Storms 01 - Family Storms

nightmare.

24
Rules
    M r. March was at dinner that night. This time, Kiera made sure she was there, as well. She didn’t come to my room when she returned from the mall. I thought she was still upset about my deciding not to go with her and the others after school, but when she came down to dinner moments after I had arrived and taken my seat at the table, she smiled at me and apologized for not coming to my suite to fetch me.
    “I wanted to be sure you got some of that homework done,” she said. Then she looked at her father and added, “They give students in the ninth grade more work than they give us seniors. I remember.” She turned to her mother. “You remember, Mother. I was complaining about it when I was in ninth grade, and they told you it was the transition grade from junior high to high school.”
    Mrs. March nodded but said nothing. Her eyes betrayed her deep suspicion of Kiera’s sudden sweet talk. No one said anything while Mrs. Duval and Rosie began serving.
    Then Mr. March clasped his hands and began what was obviously his and Mrs. March’s compromise. “I’m pleased to see you including Sasha in some of your activities with your friends, Kiera, but you have to remember that for now, along with being younger than you, Sasha is a different sort of responsibility for us. We are acting as her foster parents, and therefore it doesn’t begin and end with us.
    “Naturally,” he continued, looking at me, “we don’t want her to feel strange or different. We want her to feel she’s part of our family. However, we have to supervise her activities more closely. We need to maintain more control, follow more rules. So, before you decide to go anywhere with her, you must get either your mother’s or my permission. We want her curfew maintained. For now, we don’t think it’s appropriate for her to be out later than eleven.”
    “Even on weekends?” Kiera cried.
    “Even on weekends,” her father said.
    She shook her head, glanced at me, and looked down.
    “The second we hear of any misbehavior, and you know by now what I mean by misbehavior, around her or including her, everything changes for both of you, understand?”
    Kiera said nothing. She did glance at her mother, with what I thought was a look of such disgust and rage that it would surely have turned my heart into stone if I were Mrs. March.
    “Now,” he said, sounding softer, “if you’re going straight to school in the morning and if you return straight home after school on the days you’re not attending therapy, Sasha may ride with you. It would free up Grover and the limousine for your mother’s use and mine at times.”
    Kiera started to smile.
    “But if I hear of any bad driving, speeding, or anything of the like, I will take away your driving privileges, and of course, we’ll forbid Sasha to go anywhere with you.”
    “We have to come right home all the time? Sometimes we like to get a snack or something, Daddy.”
    “If there is any change, call your mother and get her permission first,” he said, relenting.
    Kiera looked satisfied but wasn’t. She was an expert when it came to manipulating her father.
    “May I just say, Daddy, that it’s very difficult for us to go to a movie or a house party or anything, for that matter, and have to be back by eleven on weekends. Half the time, the movie doesn’t let out until nearly eleven, just like it did the other night. It’s not good to have that sort of pressure on someone. I’ll end up driving too fast just to make the curfew. Either I do that or not include Sasha in things.”
    “Eleven is late enough for a girl in the ninth grade,” Mrs. March said.
    “Not in today’s world,” Kiera countered.
    “Let’s leave it between eleven and twelve,” her father said. “Call it the pumpkin factor.”
    “Pumpkin factor?” Kiera asked.
    “Cinderella,” I said.
    Mr. March smiled. “That’s right, Sasha. Remember? At twelve, her carriage turned into a pumpkin.”
    “Which one of us is Cinderella?” Kiera asked impishly.
    I thought she was also looking for some clear expression of affection from her father, but before he could respond,her mother did. “I hardly think it’s you, Kiera,” she said. “You already live in a castle.”
    “You’re right, Mother,” Kiera said. She turned to me. “Then maybe Sasha will get her prince after all.”
    Her father laughed, but her mother didn’t. She heard something I heard, too. It sounded more like a threat than a