Just Cue the Credits
an excerpt

I looked at the glass of orange juice in my hand, its contents shimmering, and set the glass down. I hated orange juice, really. It always seemed too sour, too… Oh, I’m not sure really. The glass sat there, quiet. It did not move.

My sister walked in at that moment. Her brown hair spilled out of a ratty ponytail, her sweatpants were gray and weathered, and her mouth was set into a straight line.

“Do we have any orange juice?” she asked, impatient. Meekly, I pointed toward the countertop. She picked up the glass of juice, looking at it uncertainly.

“You haven’t done anything to this, have you?” She raised an eyebrow. Lifting myself up onto the countertop with my hands, I shook my head.

“Only the usual,” I said, sticking out my tongue. She took a sip, nodded to herself, and downed the whole glass.

“Except…” I started again, shrugging, “Mom may have added some vodka to it yesterday.”

She smirked. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I knew it wouldn’t,” I said absently, pressing my back against the cabinets and curling my arms around my knees. “Get me, the paper, would you?” I yawned.

Still immersed in what she was doing, she nodded. “Sure thing.”

The paper landed gracefully in my lap. Unfolding it, I scanned the headlines. “How dreadful,” I said sarcastically, “yet someone else has died.”

“Who?” she asked, tugging at her ponytail to straighten it.

I had already turned the page. “No idea.”

My father walked in, his big frame seeming to fill the whole room. “Hello, daughters,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Has the paper come yet?”

I sent it to him. He grunted thanks.

She looked up, squinting at me. “Where’s Andrew?”

“I don’t know,” I said, irritated. “His house, I’d reckon.”

She pouted sweetly. “Oh… poor thing,” she says, sugar coating every word. “He hasn’t started seeing someone else, has he?”

“Of course not,” I retorted, yanking at the hem of my nightgown.

“Then where is he?” she asked, all puppy dog eyes.

“Shut up,” I mumbled. He had promised to pick me up later that day, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“What?” she asked, mocking me.

“Shut up,” I growled.

“Girls…” dad tried to intervene. It… didn’t work.

“You think he’ll dump you?” she said, still evilly sweet.

I leapt down from the countertop, picking up the salt shaker on my way down. I will admit that this was a bit stupid. But, you know, she’d just knocked my boyfriend. Any girl would feel the need to do something, right?

I held the shaker in my hand, concentrating on it. In seconds it swirled off of my palm, levitating itself.

She so needed to wash her hair after the escapade. That’s all I’m saying.

“That’s all you’ve got?” she spat, brushing salt from the top of her head.

“Daughters…” dad attempted to intervene again. Again, it didn’t work.

“So where’s Mark?” I asked, coating my voice in sugar just as she had done.

“At school,” she insisted.

“Give it up, Lil,” I persisted, vicious. “You know he’s not in school. He’s gone to reform school.”

I had gotten to her this time. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time.

“You’re horrible, you know that?” she said, tears spilling from her enormous gray eyes. “Really horrible.”

All was quiet. “I hope you get pregnant,” she whispered. Her eyes, purveying hurt, were piercing.

So that hurt a little bit. But I had not really realized how much my banter would hurt her. She was actually hurting. I hadn’t meant it, really. In our family, tiffs were common, as common as… well, breathing.

Sighing, I banished all the salt with a wave of my arms.

Peace was established again. For how long, no one knew. But for now, the scales were even.

“I’ve got to get ready for work,” she said, quiet. She stood up, readjusting her ponytail once more. “I’ll see you later, dad.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, still not looking up from the paper.

And with a snap of her fingers, we were alone.

Our father continued to read his newspaper. In fact, he was so immersed in it that I began to wonder if something terribly exciting had happened that I needed to know about. I had only read to page 3, mind you, but possibly they had stuck something intriguing in there, amongst the… dead people, weddings, and… more dead people.