Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (32 page)

I
watched as Mark cowered, almost slumping down against the lockers behind him in
an attempt to get away from his father. The usual look of malice upon Mark’s
face was gone. The new look was one I could relate to: sheer terror. Mark
appeared to be as afraid of his father as I was of Mark.

His
dad stared at him hard, almost as if waiting for an answer to an unasked
question. I saw Mark’s mouth move, but no words came out at first. Then finally
the utterance of “I’m sorry, sir” reached both Mr. Moses’ ears and mine. It
sounded weak and feeble, much like Mark looked.

Mr.
Moses seemed unaffected by his son’s fear and sneered and mocked him. “I’m
sorry, sir,” he hissed. “If you were so damn sorry, you’d stop getting in
trouble, you piece of trash,” he growled before he gave Mark a rough shove,
which caused him to bang his head against the locker behind him and utter a low
“ow” as his dad said, “Find your own way home.”

Both
Mark and I watched as he stormed off. I was too shocked, trying to register
what I’d just witnessed, to even move. Apparently, Mark recovered before I did
because his head snapped in my direction and his dark eyes fell on me. He stood
up, no longer scared and shameful as he marched over to me. I made to move
backward, but he was upon me before I really had a chance to get away. He
pushed me back against the locker and hunched over until his eyes met mine.

“Bet
you thought that was funny, didn’t you, you little snoop?” he demanded.

“No,”
I said, shaking my head. I knew I probably looked and sounded just as weak as
Mark had. “Not at all.”

“Yeah,
right,” he glared.

“No,
I mean it,” I said, adamantly. It seemed as if my most important goal in that
moment was to convince Mark that I didn’t find what I’d just witnessed funny in
the least. “Things like that aren’t funny. Watching someone be hurt or talked
down to by someone—especially an adult—is terrible. Being scared of someone is
the worst feeling.”

Mark
stared down at me before he rolled his eyes. “You just make sure you don’t tell
anyone about this.”

“I
won’t,” I said. “I swear. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good,”
he said, nodding curtly as he backed away and gave me a little room to breathe.
I didn’t dare move from my spot in front of the locker, though.

Mark
didn’t move either. I didn’t know what it meant, and it made me nervous. When I
was nervous, I did one of two things; either I’d clam up and go mute or I’d
start rambling. For whatever reason, I chose to ramble.

“I’m
not used to yelling,” I began. “My parents don’t yell very much. They get mad,
but they usually just ground us—I mean, my brother, sister and me—when we get
in trouble. I don’t think I’d know what to do if they were like your . . . I
mean, like that,” I said, stumbling to find the right words as I stared at the floor,
not daring to meet Mark’s eyes.

“One
time my dad shoved my brother against the wall and yelled at him,” I babbled,
“and that was because he called my sister a slut. Then one time when Luke came
home drunk, my dad slammed his hand down on the table while he was yelling at
him. I thought he was going to break it or something. It was scary because I’d
never seen him so mad, but I don’t think he’d ever hit us.”

When
I finally looked up, Mark was staring at me with a look I could only decipher
as puzzlement upon his face. I could just imagine what he was thinking. It was
probably something along the lines of “Why is she still talking?”

Everyone
seemed to get that look when I started rambling. Well, everyone besides Tegan.
Actually, come to think of it, Jackson hadn’t looked at me that way either. He
seemed more amused than annoyed, but I was learning things weren’t always what
they seemed. Jackson probably thought I was just as weird as everyone else did.

“Guess
you just got lucky, didn’t you?” Mark finally said, breaking the uncomfortable
silence.

“Yeah,
I guess I did,” I nodded. Then as an afterthought, I added, “But parents can be
not so great without ever laying a hand on you too.”

Mark
didn’t look convinced. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“They
can ignore you and treat you like your thoughts and opinions aren’t worth
listening to let alone thinking about,” I stated. “They can compare you to your
siblings and make you feel like you’re not good enough because you aren’t
pretty or popular or good at sports. They can pretend like they hear you, but
they don’t know anything about you . . .” By the time I finished speaking, I
was staring at my feet.

It
wasn’t until I actually said the words out loud that I realized that these were
feelings I often felt. I usually tried not to acknowledge them and pretend as
if it didn’t bother me. Now that I’d actually voiced them it was as if those
feelings finally became real instead of just a fleeting thought.

Part
of me hated myself for thinking that way because, as much as they might have
ignored me or lacked interest in my life, I knew my parents would never hurt me
or say terrible things like Mark’s dad had.

I
had no reason to throw myself a pity party and expected Mark to put me in my
place for even making any sort of comparison between our situations with our
parents, but there was a long pause. Finally, I looked up, expecting Mark to be
glaring at me, but there was no glare. The look that was there, though, was
unreadable; almost as if something in his mind had gone blank and wiped all
expression from his face.

Finally
he said, “I guess we can’t have it all, can we?” He didn’t wait for me to
answer. Instead, he shrugged. “Just remember, this conversation? It never
happened.”

Then
he turned and stalked off, leaving me rooted in place; staring after him, I
couldn’t help but ask myself, “What the heck just happened here?”

Spending
Thanksgiving with Mom’s loud and cheerful family seemed to be just the thing I
needed after the long week I’d had. The Sawyers were a large bunch. Mom was the
middle of five children with two brothers and two sisters, one of each on
either side of her in age. They were all married—some more times than
others—with kids, making it a full house with plenty of people to hang out with
throughout the day.

Whenever
we celebrated Thanksgiving with Mom’s side of the family, I always considered
it comparable to Christmas without the presents. The food was always
amazing—though it could have only tasted that way after eating Mom’s
cooking—and everyone was friendly and joked around, having a good time.
Usually, we’d break out the board games or, in more recent years, the gaming
consoles for hours of friendly competition.

My
aunts, uncles and cousins liked to dance around the house, singing along with
the music my grandparents always played. It was mostly oldies songs, but I knew
every word. It was like an unspoken requirement, and once someone started
singing, it was hard not to join in. 

While
I loved Dad’s side of the family, they were often less carefree, lacking in any
prominent sense of humor or creativity. I often wondered how two people, like
Mom and Dad, who came from such diverse families could end up married.
Sometimes I thought perhaps Mom’s personality had faded over the years since she’d
been with Dad. While the rest of Mom’s family was loud and talkative, she was
often quiet and reserved.

There
was a lot of catching up to be done. I kept getting the requisite line, “I
can’t get over how much you’ve grown up, Cecilia.”

I’d
heard it often enough in the past, but for once it really felt sincere. It was
a nice feeling knowing they’d taken note of the differences in my appearance.
Of course, it was probably easier for them to see the changes because we didn’t
see each other everyday.

Of
course, Grandma and Grandpa Sawyer kept hugging me, like they did with all of
my cousins, every time we crossed paths. I thought my grandparents were easily
the cutest old couple ever. They usually sat beside each other, holding hands
and whispering things in each other’s ear. Even in their older years, it was
obvious they were still very much in love. They showed more affection for each
other in the few hours I saw them during holidays than I’d witnessed between my
parents my entire life.

It
made me feel sad for Mom and Dad because sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder
if they still loved each other like they used to, or if they had ever been in
as much love as my grandparents. Lately, it seemed like they were merely
tolerating each other.

Along
with catching up on the latest goings on, much of the conversation revolved
around Mom’s new job. Grandma Sawyer had retired from teaching over a decade
ago, but Aunt Minya—Mom’s older sister—was also a teacher. Minya and Grandma
were both loud and outspoken. I could picture them as teachers, spending time
with their students and having a lot of fun doing it. It made me wonder what
Mom was like in a classroom setting because I couldn’t imagine my mostly meek
mother as a teacher.

Dad
usually gravitated more toward conversation with Uncle Kingston. He was Mom’s
older brother and the oldest of all the kids. He was an accountant, and while I
didn’t necessarily consider him stuffy, he was definitely more reserved,
probably the sibling most like Mom, so I could see why Dad would like him best.

Uncle
Hagen was Mom’s younger brother and had six kids from three marriages. For
whatever reason, his marital issues and pack of kids, combined with his past
drinking problems, made him Dad’s least favorite of Mom’s siblings. I thought
he was a funny guy, though, but I always felt tense and ready for a fight to
break out when he and Dad were in the same room. 

I
always suspected Dad would rather be at home, reading the newspaper away from
all of the “unnecessary noise” that came along with a visit with Mom’s family.

Aside
from Grandma and Grandpa Sawyer, Aunt Bryley, Mom’s youngest and newly pregnant
sister, was my favorite family member. She and her husband, Shane, were barely
older than my oldest cousin, and they were tons of fun to be around. Their son,
Macon, was my youngest cousin at two. He was absolutely adorable, and I had a
blast playing with him throughout the afternoon. The new baby was supposed to
be a girl, and I couldn’t wait to meet her.

Back
when Bryley and Shane were just dating in college, she’d let me stay with her
for a few weeks during the summer. We spent afternoons at the park, having
picnics or swimming at the water park. Shane even took me fishing and taught me
how to bait my line. I even managed to impress him by not freaking out when I
had to touch the worms. Every time I saw them, they told me I should come back
and stay with them again. I really wanted to, but it just never seemed to
happen.

When
it started to get dark outside, everyone started to disband. I always hated
saying goodbye to my family because I didn’t see them nearly as much as I’d
have liked, but after tons and tons of turkey and other delicious food, I was
ready to go home and go to bed.

Even
Skylar quit striving to turn into Skeletor and stuffed herself silly.  I
thought, among everyone, Luke ate the most food, but our cousin Evan might have
given him a run for his money. Of course, Grandma armed everyone with leftovers
before she and Grandpa smothered everyone with hugs and sent us on our way.

The
rest of my holiday weekend was pretty boring. The day after Thanksgiving was
Luke’s seventeenth birthday. Considering the huge shopping rush because of all
of the big sales, my parents chose to simply order Chinese and stay in to
celebrate his birthday. Luke didn’t seem to mind as long as he got to eat
something Mom didn’t cook, and I didn’t mind too much either. I didn’t feel
like doing much of anything anyway, and we had a nice spread of food delivered.

Tegan
and her family were visiting her grandparents out of state and wouldn’t be back
until Sunday. She called once on Saturday just to talk for a little bit, which
brightened my day a little because I missed talking to her.

I
finally had to change my settings on AIM so that it wouldn’t automatically sign
me in after the computer booted up because I couldn’t stand the fear that
Jackson might send me an instant message before I had a chance to sign out.

When
Tegan heard this, she said, “Seriously, Silly? This is just getting ridiculous.
You need to buck up and face him already.”

That
was much easier said than done. The entire situation had me feeling like a
complete idiot, but I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t seem to bring myself
to apologize for my behavior.

However,
events took a new turn when Sunday rolled around. I was lazing around on the
couch reading one of Skylar’s old magazines and watching one of my favorite
movies of all times,
The Goonies
. It was one of those movies I could
watch a million times without ever getting sick of it. Lucky for me, ABC Family
was playing it all weekend, and Sunday marked the third day of my viewing
pleasure.

Even
Mom took notice. Every time she walked through the living room during her quest
to clean the house while she had some time off, she said, “I can’t believe
you’re watching this
again.
”

By
the third time she made that comment, my answer went from, “It’s one of my
favorites,” to an amusedly exasperated, “I still love it!”

I
didn’t know why she was so surprised. I used to do the same thing every time we
got a new movie when I was little. I’d usually watch whatever it was until I
found something else or one of my parents demanded I stop.

Just
as I finished reading the magazine and was considering the new makeup tips I’d
read about, the doorbell rang.

Mom
yelled from the laundry room. “Sil, get the door!”

I
would have done so without her instruction since Dad was upstairs in his and
Mom’s room working on the computer. Luke was at work, and I’d yet to see
Skylar. Since her car was still in the driveway, I suspected she was probably
still upstairs fast asleep.