All These Pesky Feelings

“You! Girl! Get over here and help your brother!”  I groan and set down the music sheet I had been translating. I get up, pulling my brown hair into a ponytail. If Chris, my little brother is involved, things are about to get messy. I brace myself as I walk into Chris’ room. I stop in the doorway, surveying the scene. My mother is bent over Chris, checking his temperature. The covers on his bed are strewn around, and a glass of water rests on the bedside table. From where I’m standing, it looks almost as though I have a normal family, and Clara is a typical caring mother, worried over her child. I know better. I walk around the bed, and am suddenly glad I haven’t had breakfast. Chris has thrown up all over the bed and rug, and is laying with his eyes closed in the middle of the mess. Had Clara really not bothered to clean it all up?  “What happened?” I ask. “What do you think happened?” Clara replies, massaging her forehead. “Your brother woke me up with his bawling, and when I came inside it was like this. Clean it all up, and make sure your brother is okay. I need rest.” She leaves the room, me glaring daggers at her back. “I have school in half an hour. The first day of school.” “Better hurry up then.” Clara leaves, closing the door behind her. I growl in frustration, ready to argue more, but Chris lets out a small moan. I turn, knowing I can’t just leave my brother like this. Forget my mother, but I actually care about him. I lean over and put a hand to his forehead, then breathe a sigh of relief. He seems to be okay now, no fever or cough. I look around the room, sighing. Better get it over with. I roll up my sleeves and get to work.  As I clean, I curse my mother beneath my breath. It’s hard enough to deal with her when Chris is healthy, making sure he gets to school on time, getting him lunch and driving him to soccer. When he’s sick it’s twice the work. On top of that, Clara has been coming home later and later, and getting paler and thinner. I refuse to help her, leaving her to live in her own filth. Her bedroom is a pigsty, with beer bottles on the floor and dirty clothes flung around.  Sometimes I feel bad about it, but then I think of my little brother, and the kind of childhood he’s getting. I think of my own childhood, and the guilt passes.  I finish cleaning and head to the shower, determined to wallow in my own pity. Delilah and I were supposed to go shopping for homecoming this weekend, but I’m going to have to cancel. Again. And I have to cancel our sleepover, unless Delilah wants to come over to my house. I doubt it. My best friend knows about the situation at home, but I prefer not to talk about it. I know Delilah, with her older sister, rich father, and caring mother doesn’t really understand, however sympathetic she may be. At least I get to see her at school, so we can talk and laugh like always, and I don’t have to think about my real life. *** “Brooke!” I turn to see Delilah waving at me from across the cafeteria. I head toward our table, where Ryan, Julia, and some of our other friends are sitting. “Hey,” I say, setting down my tray and settling in next to Delilah.  Delilah takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, a thoughtful look on her face. “Did you go to Ryan’s party in the summer?” Ryan looks up, hearing his name, and gives me a lopsided grin. Thank god he didn’t see what happened that night, but he probably heard about it. He hears everything. I c**k my head. “I was there. Why?” Had Delilah found out about what happened? “Meet anyone there?” I consider this. I had, in fact, met someone, but I definitely didn’t want to talk about him. I can still remember the exact look on his face, the smirk that irritated me to no end. I turn back to my friend, trying to forget that night from my head. “Not really,” I say. Delilah narrows her green eyes, a crinkle forming on her forehead. “Are you sure?” “Um, yeah, why do-” I get cut off by Delilah waving to someone behind me. I turn, and my heart skips a beat.  There he is. Asher Cowen, with his arrogant swagger and insufferable smirk. His black hair is tousled as always, and as he tilts his head, I catch sight of his damned silver lip ring. My heart starts to race. He starts crossing the cafeteria toward us, and I whip my head to look at Delilah. “What is he doing here?” Delilah grins. “So you do know him. He's going to school with us now.” I glare at her. “And he’s sitting with us because…?” She shrugs. “I invited him to. Come on Brooke, he can’t be that bad.” I snort. “Right. The famous Asher, bad boy extraordinaire, is not that bad.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. I try to hide behind my hair as he gets closer, hoping he won’t recognize me. He was pretty drunk that night, and it's not like I have a very interesting face. Delilah laughs. “Relax girl. We’re in Swedish class together, and he’s actually pretty nice. You’ll see.” At that moment the only thing I want to see is the exit. Unfortunately, before I can escape, Asher reaches our table. He smiles at Delilah, and she blushes. Actually blushes. A spark of anger flares in my chest.  Please don’t remember me, please please please. I look up at Asher, and his eyes widen in surprise. My heart sinks as recognition crosses his features. Shit.  “Hey.”