Chapter Two:

I wiped away the fog that had collected on the mirror during my shower with the palm of my hand, rubbing in a slow circle till I could see my image clearly. I could say I hate how I look, but what's the point in lying? Most of my classmates spend half their time worrying about how they look, panicking over their weight and all the rest of that pointless stuff when I long ago simply accepted the way I am. Whenever I get mad about it, like the times that I wish I wasn't five foot two and had inherited some of Dad's height, I simply blame it on them. Genetics are a tricky thing, aren't they? My hair is a golden brown, like the color of honey, light brown with hints of the gold underneath, a legacy from my childhood. While my hair color is pretty much the same as it was when I was a toddler, nothing else really is. It's is straight as a pin now, which I am thankful for everyday. My hair used to be the unmanageable mop that Leo's is, but while little boys are cute with messy hair, seventeen-year-old girls can't say the same. My eyes used to be Dad's light blue, but now they are gray, almost to the point where they are silver when I get mad. God only knows where that trait came from.

I've always kept my hair around shoulder length or below since I was about twelve. There were always those certain occasions where Mom and Dad would let me play a sport, no matter how brief that time might be, and I'd need to be able to tie my hair back. I guess I keep it that way in more of a wishful thinking sense than anything else; I haven't done anything athletic since my soccer coach mentioned how fast I was to Dad. These days it's about two inches past my shoulders, cut in a straight line with out any layers that are too much of a hassle to deal with should I want to curl it the old fashioned way. Right now, my hair is slicked back off my face, soaking wet from my shower, making my eyes stand out vividly against my pale skin.

I finally stop in the conceit-fest long enough to pull out the bag of makeup from underneath the sink. Like I said, I am perfectly fine with how I look naturally, but why not improve on perfection with a little help from Miss Clinique? I basically put myself on autopilot, because putting make up on is a ritual I have done so many times, I don't need to even think about it anymore. It's just as natural as brushing my teeth. Comb hair, moisturizer, mascara, eye shadow, liner, foundation, powder, lip stick, gloss, towel dry hair, gel, clip, blow dry, spray, and done. Some day's I'll just wear my hair down, but today I've clipped it on top of my head in a messy pile that I wont have to worry about frizzing out in the damp Seattle spring. I admire my artistic talents in the mirror for a moment before I drop my towel into the laundry basket and pull on my robe. I'm a genius, if I do say so myself.

Once my robe is securely knotted around my waist, I step out of the steam bath that the bathroom had become and into the freezing air of the rest of the penthouse. My first instinct is to sprint into my room to get proper clothes on, but my system begging me for caffeine vetoes that one. Caffeine and I have a love/hate relationship. I love soda. I hate coffee. It's lucky I inherited Mom's metabolism because with the way I eat, they'd be taking me out of the house with a crane.

After a short side trip to the fridge, I finally make it back to my room, a cold can of coke in hand. Once I check the alarm clock, it's now six -forty-five, I take a sip of my coke and make my way to the closet. I go to Santa Marianna High School, which is just a kind way of saying 'Rich Kids Go Here High School.' Back five or six years ago, they were still wearing those archaic school uniforms of a plaid skirt and stuff, but thank god that was gone by the time I got there. The day someone tells me exactly what to wear is the day I am convinced that the day that the USA needs to be declared a communism. Of course, there is still a dress code, but since I get to pick what I am wearing, I really don't care. Basically, if the guys are wearing a tie and the girls are wearing a skirt or dress, the principal isn't going to bother you. She's as liberal as they come, which comes in handy when you want a rule changed. I riffle through the neatly organized clothes, grabbing skirts and sweaters off the rack at random and holding them up. If it matches, I'm not going to be too particular. The bright red-above-the-knee-length-skirt and ribbed black sweater and heeled boots were the final decision after a five-minuet debate.

I was completely ready to walk out of the door by quarter after seven, the fifteen minuets it took to throw my oral report of Egyptian architecture included, which left me a half hour to kill before I had to drive Leo to his school and head to mine. Plenty of time to go play with Leo for a while. Leo's room is right down the hallway from mine, the first door after Dad's office, which is the only room in the house that is always locked and we are never allowed to go into. I hardly ever think about what Dad does in there, but sometimes if I am quiet enough at night, and I think hard enough, I can hear him tapping away at a computer. Sometimes he is muttering words under his breath that he'd never say in front of Leo or me. Ever notice how when someone who never swears cusses someone out, it's ten times funnier?

Leo actually has to sleep. This is something I don't know if I should pity or be jealous of. I guess it's a little bit of both, depending on what kind of mood you catch me on. Lately, his love of sleeping has become second only to his love of science and math, and he's been doing quite a bit of it. Even a month or two ago he'd be awake by the time I was ready for school but today, as now usual, he's curled up on his side, his hand fisted next to his cheek. His cheeks are rosy from sleep and if at all possible, his hair is even more disheveled than usual.

Crossing over to his bed, I trip over a pile of books and then have to kick a bucket of some unknown substance out of my way before I can ever get to his bed. God help the woman who ever falls in love with him. She better either have the patience to clean up after this pig, or be just as bad as him and not care. I tap Leo's shoulder, which gets an immediate response. The thing is with Leo, when you even touch his shoulder he automatically looks up at you, because it's his signal that you are trying to talk to him. He flies forward into a sitting position; his eyes clouded over with the deep sleep he'd just came out of in a short amount of time. You knew right the second that he realized the house wasn't on fire or something when he rolled his eyes at me.

I tap my wrist as I begin to sign with much practiced smoothness. 'Time to get up, you've got a half hour before I walk out the door.'

'I'll just get a ride from Mom, then.' Was his answer, but we both knew that was an empty promise. Unlike me, Mom doesn't stop by a store every morning and buy him junk food to take in to eat for lunch. Who needs healthy crap when you can have Cheetos?

Leo reluctantly climbed out from under his blankets, fed his fish and rats, and then pulled out the his school uniform. At Sweetwater School, a school specifically designed for children with either vision or audio disabilities, they were still living in the Stone Age and wearing uniforms. I guess it makes it easier, then, to pick out your clothes in the morning when your only option was dark blue pants and a white dress shirt. Poor kid. When he pulled off his shirt, still signing a mile a minuet about the latest experiment he had going on his desk, I noticed the line of bruises along his side, under his arm. It doesn't matter that he's deaf, he's still like every other eight-year-old boy, and manages to get into trouble wherever he goes. I could ask him what he did to get those particular bruises, but he'd just shrug his shoulders and be embarrassed.

Leo walks over to me with his tie in hand, its something he still hasn't mastered yet. He can explain to you every single chemical reaction that happens in photosynthesis, but he can't tie a necktie. And who says Manticore half-breeds are strange creatures? While my hands are occupied, I go back to talking normally. Leo can read lips, which makes it easier on the people who know him who can't sign, but he's often said to me he rather sign then stare at people's mouths for long periods of time, so I sign as often as possible.

Suddenly, Leo looks up at me, his expression that of a deer caught in headlights. 'What is that smell?' It was then that I also smelled it. I guess it was supposed to smell like eggs, but it had an underlying scent of what could be comparable to human flesh that had been lit on fire. "Oh god." Leo flipped his wrist and expressed exactly what I was thinking with words eight year olds should not be using. Mom was making breakfast. Crap.

'Quick. You've got a science fair meeting this morning." I sign quickly, walking across the room to peek into the hallway. Leo nodded at me. The best way to describe Mom is perverse. Sometimes she'll be the most hands on mom you can possible imagine. She'll be running around, offering to drive us places, do stuff with us, and all that stuff. Then sometimes she'll lock herself in a room for days at a time and not come out. I like to think of those as her black days. She doesn't have them very often, but it always makes all of us sad when she does. But now she's cooking, which is never a good thing. At least Leo and I can escape. I almost feel bad about leaving him alone to deal with *that* on his own. But then I hear the words that send a shiver down my spine. "Maddy! Will you and Leo come out here? I made eggs." I feel bad. Almost.

We walk out into the kitchen together, Dad's already sitting at the table, pretending to not notice the plate of eggs mom sat in front of him. His fault he didn't wake up before her. "Good morning." I say in a bright voice. Mom turns around from the stove, smiling and greeting me, Dad doing the same. Soon as Mom turned her back, Dad shot me a knowing look and gestured towards the plate in front of him. I had to fight back laughter. Not only was it as bad as I thought, it seemed to be much, much worse. That's another great thing about signing. We can make fun of Mom's cooking and have her not know a thing is going on.

"I'm making you two a plate." Mom said. All three of us cringed.

"Oh, sorry Mom." I said apologetically. "Leo's got a science fair meeting, we're running late as it is." Dad narrowed his eyes at Leo and me. Sorry, Dad. Uncle Zack always said that in war, its every man for himself.

"I thought science fair was over with last month." Mom said turning around, spatula still in hand. Oh hell.

'Didn't I tell you? I'm on the planning committee for next year's fair. First meeting's this morning at eight.' Leo is a genius. He's getting major chocolate products for that one.

Mom studied him a moment, as if she was looking for a way to catch us in our little story. I prefer not to refer to it as a lie, I think of it as survival techniques. "Well, you better go then." Thank you, God. "Maddy, will you--"

"I'll get something on the way." I call over my shoulder as Leo and I rush back into our respective room and grabbed our stuff. There was a small window of opportunity here. We had to run like hell if we didn't want to suffer Dad's fate.

Even as Leo and I rushed back into the kitchen, Leo was pulling on his book bag and I was pulling my keys out of my purse. "Bye Dad." I said as I kissed his cheek. I swear he muttered something under his breath. "Bye Mom." I said and kiss her cheek too. "See you tonight." Even as we were walking out the door, our easy escape seemed a little to easy. It wasn't till we stepped into the elevator and Leo pressed the button for the garage that we both finally let out a breath and realized we were home free. Leo was the first to start laughing, then I quickly joined in. We might not have the most normal family, but we certainly had our high points.





AN: I forgot to put this on the last chapter. Usher's syndrome is a real syndrome, my sister has it. It is basically the progressive loss and degeneration of auido and visual capabilities. Lovely, isnt it. It's quite rare, and I just used it so I didnt have to research something new. Thanks to Karen and Cat for their help.