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Claire dropped the bag of food on the table and took a burger for herself. “Food’s here,” she called out not quite loud enough for the whole house to hear but loud enough for anyone nearby. Word tended to spread pretty fast when a bag of food landed on the table.
When Morris descended on the kitchen—and he came directly, as he always did, being pretty hungry most of the time—Claire had already disappeared into the basement, where her office was, where she did most of her eating. Whatever else she did down there was a mystery, one Morris saw no particular need to explore. Claire was his third stepmother. They didn’t tend to last.
Claire and Morris’s dad both said they hoped the children would learn to get along like brother and sister. But his dad had also said things that made Morris realize that this might be a waste of time. “That’s just kind of the way things are today,” he’d told him after his second stepmother left. “People don’t stay together like they used to.” But, really, that’s something Morris already knew. There was hardly anyone at school who didn’t have a step-someone in the house or who didn’t move from house to house as the hormones attached and reattached from one partner to another. That didn’t mean his house wasn’t weird. It wasn’t even that, as far as heritage went, they were a little United Nations (though not necessarily all that “united,” but then neither was the United Nations if you thought about it). People are people. But then there was the one who wasn’t related to anyone. That was Jasmine. She’d been picked up along the way by Claire, originally, she said, a stepdaughter of a guy who’d abandoned both of them so long ago Claire had actually changed the baby’s name (though, looking at her, she couldn’t be more than half Asian).
Tanya blew into the kitchen just as Morris was leaving. “She get any grilled chicken?” she called to Morris’ retreating Nikes.
“How should I know?” Morris didn’t turn around.
“Well you were just in the bag,” she said as though Morris was still in the room.
“Just take what’s on top,” he yelled back.
“Like you don’t even have a preference?”
Morris stuck his head back into the room. This was the longest conversation he’d had yet with his new stepsister. “It’s fast food,” he said, as though that explained something. But then, to the quizzical expression on her face he added, “there’s only two flavors: mayonnaise or ketchup.”
Tanya’s response, if there was one, was overwhelmed by the tsunami of a blues progression that slammed in from down the hall, filling the kitchen and adjoining rooms: Jasmine, practicing.
“Would you tell your stepsister to tone it down?” Morris dug his fingers into his unbitten sandwich.
“She’d lose the sound.”
“Then tell her use headphones. I’ve got stuff to do. I can’t be…”
“And blow an eardrum? You want that? Then she’d have to turn it up even louder.”
“Well she could at least tune the stupid guitar,” he huffed.
Morris laid the Call of Duty box on the game console and pulled out the wires to hook up the new 64-inch plasma TV. This game was gonna be boss on this monster.
“You’re not supposed to be playing that,” said Tanya.
Why had she followed him into the room? Had she taken his quip about Jasmine’s grating guitar as some kind of invitation?
“Like anyone’s gonna notice.”
“They said…”
“They say all sorts of crap. No follow through.” And then, to Tanya’s silence-thickening eyeball roll, “you didn’t notice?”
“Claire’s gonna have a cow.”
“Claire’s gonna be gone. You’re all gonna be gone before Christmas.”
And then the distortion from down the hall swelled and, poof, the screen went black, the air conditioner stopped, and the blues faded away.
“What the…” was all Morris managed to say before the sound of an explosion reverberated through the house. Morris and Tanya both jerked back like they’d been shot.
“I told you to tell your sister to turn that amp down.”
“What?”
“Blew every circuit breaker in the house.”
“As if.”
And then Jasmine was in the room holding her guitar by the neck like it was a goose she’d just shot. “What the hell was that?”
Tanya went to the window, but in the middle of the day you couldn’t really tell if the other houses had power. She listened. “He thinks you did it.”
Jasmine laughed and swept the strings of her guitar. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”
Morris ran out of the room with a purposeful motion that made Tanya and then Jasmine follow.
“No gas in the generator,” he said when Tanya arrived in the garage.
“Then we gotta get some,” Jasmine rounded the corner.
“You got a license?” said Tanya.
“Ask mom.”
“She’s working.”
“How’s she gonna work without power?” said Morris.
“Batteries. Cell phone,” said Jasmine. “Personal hotspot.”
Morris huffed. He knew that, of course. But when you’re frustrated you’ve got to say something. “What does she do down there all day anyway?”
There was no response.
“I can’t believe this.” Morris exclaimed when the silence grew awkward. He grabbed the gas can. “I’m asking her.”
“Good luck with that,” said Jasmine.
“I had my whole day planned out,” he said.
“You’re not the only one,” said Jasmine.
“Screw it, then. I’m walking.”
“Like hell, you’re walking. It’s five miles to the nearest gas station,” said Tanya. “By the time you get back, power’ll be back on.”
“Five gallons of gas, pretty heavy load to carry five miles.” Jasmine shoved aside boxes still unpacked from the move. “Thought so,” she said, revealing two bicycles, an old ten-speed and a mountain bike. The mountain bike had a rack and some frayed bungee cords. “Who’s got money?”
They all looked at each other.
“I know where a credit card is,” said Tanya.
“We can’t use mom’s credit card.” Jasmine stared at Tanya.
“It’s for gas. She buys gas all the time. She’ll never notice.”
Jasmine turned her head toward the closed garage door. “What if the power comes back on before we get back?”
“Yeah, but if it doesn’t, you won’t be able to play your guitar,” said Morris.
“If the power comes on, I’ll call you,” said Tanya.
“Just give me the credit card,” said Morris.
“As if,” said Tanya.
“Maybe she won’t notice,” said Jasmine.
ALWAYS AVAILABLE IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS....
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