Page 3 of Dirty Liars
Like me, they’re going to have to learn that this is the way life is.
“… girl ODed on her mother’s sleeping pills, oh yeah Heather, from what I heard the bitch has had a serious addiction.”
“What’s addiction?” Cassie asks, pausing as she reaches for her own toothbrush.
Shit.I slam the bathroom cabinet shut and turn heel to go.
“Uh nothing … she has a seriousadditionproblem. She loves math. Now hurry up, I’m not going to take responsibility with Ms. Martin if you make us late.”
I turn on the faucet as high as I can to try to drown out the rest of Ms. Martin’s conversation before either of the girls asks any more tough questions. I should be harder on them, I know … teach them to stand up for themselves the way I had to learn. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.
Don’t get close.I remind myself.One day, they’ll be gone too.
They aren’t my sisters. They just live with me. For now.
Ms. Martin’s conversation continues in the other room, but I try my best to block it out. The steam that’s settled on my hair and skin turns into a cool film on my body as soon as I shut the door behind me and stand in the hall.
It’s rare that I’m surprised by anything, but I’ll admit … I didn’t expect this. Perfect little Sadie White, the poor little rich girl who has everything handed to her on a silver platter. The most popular girl in school. The prom queen. The cheerleading captain. Dead. All because she took something from mommy dearest’s medicine cabinet. I didn’t see that one coming.
I brush my hair and pull it back in a wavy ponytail. Someday I’m going to find a way to end this nightmare. I’ve always got my eyes open; ready for the moment when my golden opportunity will come, and when it does, I am going to grab it with both hands and do everything I can to change my whole world.
CHAPTER2
Within a few minutesMs. Martin totters out of her room and starts clapping her hands like an overexcited seal to try and get us out the door faster. She’s wearing an old dress that might have looked hip in the ‘70’s but combined with the rest of her look … I press my fingertips to my lips and snort, trying not to laugh out loud as I glance over her hair and makeup.
I don’t say anything to her as we head out, but she starts rambling and threatening me as we drive off. All I can do is stare outside at the passing streets and promise myself that one of these days I’ll get back at her for all she’s done.
“Don’t you do anything stupid while we’re at this thing. You be on your best behavior. Do you hear me?” She swivels her head around and shoots a death glare at me in the passenger’s seat. Her eyes stay glued on me waiting for a response until I’m worried she’s going to crash the car and quickly bark out a reply.
“Yes, Ms. Martin,” I recite to her. It’s the law around her house. We all have to call her that. Always.
She turns her eyes back to the road ahead and I am already counting the city blocks going past. The longer we drive the nicer the neighborhoods become; the cement blocks and abandoned shopping carts turn into long stretches of green grass and manicured lawns, and the Rottweilers on chains to small designer poodles in dog carriers.
We’re the first car to arrive at the facility where the funeral is being held. Ms. Martin pulls straight into the first spot up front. She ignores the sign marking it for the immediate family of the deceased and switches off the car to save on gas while we wait for everyone else to arrive.
I slouch down in my seat as far as possible and wish I could just completely disappear.
“Who shows up early to a funeral?”
A couple other cars have started to pull up and park beside us, and I catch one of the people dressed in black eyeing our parking job with narrowed eyes. Ms. Martin doesn’t look at me from where’s she’s fixing her gaudy red lipstick in the car mirror. She smacks her lips a couple times, and then flicks the visor back up.
When she does, I spot a figure getting out of the car beside us and suddenly everything starts making sense. Ms. Martin sees where my eyes go, and suddenly her claws are digging into my arm. She leans down close and glares at me.
“You’re going to be nice and quiet and put on a good show or you’re going to regret it. Do you want a bruise on your other arm to match the first one? Because I can put it there if you need convincing.”
A face appears on the other side of the glass and she quickly lets go of my arm.
“Oh, fancy seeing you here!” Ms. Martin says as she cranks down the manual window on her side.
Lola Hines, the social services officer in charge of Ms. Martin’s case leans in to peer through the crack in the window.
“I didn’t expect you see youhere,” she says, her eyes flitting to the candy wrappers littering the floor and vodka bottle Ms. Martin keeps kicking back under the seat only for it to roll right back out.
“We were just sodevastatedto hear about little Sadie White …” Ms. Martin starts, her voice dripping with fake concern.
I can’t sit in here a moment longer to hear this garbage. It’s obvious the only reason we’re here in the first place is so Ms. Martin can try to impress Lola. She’s always looking for some kind of opportunity to try to convince her there’s no need for a home visit any time soon. All it ever does is makesureLola’s going to stop by very soon and one of us is going to be blamed for it.
I was already irritated with Ms. Martin for making me go to this funeral, but this is just too much. Screw her threats. Even I have my limits.
