Storms 01 - Family Storms

going to be for me and that I wasn’t going back to school unless she did something. Daddy agreed, and they made up a story about you.”
    “What story?”
    “You’re the daughter of one of my cousins who was killed in a car accident. My mother, who is a walking soap opera, wanted to take you in, and so you’re here. That way, no one will know you were homeless and sleeping in a carton.”
    “Why didn’t your mother ever tell me this?”
    “She waits until the last moment for anything. She’ll tell you about it tonight. We agree that it will make things easier for both of us.” She started to turn and stopped again. “But I’m not driving you to school, and don’t expect me to hang out with you there.”
    “I don’t think there’s anything I expected less,” I said.
    “Ha ha. Aren’t you hilarious,” she said, and walked off.
    I smiled.
    It was as if she had really been listening to my thoughts and had heard my fears.
    Maybe I would do well at this school.
    I sat on the dock again to watch the bugs and the birds and the ripples and the trees and all the clouds that floated softly across the blue sky like great white birds migrating to another horizon.
    Just like me.

16
Another Horizon
    M r. March wasn’t at dinner. He had a dinner meeting in San Francisco. Kiera obviously had not told her mother that she had revealed the story the Marches had created about me. When we were all seated, Mrs. March told Mrs. Duval to wait in the kitchen. She said she would let her know when to begin serving our dinner. Then she folded her hands on the table, looked down at them, and began.
    “Both Mr. March and I have decided that it would be easier for both of you, but especially for you, Sasha,” she said, raising her head to look at me, “if the other students in the school were not completely aware of your situation.”
    I looked at Kiera. She smiled and looked down.
    “Situation?”
    “What I mean to say is that it would be easier for you to assimilate if they all just assumed that you were part of our family. Which is something I am hoping you will actually become someday soon,” she quickly added. “Anyway, fornow, it would be better if you told your classmates that you were Kiera’s cousin on Donald’s side. That side is so mixed up no one would not believe it; not that many people know the details concerning his family.”
    “Don’t forget the Chinese part, Mother,” Kiera said.
    “Please, Kiera, don’t interrupt,” Mrs. March said sharply. She turned back to me. “The story Kiera is referring to is simple. One of Donald’s half brothers married a Chinese woman. You were born, and everything was fine until they were both killed in a car accident. That’s when you came to live with us. Now, tell me, where have you visited outside California?”
    “Nowhere,” I said.
    “Your story won’t pass gas, Mother,”
    Kiera sang. “Kiera. You’re not helping.”
    “All right, then,” Mrs. March said. “Where have you been in California?”
    “My father once took us to Santa Barbara, but I barely remember it.”
    “Wow, Santa Barbara,” Kiera said.
    Mrs. March glared at her. “That’s fine. That’s perfect. You’ll just say that’s where you had lived. If anyone wants more detail, you just tell him or her that it’s too sad for you to talk about it. That should work.”
    “But what about my teachers, the principal?” I asked. “Don’t they know the truth?”
    “Dr. Steiner, the principal, knows, but no one else does or will. I can assure you of that.”
    “Unless she tells them,” Kiera muttered, nodding at me.
    “Why should she do that?” Mrs. March smiled at me.
    “We just want you to succeed and be comfortable and happy at school, Sasha. Okay? you understand?”
    “Yes,” I said, and then suddenly thought,
I’m betraying Mama again, pretending she never existed.
“But I don’t like lying,” I added.
    “Oh, please. Give us a break,” Kiera said. “I can just imagine the things you told people when you were living on the street.”
    “That was different.”
    “Right. It’s always different when you do it,” she said. “I use the same excuse when I’m caught.”
    “I don’t mean it to be an excuse. You just don’t understand,” I told her.
    “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes any sense,” she replied. “Who would understand?”
    “Stop. Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Mrs. March said. “She understands, and that’s that.”