FIRE & FLOOD Extras

Chapter One

If my hair gets any frizzier, I'll shave it to the scalp.

Or light it on fire.

Whichever is easier.

I stare at my reflection in the pond and run my hands through the bane of my existence. For a moment, I seem victorious, my chestnut curls wrangled into submission. But when I drop my arms, they spring out, worse for the wear. I point an unmanicured finger at the water. "I hate your face."

"Tella," my mother yells from behind me, "what are you looking at?"

I spin around and grab a handful of my hair. Exhibit A.

"It's beautiful," she says.

"You did this to me," I tell her.

"No, your father gave you curly hair."

"But you dragged me to the middle of nowhere, Montana as a sick experiment, to see just how hideous I could become."

Mom leans against the door frame of our craptastic house and nearly grins. "We've been here almost a year. When are you going to accept that this is our home?"

I walk toward her and punch a closed fist into the air. "I'll fight to the death."

A shadow crosses the deep lines of her face, and I instantly regret bringing up The Subject. "Sorry," I tell her. "You know I didn't mean -"

"I know," she says.

I rise up on tiptoes and kiss her cheek, then brush past her to go inside. My dad sits in the front room, rocking in a wooden chair like he's two hundred and fifty-six years old. In actuality, I think he's a couple of years shy.

"Hey, Pa," I say.

"Hey, Daugh," he says.

Ever since my mom insisted we move out of Boston and into no-man's-land, I've insisted on calling my dad Pa. It reminds me of those old black-and-white movies in which the daughters wear horrendous dresses and braid one another's hair. He wasn't a fan of my new name for him, but he accepted his fate over time. Guess he thought I could've rebelled a lot more following our relocation to purgatory, all things considered.

"What are we doing tonight?" I ask, dropping down onto the floor. "Dinner at a glam restaurant? Theatre in the city?"

Dad's mouth pulls down at the corner. He's disappointed.

That makes two of us.

"Humor me and pretend you're happy," he answers. "That'd be entertaining as hell."

"Language," I tsk.

He waves me off, pretending he's the man of this house and can say whatever he damn well pleases. I laugh when seconds later he glances over to see if Mom heard.