8. Home Sweet, No Sweet Home.

The few times Jade had been to her father's house had not been pleasant. They had all been dinners, in lieu of going to a restaurant, in an attempt to force Jade and Celia to bond. Jade did her best to be as sarcastic and sullen as possible at these dinners, warming up only slightly the one night her mother suggested she bring Beck. Beck's obvious passion for the theater arts was enough to end those dinners altogether — and set off a brand new argument between Jade and Richard over the quality of people with which she spent her time.

Jade realized now, as she pulled up to the curb, her car packed to the brim with bags and boxes, that she had never seen her father's house in the daylight. It was big. Really big. Like these-people-probably-have-memberships-to-six-different-country-clubs big. Every blade of grass was in place, and the sun gleamed off of the French doors on the second floor balcony above the three-car garage. Maybe it wasn't too late to drive across the country instead? She had everything she'd ever need piled on her backseat. Except money…and food…and Jade marched up the stone pathway and rapped the front door with her fist, jiggling the locked doorknob loudly until Celia yanked it open.

"Hello," Celia said, smiling. Jade took her friendliness as condescension.

"Yeah," Jade said to her stepmother coldly. Celia's smile faltered. Jade leaned to the right slightly, seeing Richard hobble to the door over Celia's shoulder. In a sweater and slacks, it was the most casual outfit Jade had ever seen her father wear. He looked better than the last time Jade had seen him, but the fact that he'd literally taken a beating still showed. A scar was healing across his face, his left wrist was braced, and he leaned heavily on a crutch.

"Jade," Richard greeted with a formal nod. Jade nodded back. "Where are your things?"

"In my car," Jade responded, pushing past Celia and into the house. Her musings had been right the other day — it did smell like lemons. Yapper tore around the corner, sniffing Jade's boots and doing what little dogs do best: yap.

"Your room is upstairs," Richard said over the dog's shrill barking. "Celia, if you would…?"

There was a moment of strained silence between them that made Jade's stomach drop — a feeling all to familiar for her liking.

"Of course," Celia finally said acidly. She led her stepdaughter up a sleek wooden staircase that curved to the left, and into a sunny room toward the back of the house. There was already a dark wooden bed with fresh sheets and a matching side table, dresser, and desk. The door to the en suite bathroom was ajar. Jade took a sweeping glance around the room, Celia in the doorway.

"Jade," Celia began with a sigh, "I know you aren't exactly happy to be here—"

"You got that right."

"But Richard— er, your father and I are going to make an effort, and I'd appreciate it if you would do the same. This isn't easy for us either. Our lives are being changed as much as yours."

"Not really."

"Yes really!" Celia maintained. "We're redesigning our lives and our home for you!"

"Are you calling me a homewrecker?" Jade took a few aggressive steps forward, and Celia took one timid step back.

"Of course not."

"Really? Because that's what it sounded like. Which is funny, coming from you."

Celia opened her mouth to say something, but instead sighed defeatedly and retreated downstairs.

"Home sweet home," Jade muttered bitterly to herself. She trailed after Celia downstairs and back outside, and began a continuous trek back and forth between the bedroom and her car. It took her an hour to bring in all of the boxes while Celia watched passively, almost curiously, from various perches around the house. Once everything she had brought from her old house to her new 'home' had been lugged into the too-bright bedroom and it's equally sun-drenched bathroom, Jade shut the door. She wondered for a moment if the adults downstairs would notice if she never came out again. Sadly, doubtful. So she stood, hands on her hips, squinting in the bright room at the haphazard piles of possessions surrounding her like a sandcastle some violent kid had stomped to the ground. Feeling for a second very proud of herself for labeling the boxes so thoroughly, Jade tore open the flaps of sheets & curtains and sharp things and blocked out the natural light that was giving her a migraine. Blackout curtains (and thumbtacks) were close behind scissors on her list of all-time favorite inventions. With the sun effectively kept out, Jade started making plans to turn the whitewashed cell into a room worthy of calling her own. She started by tearing the crisp white sheets off of the bed and remaking it with the blankets she'd brought from home. Former home, that is. When that was completed, she found she could lounge comfortably on the bed, and began to let her inner interior decorator go wild with a set of colored pencils. The walls would have to be repainted, so there was no point in hanging her butterflies or scissors yet. She'd have to find some tools tomorrow and hang her blackout curtains for real — those thumbtacks wouldn't last forever, and looked tacky, no pun intended. Scribbling on the paper in front of her with her black colored pencil (which was almost too short to comfortably hold), and with music blaring from the tinny speaker on her PearPhone, Jade created her Bedroom 2.0, a new and improved version of the haven from her old house. But her tunes were suddenly cut off and replaced by her ringtone, the phone buzzing erratically on the bedside table to her left. Picking up the pear-shaped device with pencil-stained fingers, Jade raised an eyebrow at the caller ID. Beck.

"Yeah?" she answered graciously.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Why did you call me?"

"To see what's up…."

"I'm in hell. Okay? Okay, goodbye."

"No don't hang up!" Beck's voice issued from the phone as Jade pulled it away from her ear. She held it between her ear and shoulder and continued drawing.

"Alright, I didn't hang up."

"Care to elaborate on this particular hell?"

"My dad's house."

"Oh. How is it?"

Jade made a noise like a dying bear in response.

"That bad, huh?"

"It's so bad. How much does wall paint cost?"

"I dunno, like twenty, thirty bucks a gallon?"

"Ugh."

"Why?"

"The room is white. And it faces west."

"That's kinda funny…."

"No it isn't. Not even a little bit. Why would anyone ever build a house with windows facing west? Or east?! No one wants the sun in their room. What kind of person wants the sun in their room?!"

"Crazy people," Beck's grin was almost audible. "But I was actually laughing at the fact that it's west. And you're West. You know, Jade West."

"Yeah, I actually knew that one."

"Wait," Beck was cracking himself up. "Does your dad live in Westwood?!"

"No. Brentwood. West of Westwood."

"Oh," he was suddenly much less cheery. "Right."

"Yep," Jade frowned at the smudges her wrist had made on the paper.

"Wait, so you're facing west, and you're west of Westwood?"

"Are you drunk?"

"I—what? No!" Beck sounded equally confused and offended.

"Have you been doing drugs?"

"Like I have the money to do drugs."

"Fair point. Then why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Talking to me. And laughing at your own horrible jokes."

"I didn't make up that joke, it existed all on its own. And what's so wrong with talking to you? We used to talk all the time."

"Yeah, when we were dating."

"So why can't we talk now?"

"Because it's weird."

"It's not weird."

"It is."

"It isn't, but I'll let you think whatever you want."

"Oh thank you," Jade tossed her notebook aside, sitting up to give this argument her full attention. "Thank you for allowing me to think for myself. I'm honored."

"Well hey, no problem."

"Why is it so fun for you to annoy me? You know what, don't answer that. I can do it myself. It's fun for you to annoy me because you have deep-seated, ineradicable psychological problems!"

Beck was silent for a moment. Jade smirked.

"My thesaurus says that 'deep-seated' and 'ineradicable' mean the same thing," he declared finally.

"I am aware of that," Jade said through gritted teeth. "I just decided that I needed both adjectives to describe your messed up mind!"

"I can accept that," Beck agreed. Jade rolled her eyes with a sigh. "You just rolled your eyes."

"I did not."

"You so did."

"No, actually, I didn't!"

"I'm pretty sure you did."

"Oh yeah? How sure?"

"Like ninety-eight percent sure."

"Ninety-eight percent? You—" Jade was cut off by Celia sticking her head in the room. Jade jotted new locks on her list of improvements to the room.

"It's time for dinner," Celia said, looking at the dark curtains in distaste.

"Fine, whatever," Jade said. Once Celia had left, Jade brought her PearPhone back to her ear. "I'm leaving now. And there's no way you could have known that I rolled my eyes."

"You admit that you did! Also, I totally knew."

"No, you didn't."

"Yep, I did. 'Cause I know you."

"You do not!" Jade shouted, hanging up her phone and tossing it roughly to the end of her bed. She winced, realizing just how much that answer sounded like a petulant child.

Running with my roots pulled up

Caught me cold so they could cut

What there was left of love

I'm rootless, I'm rootless

Happy Saturday! Hope you enjoy :)