1
NOT AGAIN, SPENCE!
"Spencer! Clean up your mess in the kitchen, now!"
Veronica Hastings straightened her business jacket, examining herself in the house's hallway mirror. "Spencer!"
"Com-ing!" Spencer yelled back, walking down the stairs.
She started mumbling to herself, repeating how delusional her mother was and how she couldn't wait to get the hell out of Rosewood after senior year.
Spencer stepped into the Hastings's modern, yet chic kitchen, complete with stain-less steel appliances, sparkly tiled backsplash and funky pots and pans hanging on a rack overhead.
Mrs. Hastings stepped into the kitchen, pointing a finger at Spencer.
"Clean it good. I don't appreciate coming home to your laziness." she lectured. "And just because you're sick, doesn't mean you don't need to clean up after yourself." She stopped, then picked up again. "God, Spencer...get that mustard stain."
Spencer picked up the sponge by the farmhouse sink, squeezing hard until bubbly, soapy water seeped out onto the island. Angry.
"Scrub, Spencer." Mrs. Hastings yelled from her position in the hallway.
Spencer hated the way her mother pushed her around, fixing her clothes "just-so", over-doing her makeup to impress everyone and buying only Prada bags, because "everyone who's anyone owns a Prada, so why shouldn't I blend in?" God, she was annoying.
"Damn it." Spencer spat. The mustard stain wasn't coming off. She ducked under the sink to the cupboard, rummaging for the over-sized bottle of dish cleaner.
"Mom!" she called. "Where's the dish cleaner?"
No answer.
"Mom...?"
Snap.
Spencer whirled around to face the living room. She squinted, thinking anyone or anything was hiding outside the porch doors.
Suddenly, the front door swung open, welcoming in a chilly, unfriendly winter breeze.
"What the hell?" Spencer slowly went over to the hallway.
The door hung ajar, icy wind circling around her.
"Would it kill her to close the door?"
Spencer glanced outside, expecting to see her crude mother, ducking into her black Lexus. She didn't hear her mother go out the door. Or open the garage door. Or get into her car.
Or drive away.
But her mother wasn't in the driveway, in her Lexus, taping on her iPhone 5.
The driveway was empty.
The slight breeze turned into a gust of powerful, chilled wind, wrapping around Spencer like a snake does to its prey. Spencer wasn't about to be snake bait.
She grunted and closed the door, locking and bolting it. Mumbling, she returned to her job in the kitchen. She found the dish cleaner and began intensely scrubbing at the mustard stain on the counter. She'd figured she'd get a "day off" from family drama when she'd called herself off from school today. School was getting instense, almost unbearable as the winter months dragged on. She needed a break. If only the mustard sta-
Snap.
Spencer froze.
The only sound she heard was the whispering and gossiping winter wind, thrashing about outside. She hoped that was the only thing she'd heard.
Shrugging, Spencer went back to cleaning, digging deep to ditch the mustard. "Damn." she whispered.
Crack.
She winced, hoping that the sounds would go away. She ignored them, cleaning, scrubbing, taking her mind off of the sounds, of...everything.
Snap. Crack.
"Hell...no." Spencer said. "Noo."
Spencer stopped, focusing her blurred vision on the dark figure standing outside the porch doors. "...No...no."
The figure waved slowly, as if to say, Hey, Spence, I'm back.
"No..." Spencer felt light-headed.
Her breathing was getting heavier, the world seemed to be spinning.
"...Ali?"
The figure waved again as Spencer dropped the sponge.
Beep.
Her BlackBerry ringed, scaring the hell out of her.
"Not again." she said.
ONE NEW MESSAGE, it read.
Try as she might, Spencer couldn't resist:
Hey, Spence!
Lovely to talk to you again. Listen, I'll make this short and sweet. But defintely not sweet. Saw that Mommy walked out on you, huh? Don't worry. She'll be back. And so, will, I.
- A