and sat there trying to digest the food. Eating all of that food was stupid of me, I thought, but I couldn’t change into a wasteful rich person overnight, could I? I dozed off in my chair and didn’t wake until I heard voices outside. Fortunately, I no longer felt bloated and nauseous.
    The voices grew louder, so I wheeled myself back to the window in the sitting room and looked out to see three teenage boys and four teenage girls getting ready to go into the pool. I had no idea what she looked like, but I knew one of them had to be Kiera March.
    I concentrated on the four girls. One seemed too dark-haired and short to be Jordan March’s daughter, but of course, I didn’t know what Donald March looked like yet.I thought all four of the girls were pretty, but one did stand out more, because she looked slim and tall like a model and had Jordan March’s light brown hair, which she had similarly styled. All of the girls wore two-piece bathing suits. One of the three boys was at least as tall as the tallest girl, but the other two were short and stocky. They all jumped in ahead of the girls and started to race across the pool. The girls cheered, but the shorter boys were far outclassed by the taller, more graceful boy and fell behind quickly.
    Moments later, all four girls were in the pool, too. Only one actually did any swimming. The other three bobbed and talked. I saw Mrs. Duval and Alberto arrive at the pool. Alberto carried what looked like a case of Cokes and began putting the bottles into a refrigerator in the roof-covered patio area. Mrs. Duval placed a tray of something on one of the poolside tables. No one seemed to pay any attention to them, but as soon as they left, the boys were out and at whatever was on the food tray.
    Soon I heard some music start, and then the girls were out of the pool and dancing. One of the shorter boys went over to his bag and produced what looked like a bottle of some kind of whiskey. The tallest boy went to the refrigerator and filled glasses with Coke. He brought them to a table, and the shorter boy began adding from his bottle, and soon all seven of them were drinking, dancing, and occasionally embracing and kissing. No one seemed to be especially with anyone else. All of the girls kissed all of the boys.
    I sat there mesmerized by the activity below me and wondered if anyone else in the house was watching from a window. None of the teenagers below seemed to worry orcare. They began pushing one another into the pool, and then, to my shock, the boys, while they were in the pool, took off their bathing suits, swung them over their heads, and began swimming toward the girls, who screamed and rushed to the side of the pool. This went on until all of the girls were out and laughing.
    The boys actually got out naked and put their bathing suits on in front of the girls, who, instead of being embarrassed, laughed. They all drank more, nibbled on the food, danced, and continued to tease and flirt. Finally, something drew their attention off to their right, and they quieted down. The boys went into the cabanas to change, and the girls followed. No one attempted to clean up anything. Tables were left with empty glasses and traces of what looked like half-eaten burgers, potato chips, and hot dogs. I leaned forward and struggled to see them walking off, but they were all soon out of sight.
    I hadn’t been in junior high school long enough and, of course, had never been in high school, but I had read about and seen enough of teenage romance to be curious about a group of girls and boys who didn’t seem to favor anyone. None of them seemed to be boyfriend-and-girlfriend. Was this what was meant by an orgy? Nothing graphically sexual had occurred aside from the boys’ nudity, but there was something different and strange about them. I couldn’t help but be curious. Had the teenage world changed in ways I hadn’t realized while Mama and I were living in the streets?
    I heard a knock on the door and turned to see another maid, an African American woman quite a bit younger than Mrs. Caro or Mrs. Duval.
    “You’re Sasha, right?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Rosie. Mrs. Duval sent me up to see if you needed any help going to the bathroom. I’m leaving for the day, so I gotta help you now.”
    “I don’t need any help,” I said. “I can do