My Life as the Ugly Stepsister

My Life as the Ugly Stepsister

By

Juli Alexander

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2012 Juli Alexander

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Chapter One

Do not teach your mother to use the Internet. No good can come of it.

–Ally’s Brutal Teen Truths

“What do you mean we may be moving to Seattle to live with your Internet boyfriend? That’s insane.” I glared at my mother over the half-empty pizza box. “It’s all the way across the country.”

I swear it will be a miracle if I make it through my teens without a psychiatric hospitalization. I forgot to breathe for a moment. Oh my God, I started high school in less than two weeks and she wanted to move?

My mom tried to smile, but even she knew this was not the time. “Calm down, Ally. Let me explain.”

I don’t know about you, but when people tell me to calm down, it makes me really, really want to smack them.

“You aren’t coming with me.” She lifted her paper plate and stacked it on top of mine. Mom worked long hours and doing dishes was the one thing she’d cut out for New Year’s. She’d cut out home-cooked meals when Dad left two years ago.

“What!” Even worse than uprooting me, she was totally abandoning me? Then I realized the horrible truth. “I am not living with Dad and Diane. No way.” Dread unfurled in my stomach.

Mojo, my black and tan hound, came into the kitchen to check on the ruckus. He gave Mom a curious look and slipped under the table to lie at my feet.

Mom put on her “Let’s be reasonable” face. “Now, Ally. It’s just for four months. That’s it. It’s like summer vacation. It will be over before you know it.”

I hadn’t seen this coming. Not at all. All those hours Mom spent on the phone with that guy in Seattle. I’d thought it was harmless. I’d actually believed it was good for her. “Mom, I’m sure you can find somebody here in Charlotte to date. You’re not ugly or anything.”

She flinched but obviously decided to ignore my insulting compliment. “I think Donald may be my Mr. Right. I’d really like to give this relationship a chance, but long distance just isn’t practical. I don’t want to uproot you without knowing for sure.” She ran her hand through the fresh red highlights in her brown hair. Her natural color hadn’t been good enough since the divorce.

“Why can’t he just come here?” I was barely coping with the known, no way could I handle the unknown. “What’s so great about Seattle?”

“Donald’s worked hard to build his insurance business, Ally. He can’t just leave it. But there is always work for an experienced paralegal. I’ve already got two job offers. Besides, he’s got an apartment over the garage.”

My stomach cramped at the betrayal. She’d applied for jobs before talking to me.

Mom pressed on, “Besides, if things work out between Donald and me, I know you’d be happy there. Seattle is supposed to be beautiful. The Emerald City with evergreen trees and mountains. They say it’s just spectacular.”

“We have trees and mountains around here. People move to North Carolina all the time for the
spectacular
,” I mimicked Mom’s emphasis on the word, “views.”

“You could learn to ski.”

“I can ski here. In North Carolina.” I crossed my arms. “Where we live now.”

“You’ll be right on the Pacific coast.”

“We can drive to the Atlantic anytime we want.” I accidentally applied too much tension and snapped my plastic fork in half, sticking my finger. “Ow.” No blood at least. Wait a minute. Back up. She was living over his garage. Right.

“Ally, I know you’re upset,” she said, ignoring my cry of pain. “That’s why I’m asking you to stay with your dad for four months. Let me see if this relationship is worth it.”

I looked into the green eyes of the woman who’d raised me, hating her calm expression. “So you’ll forget the whole thing in four months if you don’t like him?”

“Yes.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. “I just want to give it a chance.”

“Okay. So if your relationship with this guy is like a four on a scale of one to ten, you’ll come home?”

“Yes.”

“What if it’s a six?”

“Probably.” She shrugged. “Ally, I really can’t give you any probabilities. Love is not a science.”

Love. Barf! This was all Dad’s fault for leaving Mom in the first place. Now she was dating, shaving her legs regularly, coloring her hair, and leaving me.

“You know I can’t stand Diane! I would never, ever make you live in the same house with her.”

Mom pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, she said in a maddeningly calm voice, “It’s not exactly the same situation. I won’t say she’s one of my favorite people, but four months with her will not kill you.” She stood and took the dishes to the garbage can.

I could think of a whole lot of things my mother had said about Diane. And a lot of them involved words she’d punish me for saying. Somehow I kept from mentioning those tirades. The reminder would only trigger one of those therapist-induced-apology-slash-lectures I’d heard too many times lately.

Mom had spent most of the last two years in therapy. She’d progressed from crying most of the day to behaving somewhat like a normal person. Unfortunately, her total immersion in Dr. Phil and friends had not managed to make my quality of life any better. I mean, at least she cried on the couch in our house in Charlotte. Not two thousand freaking miles away. Okay, I knew I’d feel guilty about wishing her back to the crying stage, but right now, I was totally entitled to be obnoxious. The woman was wrecking my life, and it wasn’t that great anyway.

She walked back to the table and sat down. “Ally, Seattle is supposed to be a really cool place for young people. That’s where Starbucks and those grunge bands started. The birthplace of Nirvana?”

Oh, come on! “The lead singer was an addict who shot himself in the head. If that’s your example of a good reason to move, you’ve got serious parenting deficits.” I stopped short of asking what Dr. Phil would say. Even my mother had limits.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your life, but—”

And that’s when I tuned out, because that’s the beginning of the speech I’ve heard a hundred times before about how my mother can’t keep putting herself last. I nodded and uh-huhed at all the right spots while I tried to wrap my mind around the chaos that had taken over my life.

One, my mom was moving to Seattle.

Which meant, two that I’d have to live with my dad.

Who, three lived with the home-wrecking hag he’d married.

Who, four had a daughter my age who was ridiculously beautiful.

Which meant, five that I was living the next four months as the ugly stepsister.

On the bright side, my self-esteem wasn’t all that high anyway, so this experience should serve well to bottom it out. And once I was a total wreck, psycho, blubbering idiot, it would finally be my turn for my needs to come first. Because in my family, the one closest to the ledge got to make the choices.

Mom definitely looked like a woman on the edge. She had finally stopped lecturing, and she had her hand on her throat like she does when she’s about to throw up. She didn’t deal with stress very well, and she obviously felt bad about the whole thing. But that hadn’t stopped her. If I didn’t think fast, she’d be on a plane to Seattle, and I’d be living with the stepmonster.

Unless… “Dad and Diane probably won’t want me to live there. They don’t have a very big house. And Dad is gone so much. Diane won’t go along with this.”

Her hands flew to her hips and she harrumphed. “I knew you weren’t listening, Ally. I just told you that they’re looking forward to it. Your father thinks it’s a great way for you to get to know Diane better.”

Well, there goes that theory. The anger finally bubbled over. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know about this before I do?” I shouted. “Have you talked to everyone but me?”

“Ally, I had to make arrangements. I’m leaving in two weeks. It couldn’t all wait until the last minute—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I said, jumping up and leaving the kitchen.

I ran up the stairs, waited for my dog to follow me into my room, slammed my door, locked it, and plopped down on my bed. I was literally seeing red. And it was only partly because my curtains and bedspread were red. Mostly, it was rage. With a little dread and fear thrown in. Luckily for me, the tears washed some of it away. Mojo jumped up and licked at my face, but I finally got him to settle down and lay down beside me. Mojo understood my pain. He was the best dog in the world. I’d found him at the pound three years earlier, and we’d been inseparable ever since.

After I’d soaked my pillow with various bodily fluids (Why does crying make your nose run, anyway?), I rolled over onto my back and called Madison on my candy apple red cell phone.

I folded the pillow in half, damp side down, and shoved it under my neck. “You won’t believe this,” I said, and I told her what was happening.

“Oh my God,” Madison said when I finished.

Her reaction confirmed just how horrible this was. Usually I couldn’t get her to shut up. Now she couldn’t think of anything to say. There was a really, really long pause. Then she said, “How could she do that to you?”

“I know!” I scratched behind Mojo’s ears and looked into his big, brown eyes. Poor homeless mutt. Poor abandoned me.

“Are you sure you aren’t being punk’d? I just can’t see your mother leaving you, um, I mean leaving here, to live on the other side of the country.”

Ouch. Leaving me. I could count on Madison to say it like it was. “Do you really think there’s a show where mean mothers make their daughters cry?”

“No.” She sounded disappointed as if she was hoping to meet Ashton. “I guess not. But your mom is usually so nice. She lets us sleepover all the time. She seems kind of sad sometimes, but not mean.”

Mom was definitely sad. Luckily, I was too angry to feel guilty about it.

“Maybe it will be cool to live with Caroline,” Madison said, taking a shot at lifting my spirits.

Madison admired my stepsister Caroline. Everyone did. Even I liked Caroline. I just didn’t like myself when I was around her. “I’m sure she’ll be just thrilled to have me dumped into her space all of a sudden.”

“It’s your space too. Your dad lives there.”

True, but he lived there because he’d moved away from me and my mom. That little tidbit didn’t increase my comfort level. “How about you and me just trade lives for four months?”

Madison laughed. “My life isn’t so great either. Even with soccer, my mom won’t let me quit choir this year. And you know I can’t sing.”

She really couldn’t. Our school let everybody in the choir. Madison just stood there moving her mouth. The few times she actually tried to sing, people around her thought a sheep was getting strangled. “Can your mom sing?”

“She thinks she can,” Madison said. “At Mass it’s all I can do not to run screaming for the door.”

“You’re probably getting double credit for going then. I think I’ve got enough credits to stop going to Mass until I’m thirty, so God will probably spot you another ten years for your suffering. It’s like you’ve got a bank full of prepaid penance.” I looked at Mojo and he panted in agreement.

“Do you think so?”

“I do. And besides, you only have two choir concerts a year.”

“I just hate being reminded of how pathetic I am at every practice.”

That was kind of why I didn’t like being around my stepsister. “You’re not pathetic,” I assured her. “Now your mother…”

Madison giggled. “I’m going to make you sit with us next time.”

“Can’t,” I said, searching for an excuse. “I have to sit in the back. I’ve got…” What was that commercial that was always on. Oh yeah. “I’ve got an overactive bladder.”

“Right,” she said obviously not buying it. “We can sit in the back too. We aren’t picky.”

Actually, Madison’s mother insisted on sitting near the front of the large cathedral every Sunday. I personally thought she liked to be seen in her expensive clothes. Unlike Madison, her mother was an attention seeker. And she spent big bucks on her wardrobe. My mom thought Elaine was insecure because her husband was a big-time heart surgeon. Lots of the kids at school were doctor’s kids, and Madison was the only one who was really cool.

“I’m being punished enough, Madison. Give me a break.”

She sighed. “You’re probably right.”

I added another entry in my journal of Brutal Teen Truths. Do
not teach your mother to use the Internet. No good can come of it
. This joined tidbits of painfully acquired information like:
You will always get a zit when you need to look good
, and
It’s very difficult for teens to hire a hit man
.