Scales

Chapter One: Beneath the Surface

Ever feel like you don't belong? I do. All. The. Damn. Time. Day in, day out. It's all the same. Then again, it's hard to get noticed amongst a family with seven girls. With three mothers, no less. I know I complain about this all the time, but I really want out of this place. Only one place in this tourist trap keeps me happy, and I don't get enough time there. I'd live there if I could.

"Watch where you're going," Arabella says to Brooke outside my door. It's open, so the words reach me loud and clear.

Arabella has the air of a queen about her. She lets her silence speak, quiet and with a confidence I wish I had. In comparison, I'm clumsy and awkward. Father dotes on her a lot because her grades were always perfect. Right now, her long brown hair is twined in a towel while her eyes of the same color glare at the next oldest sister.

Brooke purses her lips covered in black lipstick. When I try to remember her natural hair color, I can't. It's been way too long since I've seen her short hair anything but vibrant. Blue is the flavor of the week. Her originality is something I am envious of. She makes her mark wherever she goes and turns heads.

"I wouldn't need to be hurrying if Clara wouldn't have spent the entire morning in our bathroom," Brooke says.

"Well, I need to open in an hour. Try to be a little more considerate."

Brooke turns to me. "Why does Naomi get her own room?" When her lips curl into a cruel sneer, I brace myself for what is to come. "Oh, that's right. Her mother couldn't give our father any other children."

She reaches into the room to slam the door shut. I wince and take a deep breath. Arguing never does any good because her replies grow mean with each one. Despite being the largest house in town, there aren't enough rooms for everyone. Father keeps us together based on who our mothers are. Mine passed away before she could give him more daughters, since that seems like all he can have.

Some townspeople call it a curse that he never got a son, thinking that means the mayor of the town has some deep, dark secret. The three wives disappearing or meeting their end doesn't help. Sighing, I push those thoughts out of my head. When Clara bursts into my room, I almost fall out of my desk chair.

"At that boring journal again? God, you're so annoying. I need your brush," she says without a greeting.

As usual, her blue eyes are screwed up with an expression of superiority. Her blonde hair rests on top of her head in the perfect bun. Out of all of us, I'm sure she's the prettiest, except when she screws her perfect pink lips up in impatience like she is now.

"You broke my last one," I answer.

"You'll get over it. I left mine in the bedroom and Brooke locked me out again. Hand it over."

"My head's been itchy. I may have lice."

Clara jerks back in horror and hurries from my room. "Never mind. You're disgusting."

Emma pops her head in with a giggle. I'd love to know what it's like to be so happy all the time. As usual, her brown eyes sparkle with joy. It's almost sickening.

"That was a good idea. She still hasn't returned the hair dryer she took from me without asking. Maybe she'll leave you alone for a bit."

"One can hope. You have something in your hair."

Gasping, she runs to the mirror. "More paint. Dang. Abigail and Lucy are fighting over our bathroom. Can I grab a quick shower in yours?"

"Sure."

"Thank you!"

As our resident artist runs for my shower, I stand and grab a light sweater. In the hall, I jump to avoid an annoyed Arabella as she rushes for the stairs. She owns her own store, and by the looks of it, she's late.