Hannah Forbes slouched in the back of the family car, staring at her cell phone as she tried to ignore everyone around her. She had texted all of her friends and even a few of her cousins, yet none of them were replying.
She sighed heavily and looked out the window. On a good day at least a few of her contacts would text her back every twenty or thirty seconds, perhaps two minutes at most. It seemed typical that on the one day she had to suffer through a boring, five-hour car ride, nobody was available to text with.
"Dad, how much longer until we get there?" her fourteen-year-old brother, Greg, demanded from the seat beside her in that somewhat whiny tone of his.
Hannah rolled her eyes in annoyance, but then realized she was grateful for the question. She wanted to know as well, and it saved her the risk of annoying Mom and Dad.
"Not much longer," Dad replied from the driver's seat. Mom rode shotgun beside him in silence; she had been looking through important documents during the entire trip, studying them closely.
"That's what you said half an hour ago!" Greg complained.
"We should be there in about five or ten minutes, Greg. Don't worry."
"Dad, I've been going crazy back here for hours! There's nothing to do, and I have to go to the bathroom!"
"Oh stop whining," Hannah griped, finally losing patience. "We'll get there when we get there."
"You sound like Mom!" Greg folded his arms.
"How would you know?" Hannah retorted. "She hasn't said anything since we left the house."
"Your mother is doing her homework for her job," Dad said. "As you know, we're going to be heading to Washington soon after we drop you kids off at my brother's house."
"I still don't see why you couldn't have left us home," Hannah said. "I'm old enough to look after myself. I am sixteen."
"It's your brother we're worried about."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Greg complained. "I'm old enough to look after myself, too!"
"Greg," Dad said, casting a quick glance at the rear-view mirror to glare at Greg's reflection, "every single time we leave you home alone, something happens."
"Yeah, last time it involved the police and the fire department coming over," Hannah remarked.
"Hannah, you aren't exempt either. It was your responsibility to keep an eye on your brother, especially considering his… past antics."
"Hey, I'm right here, you know," Greg griped, disliking being spoken of as if he wasn't present. "You make it sound like I'm a dog that needs a babysitter or something."
"Maybe it's because you smell like one," Hannah sneered.
"That is enough, both of you. Act your age!" Dad said firmly, and sighed. "Look, I don't like leaving you kids with your Uncle Frank and Aunt Marge any more than you do. But they're the only ones who would take you in, and I expect both of you to be on your best behavior."
"If it's anything like the way it was last time, they won't even know we're in the house," Hannah muttered. Aunt Marge loved to dress up in her elaborate furs and adorn her neck, ears and fingers with her expensive jewelry and go out with her rich friends. They all had the exact same personality and attitude, so it seemed; they flocked together like geese because they all had a lot of money to spend and they loved to show off that fact.
Uncle Frank, on the other hand, spent a lot of time at work or locked up in his home office.
Either way, Hannah had already prepared herself for the fact that she would be alone for the next week or so, and probably very bored.
"Marge and her friends," Mom said from the front seat, speaking for the first time. She sighed softly and straightened out her papers, folding them neatly and placing them in her purse. "The pedigree poodles."
Hannah snickered. At least she and her mother agreed on some things.
"Now, Cassie…" Dad warned.
"Well, it's true, Dan," Mom shrugged as she pawed through her purse. She took out a lipstick and leaned toward the rearview mirror to touch up her lips. "They all look the same, they all act the same. Slap a golden collar around each of their necks and they'll look the part."
"Then you could call the pound to come take them away," Hannah giggled.
"Hannah," Mom and Dad scolded in unison.
Hannah rolled her eyes and slouched down in her seat again. Yeah, sure. Mom could get away with saying things like that, apparently. But she never could.
"Are we there yet?" Greg demanded yet again.
"No," Mom and Dad again spoke in unison.
As Greg continued to complain and their parents continued to bicker softly about Marge and her friends, Hannah picked up her cell phone and began to fiddle with it. Even in the height of boredom she found that the accessory made her happy. It felt good simply to touch the screen and explore the different features while she waited for texts or emails.
The phone was something she'd gotten for her birthday, exactly three weeks ago. It contained the ability to take pictures, access the internet, even play videos. To some extent, it could even talk. She loved her phone very much, especially since it was her favorite color: red. The case was kind of a dark, dried-blood kind of red, but still red nonetheless.
Her stomach growled. "I'm so hungry," she muttered aloud. She didn't mean for it to sound as whiny as it did; she simply realized it for herself.
"Me too!" Greg complained. "Can we stop at McDonalds or something?"
"No," Dad said.
"Why not?"
"Because we're almost at your Uncle's house; you can get something to eat there."
Greg folded his arms and slumped down in his seat like a pouting six-year-old. "That's what you keep saying, and we still aren't there!"
"Oh yes we are."
That was when the car turned and they pulled up into the driveway of Uncle Frank and Aunt Marge's large, expensive house. It's ivory paint shone like soft, off-white snow under the bright sun.
Hannah slipped her phone into her purse and flung the side passenger door open at the same instant Greg opened his.
"I'll beat you to the front door!" Greg yelled, already running.
"Oh no you don't!" Hannah yelled, already racing after him.
Dad got out of the car next, shaking his head. "You coming, Cassie?" he asked.
His wife didn't even glance up. She shook her head. "I'll stay here. They're your relatives, anyway."
"The least you could do is say hi."
"They don't want to see me."
"You mean you don't want to see them."
"That too."
"Fine." Dad shut the car door and peered through the half-open window. "I'll be back in a few minutes, once I'm sure the kids are situated."
"Okie-dokie."
Dad popped open the trunk and grabbed two suitcases containing the teenagers' luggage and approached the porch a couple minutes after the teenagers were already there.
"You cheated!" Greg was saying.
"I did not cheat, I beat you fair and square!" Hannah retorted, lifting her chin the air.
"You're a girl. The only way a girl can win is to cheat!"
"I didn't even trip you or anything this time, you tripped over your own stupid shoelace."
"It's still not fair!"
"Then tie your shoes next time, runt!"
"That's enough, both of you," their father said as he hopped up the porch steps. He didn't bother to point out that either one of them could have knocked or rang the doorbell instead of arguing. He rapped his knuckles against the elegantly designed door three times.
A couple of minutes passed. Dad was just about to try the doorbell when the door finally opened.
"Oh, hello there." Marge swung the door open all the way, gesturing them to come in. "You're late, you know. I was expecting you all here an hour ago."
"We had a flat tire," Dad replied.
"We also hit a deer," Greg said with a grin. "It ran right in front of us and you could see the blood and the guts all over the road-"
"She gets the idea, son."
Marge made a face. "Indeed I do." She made an impatient gesture. "Well, come in! I haven't got all day, I was just starting to put my face on."
"Hope it looks better than what you have now," Dad muttered under his breath.
"You and Frank should have been twins," Marge commented dryly. "So, you coming in too, or what?"
"I'm afraid not. Cassie's waiting for me in the car, and we have a long trip ahead of us."
"In other words she's too good to say hi to me." Marge rolled her eyes, then shrugged. "No matter, I get enough lip from you and Frank anyway. Be on your way and enjoy yourself in Washington while I watch your Rugrats for you."
"Thank you, we shall," Dad said in an equally dry tone as he plunked the suitcases down on the floor just inside the doorway. He then turned to leave. "So long, kids," he said to Hannah and Greg, giving them a slight wave. "Be good." With that he headed out, closing the door behind him.
"Well don't just stand there," Marge barked in a tone that made the teenagers flinch. "Pick up your luggage and get upstairs. You have the exact same rooms as before, assuming you remember where they are."
"I remember," Hannah grumbled as she snatched up her suitcase. "Up the stairs, first room on the left."
Greg picked up his own suitcase with both hands. "I'm in the second room on the right, right?"
"Very good, little Einsteins. Now go on up to your rooms and unpack or whatever, I have some things I need to finish doing." With that, Marge turned and walked away, leaving the kids to fend for themselves.
The brother and sister exchanged glances, knowing that this might even be the last time they saw Aunt Marge for the rest of their stay, apart for infrequent encounters.
"Race you up the stairs!" Greg shouted, already starting to run.
"Greg!" Hannah snapped, "Don't run up the stairs with your shoe untied!"
She didn't bother to run after him. She simply waited until she heard the inevitable tumble of Greg falling and his suitcase banging down the stairs, followed by a series of curses. Hannah shook her head knowingly, and walked into the next room to find Greg standing over his suitcase which had burst open and spilled its kids.
"Hey, you kids be quiet out there!" Marge yelled from whatever room she was in.
Hannah sighed. "Here, I'll help you pick them up," she said as she squatted down to help him put his clothes and other belongings back into the case.
Greg didn't thank her; he'd never bring himself to express his gratitude, but he did look appreciative. Once they had everything put back into the suitcase, he snatched it up and began to march up the stairs.
"Greg," Hannah warned firmly.
"What?" He glared down at her.
She pointed at his foot. "Tie your shoe. Seriously, you're going to kill yourself if you don't."
Greg huffed and plunked his suitcase down one of the higher steps, then sat down on a different step and hurriedly tied his shoe.
"Hey that's not a very good bow-tie knot," Hannah nitpicked. "You really need to learn how to tie your shoes better, or-"
"Oh just shut up," Greg griped as he stood and grabbed his suitcase. "Just because you're good at everything doesn't mean you can tell me what to do."
"I'm not good at everything," Hannah replied, furrowing her brow in puzzlement. Where did he get the idea that she was? "I'm just saying that if you tied your shoes better, they won't become untied so easily."
"Look, you're not Mom. So don't pretend to be." With that, Greg proceeded to stomp up the stairs.
"Well, at least try double-tying them!" Hannah called after him. She received only a grumble in reply. Shrugging, she picked up her own suitcase and marched up the stairs at a slower pace, making a beeline for her own bedroom.
That particular guestroom hadn't changed at all since the last time she'd stayed at this house. It was mostly empty except for the freshly made bed, a single table, and a nightstand containing a lamp. She plunked her briefcase in the closet; she didn't feel like unpacking her clothes quite yet.
She then hopped onto her bed atop the covers and slid her purse strap off of her shoulder. "Let's see if anybody's texted me yet," she murmured as she reached within and grabbed her cell phone. She checked it with one hand as she tossed her purse onto the nightstand with the other.
Hannah beamed in delight when she realized she'd gotten a text, but her happiness quickly changed to disappointment and annoyance. It was just a text from Donna again.
Apparently Donna had broken up with her boyfriend this week, again, and she was telling all of her female friends that her life was over and her heart was totally broken and she would never date again, blah, blah, blah…
Hannah rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to text-reply the words Get a freakin' life already. However, if she did that, then everyone all over school would hear about how 'cruel and thoughtless' Hannah was, once Spring Break was over. It would then get the cliquish crowd including the popular, pretty girls and the cheerleaders pointing fingers at her and whispering behind her back.
Donna was just one of those girls who sought attention by acting like a drama queen and, whenever she had even the tiniest argument with her boyfriend-the handsome captain of the soccer team-she would tell the world that she'd "broken up" with him and go on about how emotionally scarred she was.
In the end, Hannah usually slapped together a text-reply to offer what sounded like sympathy and support, because keeping Donna happy if you stayed on her good side had one key advantage; Donna was good to have around if you needed a favor of any kind from any of the cool, popular kids who were too good to talk to anyone else. Plus she had access to many different things, including other people's locker combinations. If you ever wanted to try and get a date with one of the cute guys, place an anonymous note in someone's locker, or perhaps do something more nefarious without anyone knowing… she was the one to talk to.
Donna simply had an odd way of being cool and uncool. She was drop-dead gorgeous and fairly athletic, which meant that everybody wanted her on their team in Soccer or Basketball, and every boy wanted to ask her out at least once. But she still associated with the dorks, losers and the merely average kids, simply because she liked the attention… and because she could get away with it and still be seen as "cool".
Hannah finished cobbling together a sympathy text and sent it, rolling her eyes when she remembered that Greg had a crush on that girl. It was just a few seconds later when Donna replied, but Hannah shut her phone off and set it on the mattress. She already knew what it was going to say anyway, probably something along the lines of, "Oh you are such a good friend!1 If you ever need to bend my ear I'll totally listen to you because we are the bestest friends evar!1"
This would, of course, ignore the fact that Donna never liked to listen to anyone else at all. You would be lucky if you got two full sentences in before she'd begin whining about her bad hair day or how she got gum on the bottom of her shoe. The worst rant she'd ever made was how "annoying" it was that she could turn the head of every boy in the school, which was one of her more infamous complain-brags.
Hannah's thoughts were interrupted when she heard shouting somewhere downstairs. She figured she might as well investigate, especially since she had nothing else better to do at present. With a sigh, Hannah put her phone into her pocket and pushed herself off the bed and then headed downstairs.
"But Aunt Marge, I'm hungry!" she could hear Greg complaining as she walked into the living room.
Hannah raised her eyebrows in surprise. Maybe Aunt Marge isn't gonna be as much of a ghost this time, she thought. Then again, Greg had grown more insistent and annoying over the past several years; he was virtually impossible to ignore.
"You just have to wait until Frank gets back," Marge stated, for what appeared to be at least the fifth time. "He went to work and he promised to go grocery shopping on the way back."
"But I'm hungry now!" Greg exclaimed, clutching at his stomach as if it hurt. "I'm a growing man, you know," he added with his most pitiful puppy-dog expression.
Hannah rolled her eyes. Oh brother.
"Fine, if it will stop your whining…" Marge stormed into the kitchen and grabbed some lemon-flavored yogurt off of the bottom shelf. "Eat up," she said as she tossed it to Greg.
"This looks disgusting!" Greg complained. He ripped the tin foil off of the container and sniffed. "Ew, yuck!" He made a face.
"Don't blame me, blame your Uncle for being late," Marge replied with a dismissive shrug. "It's either that sugar-free goop or the mystery container in the back of the fridge."
"What's that?" Greg asked, looking desperate and more than a little curious.
"I have no idea," Marge shrugged. "But I wouldn't recommend you try it. It's been in there so long it's probably come back to life." Without another word, she left the room.
Greg opened the fridge door and peered inside.
Hannah stepped forward, placing her hands on her lips. "Seriously, you're not going to try it, are you?" she deadpanned.
Greg glared at her. "I thought I told you that you're not Mom! Get off my case." He reached into the fridge and pulled out something that was securely wrapped in plastic. It appeared to be something in a bowl.
"I'm not going to let you get food poisoning," Hannah said firmly. "Now give that here." She reached for it, but Greg dodged her hand and stepped out of reach.
"No way!" Greg said. "Look, I'm not going to eat it. I'm not stupid. I just want to take a look at it!"
"Fine, but throw it away afterwards." Hannah folded her arms.
"You're such a nag, just like Mom." Greg turned his back on her and began to peel away the layers of plastic.
The stench of it nearly made him drop it; he held it as far away from his face as he could, turning his nose in the other direction. "Oh man alive," he gasped. "It's worse than rotten eggs!"
Hannah stepped up beside him and blinked at what she saw. "Greg, I think it's moving," she said, almost fearfully.
"Whoa," Greg exclaimed, staring at the dish as though transfixed by it. He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be fascinated or horrified. "Dude," he finally remarked, "I think we should put this in the garbage."
"Couldn't agree more," Hannah said.
