Give Me Hell, Page 2

  I ignore the command. My time is better spent cutting the hair off my Barbie. It’s not that I don’t like her long, voluminous locks. She’s just too pretty. She needs an edge. A rocker edge. Which is why I drew tattoos down the left side of her arm and changed her name to Bon Jovi.

  I wonder if we have any hair dye?

  “Mackenzie Valentine! I asked you to chop those onions a half hour ago!”

  The sound of heeled shoes clicking their way up the stairs reaches my ears. “Jared said he’d do it!” I lie quickly.

  “No. I asked you.”

  My mother’s firm voice is close now, and I turn my head. She’s standing in my bedroom doorway, her arms folded and lips pinched so tight a screwdriver couldn’t pry them loose.

  “Why?” I growl. “Because I have a vagina?”

  “Eww,” Jared complains, choosing that moment to exit his bedroom, which sits opposite mine. He gives his floppy brown hair a flick, the style a lame version of Nick Carter a la Backstreet Boys. “Girl germs.”

  “Ugh!” I roll my eyes. “Find a more original insult, assface!”

  Mum’s intake of air is sharp and competes with the sound of my older brother’s laughter. “Mackenzie!”

  “Arrghh!” I launch Bon Jovi at Jared’s head, and her booted foot catches him in the eye. A girlish shriek escapes his lips before they press in a thin line. He picks Bon Jovi up off the floor and shoves her down the front of his pants.

  My stomach rebels when I realise where my poor doll now lies. I dry heave. “Mum!”

  “Onions.” She jabs her finger in the direction of the kitchen downstairs. “Now. And, Jared, please remove Mackenzie’s doll from your pants.”

  I concede the battle but not the war. Tomorrow is a new day after all. I stomp down the stairs, passing by my other two brothers, Travis and Mitch, both of whom sit at the kitchen table doing homework. Mitch is the eldest at sixteen. With dark hair, tanned skin, and green eyes, he thinks himself God’s gift. Trouble is so do the girls in his class, which reinforces his warped belief. Travis, with his blond hair and green eyes, is next at fifteen. Fortunately, he spends most of his time go-karting so he bothers me the least. Then there’s Jared at thirteen. With brown hair and green eyes, this brother is the most evil of the three; my days are spent planning counterattacks and shoring up my defences against him. I’m the youngest at the sweet, tender age of eleven, but I’m also the only girl and in this house that makes me Ruler of the Kingdom.

  “Do-gooders,” I mutter under my breath as I pass by the dining table.

  In the next second I’m flying through the air like a missile. I crash into the sideboard, rattling Mum’s treasured china display.

  “Mackenzie!” Mum whips out, turning. “What is wrong with you?”

  I rise to my feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in my right hip. Mitch’s smirk damns him as the culprit. Fool. Oh dear eldest brother of mine, will you ever learn? Poker face is a weapon in this house, and you are yet to perfect it.

  “I tripped over the leg of the chair.” I smooth my hair, tucking long blonde strands behind my ears. I feel Mitch’s eyes burn into my back, waiting for the fallout as I follow Mum into the kitchen.

  Soon, I promise silently and pick up an onion from the chopping board. “Mum, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” I say, slicing the ends off the vegetable.

  “Mmm?” she murmurs distractedly, her back turned as she takes a tin of chopped tomatoes from the cupboard above.

  “I saw Mitch kissing a girl by the school gate this afternoon.” A total lie but Mum’s attention latches onto the comment like a suction cup, her brow furrowing into deep grooves. “Does that mean she’s his girlfriend? Are they having …” I lower my voice to a whisper and widen my eyes “… sex?”

  Mum sucks in a sharp breath, horror darkening the emerald green of her eyes. It’s all I can do to hold in the burst of laughter as I peel the outer layer from the onion. I accidently take off three thick layers leaving half behind, but I begin to chop regardless.

  “Of course not,” she tells me and presses her lips in tight, white line.

  “Because they’re not married?”

  “That’s exactly right,” she confirms, her eyes shifting to my eldest brother with a spark of determination.

  Payback is a bitch, Mitch, I murmur silently, chuckling at my own rhyme as I go back to chopping, finishing when they’re diced to Mum’s specifications. As I’m leaving the kitchen, she doesn’t just call in Mitch … she calls in all my brothers. I hover for a few moments outside the door, eavesdropping as she makes a start on the birds and the bees speech for yet another year. Then I disappear up the stairs, happy.

  Fifteen minutes later my brothers regroup in Jared’s room and begin plotting my demise. I know because I’m hiding out in his wardrobe in the dark. It stinks in here like sweaty socks and old apples. I sigh silently, my ear to the door as I listen to their pathetic plan.

  It’s just another day in the Valentine household. Taking each other down is a long-standing tradition in our family. But while we stand against each other inside these four walls, outside of them we stand united. Our motto? Never mess with a Valentine.

  “Kids, I’ve been called in on a case,” Mum yells up the stairs. “Mitch, can you take over dinner for me?”

  That means it will just be the four of us for dinner. Mum is a social worker and Dad works as a Chief Inspector for the Sydney City Police and he’s on shift.

  A quick peek through the crack in the wardrobe door shows my brothers putting their payback on ice as they leave the room. When I’m sure they’re gone, I break free, gasping for fresh air. I spend the time before dinner hiding out in my room. When Mitch calls out for me to come down and eat, I flounce to the table in my brand-new dress. It’s blood red—my favourite colour—with a stretchy bodice and tulle skirt. Tulle for god’s sake. I bloody love it. The skirt is a bit short, but I can’t help the fact Mum got the sizing mixed up. Nothing is stopping me from wearing this dress, not even a mundane Thursday night dinner at home.

  Mitch glares at it when I pull out the chair next to Travis. “You can’t wear that dress. Ever.”

  “Wrong, Stitch. I already am,” I reply as I take a seat, using my nickname for him. Not only is it brilliant because it rhymes with Mitch, but it’s named after Stitch, the extra-terrestrial genetic experiment—or abomination—out of Lilo and Stitch. Considering he’s hideously handsome, the nickname helps bring his ego back down into the real world.

  Travis glares at my dress too. Ever the diplomat, he at least likes to provide a reason before giving an order. “It’s too short.”

  “No it’s not.” I pick up my knife and fork. “You can’t see my vagina.”

  The subject of my girl parts never fail to make them back off. They don’t like the reminder that I have one or that they have to defend it against future intruders. In any event, I utilize the topic sparingly. I can’t have them becoming immune to its properties.

  Jared, however, already appears immune. He, too, aims a glare at my dress. “Change.”

  My eyes drop to my plate. I rally for a moment and muster a tear. It spills out, plopping onto the overcooked pile of spaghetti. After taking a deep, shaky breath, I look up from beneath lowered lashes, my gaze encompassing my brothers.

  “It was fr-fr-from Granny Mary,” I stammer. Recently deceased, Granny Mary was Dad’s mum’s Aunt and a national treasure. Always a warm cookie to share and dollar bills slipped kindly into our moneyboxes. I bought my very first pair of ankle boots with that money.

  Travis caves first, his eyes softening into green pools of regret. “Sorry, Mac.” He takes my hand from where it rests on the table, clutching a fork. He gives it a quick squeeze before letting go. “You can wear it.”

  I blink away tears. “Thanks, Trav.”

  “Wait a minute.” Jared’s eyes narrow to slits. He half stands from his chair, eyes taking in my dress like a crime scene investigator. “That dress isn’t f
rom Granny Mary. Mum picked it up on sale at the markets last Sunday!”

  Mitch’s indrawn breath is so sharp he starts to choke on it.

  Jared points at me. “Liar!” he cries.

  An all-out war commences, going too far when Jared tosses his plate of food at my dress and shouts, “Well, let’s just see you try wearing it now!”

  “You ruined my dress!” I screech, glancing down at the spaghetti oozing into my beloved tulle. I look back up, murder in my eyes and knife in my hand. “Prepare to die!”

  Mum interrupts my blood-curdling war cry. “What on earth is going on here?”

  We all turn in unison toward the dining room entryway. Our mother is dressed in her caseworker outfit; blue and soothing, the material is soft but hardy enough to bear all manner of tears and tantrums. Her no-nonsense blonde bob hangs in a pretty sweep to her shoulders and her mouth is wide open. Such is my rage, I don’t notice the boy standing by her side.

  She looks to Mitch first because he’s the eldest and therefore responsible for the situation. “Mitch?”

  “It was Mac.” His chin juts out, angered over my Granny Mary lie. Out of all of us, he’d been the closest to our dearly departed relative. Not to mention he hates when I lie. Mitch has high expectations when it comes to me. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m the only girl? He’s the most protective of all my brothers. He’s always the first one to bitch me out, but he’s also the first to wade in if I’ve been done an injustice. Any hint of perceived bullying toward me will put you on his shit list for life. My eldest brother nurses a grudge like one would nurse a baby. “She started it with that stupid dress,” he adds with a narrow-eyed glare in my direction.

  Stupid dress? Stupid dress? “I hate you,” I hiss at him, low enough for Mum not to hear. I’m over being told by my entire family what I can and can’t do. “I hate all of you.”

  I straighten my shoulders and stand from the table. Storming from the room, I brush past the boy by my mother’s side, not noticing the smear of spaghetti sauce I leave down the left side of his shirt in my haste.

  Real tears burn my eyes as I stomp up the stairs to my room, my stomach growling. I had spent my time at the dinner table defending my dress rather than getting to eat a single bite.

  I peel the so-called offensive outfit over my head. It sends sauce oozing over my face and into my hair. I drop it to the floor and move to my dresser. Clad in just a pair of panties and wrapping a towel around my torso, I’m intent on my next plan of attack when a tap comes at my bedroom door.

  “Your mum said you’d help me find a clean shirt?”

  A squeak escapes me at the unfamiliar male voice, and I spin around, my hands grasping at the towel to secure it tightly. It’s the boy. He’s plucking the damp, soiled shirt away from his side. He appears no older than twelve, and he’s tanned like he spends most of his time outdoors. His hair is a light golden brown. It hangs in his eyes, leaving me unsure of their colour.

  “Who are you?” I ask, my tone snappish because his concept of privacy is a complete joke.

  “Jake,” he replies and steps inside my room as if my question is an invitation. “Jake Romero.”

  “Get out of my room, Jake Romero.”

  His brows soar at my rudeness. It can’t be helped. I’m hungry. “My brother’s room is across the hall. He’ll have a shirt in there to fit you,” I force myself to say in a more polite tone.

  “Right.” With a roll of his eyes, Jake leaves and I think of him no longer.

  Instead, I go and have a quick shower. Once I’m freshly washed and smelling of soap, I prepare to face off with my mother. She’s in the kitchen, sighing heavily as she scrubs at the bottom of a burnt pan.

  “How did you go, sweetheart? Did you find a clean shirt …” Her voice trails off as she turns. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “Who’s Jake Romero?”

  “He’s—”

  “None of your business, that’s who.”

  I turn, taking in Boy Wonder himself. He’s now outfitted in a clean tee shirt. “Touchy, Romero. Shall I tell my mother how you were in my room while I was getting changed?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”

  Mum lets out another sigh, this one heavier than the last, and I know she heard him. The last time she sighed this hard was when Granny Mary died. “Jake, honey, there’s a plate of food for you on the dining table. You need to eat something.”

  Honey? Honey? He’s the one invading my room and she smothers him with endearments?

  “I appreciate it, Mrs. Valentine…” a sweeping gaze of contempt passes over me “…but I’m not hungry.”

  Boy Wonder’s smile is forced. I know because it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re deep brown with flecks of gold that I imagine would flicker with life at the right opportunity. Instead, they’re flat and empty.

  “Well, I am,” I announce, shaking off the weird feeling I get from staring into his eyes.

  Putting together a new plate of food, I set it opposite the table setting laid out for Jake in the freshly cleaned dining room. I’m shovelling in a fork load of spaghetti when he takes a seat, having surrendered to my mother’s bullying tactics.

  Jake picks up his fork and shifts the spaghetti around on his plate, ignoring me.

  “Where do you go to school?” I ask, still feeling unsettled as I finish chewing.

  “Banks Public,” he says to his food.

  “That’s high school.”

  “Wow. You’re smart.”

  I ignore the jibe. It’s nothing compared to what my brothers dish out. My skin is Teflon after years of smartass remarks. “How old are you?”

  “I just turned twelve.” Jake finally looks at me, his head lifting slow as if it weighs a tonne. “You?”

  “I’ll be eleven soon. I’m having a pool party,” I boast because surely that makes me cooler than cool. I have a brand-new swimsuit to wear too. “Do you want to come?”

  His eyes drop back to his plate. “No.”

  “Fine,” I reply, my hackles rising at his cool, disinterested tone. I don’t know why I asked him anyway—a complete stranger. Looking at him is giving me weird jitters. I pick my plate up and stand from the table. “You wouldn’t fit in anyway. It’s for cool, fun people and you’re a bit of an ass, aren’t you?”

  “Mackenzie Valentine!” I cringe at my mother’s tone. “Upstairs now. I’d like a word.”

  I set my plate back down and follow her up the stairs and into my room. “I cannot believe you,” she starts off then places fingers to her temples. “Actually, I can.” My mother drops her arms and begins picking up my dirty clothes off the floor. “You’re a rude, selfish little bully. I know your brothers goad you into trouble, but you need to be bigger than that. You need to find that sweet girl I know is inside you somewhere and bring her out. Jake is staying with us for a few weeks, and I want him to feel welcome.” Mum sweeps from the room but not without one last parting shot. “After tonight’s entire fiasco, I’m cancelling your birthday party.”

  I die a little bit inside. “Nooooooo! Mum—”

  She gives me the hand. “Not another word, Mackenzie. After you apologise to Jake, you can make up the trundle bed in Jared’s room for him to sleep on.”

  After stomping down the stairs, I offer Boy Wonder a stilted apology. He’s still seated at the table, his plate of food uneaten and shoulders slumped. My heart gives a twinge, but I fight not to care. He ruined my birthday. It’s a wonder I don’t follow it up with a punch to his face.

  Later that night I’m in bed asleep when an odd thumping noise wakes me. A curse follows. I scoot back on my bed, on immediate alert. My eyes scan the darkened room, focusing on a moving shadow. My heart pounds a furious beat. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” comes the quick reply.

  Boy Wonder. Of course. I glance at the clock. Two a.m. glares back in digital red. “What are you doing in my room?”

>   “I wanted to say sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “About your party.”

  “And you had to say it now?”

  There’s silence for a long moment. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So what?” I brush a mountain of long blonde hair from my face. “If you can’t sleep, then stuff anyone else who’s trying to?”

  “God. You’re like a damn cactus. I’m trying to apologise here.”

  “Well, you can shove it,” I hiss, furious all over again. Mum is always bringing home random strays. Granted, the majority have been babies or toddlers so someone of Jake’s age is something new, but I don’t like it. I don’t like him. He’s managed to ruin my life in the space of one night. “I don’t care about you or about your stupid apology because it doesn’t fix anything.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Jake’s tone is so flat my stomach squeezes into knots. “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he says and bumps his way from my room, closing the door behind him.

  I’m left feeling disquieted. He’s made me angry for myself, but there’s a sad kind of emptiness in him that tugs at my heartstrings. The ache of it is strong enough to keep me awake for another hour before I eventually find sleep again.

  But when I wake, I don’t see Jake in the morning like he said. He’s gone and the ache that eased through the night begins to throb anew.

  Around noon I chase Jared down in the living area to question him. “Didn’t Mum tell you?” My brother pauses his game of Mario Kart and looks up. “The state turned up this morning and took him.”

  “Why?”

  “He was only here because his father had a brain anyadoodlewhatsit.”

  “Anyadoodle what?”

  He frowns at me like I’m stupid. “Aneurysm.”

  “Oh my god.” My legs wobble and I sink down on the sofa. “Is his father okay?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think his brain works right anymore. I heard they’re going to admit him into some kind of care facility when he leaves the hospital.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Why would anyone tell you? It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, if it’s none of my business, how do you know?”