Chapter Three

Summer Daydreams

-o-

Melissa woke to the gentle warmth of the sun's rays reaching in through the window and caressing her face. She wiped a hand over her mouth, catching the drool that collected at the corner of her lips, and then sat up. She blinked, finding herself on Rita's bed, atop of all the sheets. The window was open, a gentle breeze blowing hot air into the room.

"If only you took up the same percentage of the bed as your maths test score," Rita said, spooking her. "Blanket hog."

Melissa glared at her. Rita stood by the open door, balanced on one leg. She was holding a crystal glass - one of those fancy ones her own father adored - of water.

"Come on, get up. We'll do something fun today."

"I thought fun was banned," Melissa groaned. "You're grounded, remember?"

"That makes it more fun, right?"

She rolled her eyes, but climbed out of bed.

Rita let her borrow a fresh set of clothes from her wardrobe, though they weren't quite as well-suited to Melissa's orange hair and white freckled skin as they were to Rita's black hair and golden complexion. Rita took a sort of glee in the prospect of dressing Melissa up. She picked out a bright red shirt and pleated skirt, and laid them out on the bed.

"This with this," she said. "Put them on. I'll be back."

Melissa peeked out the crack of the door as Rita disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. With a sigh, she turned and dressed quickly. She didn't quite like the red on her, and she never wore skirts. She pulled her denim jacket on, once again hiding the bandage wound around her arm, then stood at the edge of the room and looked at her reflection in the mirror with uncertainty.

Two knocks on the door were her only warning before Rita stepped back into the room.

Melissa didn't look away from her skinny figure in the reflective glass. "Are you sure I look okay?"

"Are you insulting my eyesight? You look good. I wouldn't let you make my clothes look bad." She rustled around in a drawer in her dresser, then marched over to Melissa. She dotted her wrists with bergamot oil. "For your nerves."

"Nerves?" Melissa frowned. "What would I be nerv-"

Rita spun her around and shoved her, hard.

Melissa stumbled backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. efore she had time to yell at her, Rita pulled out her makeup bag.

Melissa's eyes bulged. "No. No, no, no."

But Rita was creeping towards her, armed with a little dish of pink blush and a fluffy makeup brush. "But you'd look so cute. Please."

"Rita, you-"

"Just a little?"

A sigh. "Fine."

She grinned, and dusted the lightest coat of pigment over her cheeks. But quickly, just a little blush turned into just a little eyeliner, and then just a little mascara, and then just a little lipgloss, and before she knew it Rita had turned her into some other version of herself.

Melissa studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked prettier, but she didn't look like herself. Her eyes looked bigger, her lashes thicker, and her skin healthier. She didn't recognise herself at all, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that was exactly what she needed. To become someone else, someone better. Maybe as this different version, as this new version, she could be good. And hadn't her father told her she needed to start wearing makeup just days ago?

"I guess," she said quietly, "it looks good."

"You guess?"

Melissa rolled her eyes and backed away from the mirror, but her glossy pink lips were pulled up into a smile. "I'm never letting you do this again."

"Rude."

The two girls marched downstairs, where they had paratha with yoghurt and a tall glass of cold milk. Once they were finished, they ducked out through the back door when Rita's parents weren't looking and headed down the road to the nearest bus stop.

"They'll notice my car is missing," Rita said.

"Won't they notice you missing?"

"I told them I'm studying for a test. Maa was so surprised I was studying voluntarily that I think she won't knock on my door for a whole week, even if she doesn't see me once."

Melissa laughed. The two girls took the bus to Main Street.

"We need to avoid Westbrook's," Melissa said.

Rita looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"He doesn't know about the test yet," she said. And he also didn't know she spent the night at Rita's either, but she figured she would tell him about that later. With any luck, he would only be slightly irritated. He loved Rita, and he loved Rita's family and, more than that, he loved the Sharma's influence.

She nodded, grabbed her hand, and dragged her down another road once they stepped off the bus.

The stores in Forks all looked similar. Square and rectangular buildings, usually longer than they were wide, all brick. Forks didn't possess the dazzling shopping district of Seattle or even Port Angeles, but the fashion boutiques were unique and the clothing items were often one-of-a-kind, handmade, sometimes imported, and that generated a kind of interest of its own.

Rita threw silk scarves around her neck, and slid handmade beaded jewellery over her wrists, and tried on leather heels her mother might have worn to court last season before the colour had faded out of fashion. Melissa had her own fun too, flicking through coat hangers of handmade knitwear.

"Let me buy you some makeup," Rita said.

"Ugh."

She shot her a glare, and Melissa pursed her lips. She knew better than to tell her no, so before they knew it they were marching into another store and swiping different shades of lipstick and eyeshadow and blush on the backs of their hands.

"I don't really know anything about any of this," Melissa admitted.

"It's basic colour theory. You have cool undertones. Pick colours that have cool bases." She plucked up a soft pink blush with a blue base, and swiped it over Melissa's wrist.

"But how do I put it on?"

Rita sighed. "I'll teach you when you come over. We can practise." She collected some more tubes and palettes and brushes, and went over to the sales counter. She slid her card to the cashier, then received it back along with her bagged purchase.

The two stepped back out on the street. The sun had crawled further up in the sky, now glaring down at them without the cover of any clouds. Melissa was beginning to sweat in her jacket. The infrequent and tiny gusts of wind stirring dust through the air and brushing over her face and legs felt nice.

The idea to grab a cold drink was not original, but it was a good one. The two girls headed down to the grocery store, craving the sugary taste and ice cold relief of a soda. They walked arm-in-arm down the path, both girls admiring their familiar, sleepy, beautiful town unravelling around them as they walked. It was late afternoon and everywhere the world was half-awake. The grass sprouted out of the most unlikely of places, the tiniest gaps in concrete. Floral arrangements dotted the main roads in garden beds. Along the fronts of cafes, people sat with their leashed dogs dozing between their feet, sipping cold drinks and eating desserts.

This was the sort of day Melissa adored. The weather, the slowness, the joy. She loved Forks when it was like this: sunny, careless, with all the laziness of a fat dog floating around in a pool of cool water.

They rounded the corner onto Main Street, and Melissa's heart shuddered, then stopped. A cold shadow stretched and loomed over her.

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Hi, Mr. Westbrook," Rita said.

Melissa's father smiled at her friend politely, and returned a greeting. But he only did this because he had to, because it was important to him that he maintained appearances. Melissa could see his eyes, and she could see the storm brewing in them.

"I was wondering where you girls went," he said. "You never came home, Melissa."

"She slept over at my place. We stayed up really late studying and I was too tired to drive her home. We've been studying together, and it's really been paying off!" Rita turned to Melissa. "Show him your test."

She swallowed, still looking at her dad. "What?"

"Your maths test," she told her. Then she turned back to her dad with an easy smile. "Melissa did really well."

Dimly, in the back of her mind, Melissa was surprised Rita found it so easy to lie. It was a talent, truly. But she supposed it was easier when she didn't know what messing up a lie would mean. It was easier to lie, maybe, when she didn't know what would happen to Melissa if she were caught.

She fumbled with her backpack, which she had brought as she was going to walk home after they finished shopping, and retrieved the test. She handed it to her father.

He glanced over the paper quickly, barely paying any attention to it. His eyes flicked from her name, printed in round and neat letters, to her score in the top corner.

"Good," he said, then handed it back.

Good.

Good!

Melissa breathed a quiet sigh. She slipped the test back into her bag. And she was suddenly very thankful for her father's distractedness, his anger at her for sleeping over without asking for permission, because as she put it away she realised they hadn't changed any of the markings on any of the questions. All throughout the test, crosses and red scribbles screamed over the pages just how bad, how stupid, she was.

"Well, thank you for keeping Melissa company, Rita, but I need her at the shop." He offered a charming smile, a snake's smile, and grabbed Melissa's cut-up forearm.

She bit her cheek hard to keep herself from making a sound. The coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. She hoped her face didn't give her away.

"It was great seeing you, Rita. Send your parents my regards."

And then he was dragging her away, down Main Street and towards Westbrook's. The world that had just appeared so cosy, so beautiful, was now vile and cruel once again. She stumbled over uneven concrete, lifted by stray tree roots, littered with the remains of pink and grey chewing gum. The barks of two dogs, perhaps arguing, rang out like gunshots in the hot air.

"You have some fucking nerve embarrassing me like that," her father hissed by her ear, very careful to keep a neutral expression, very careful not to be heard by anyone passing by them. "You better beg her not to say anything about this to her parents. They are both very influential."

"Yes. Sorry."

"What they must think, some girl sleeping in their house without her father's permission." He nodded at a passerby with a smile before he continued. "We are going to have a very serious talk. And why are you dressed like that? You look like a whore. You're a disgrace."

Melissa turned her head to look back. Behind them, Rita was standing at the corner of the street, the bag of makeup meant for Melissa still in hand, watching them go. Her brow was furrowed. She raised her free hand and waved.

Melissa forced herself to smile and wave back.

-o-

Trouble brewed at the Westbrook residence, the whole house one big teapot. The Westbrook sisters paced quickly around, moving from room to room, like tea leaves caught in a convection cycle. Every so often, in the midst of their pacing, they would cross paths and brush shoulders with one another, and one girl would burst into panicked tears.

Her father had taken her back to Westbrook's and had her man the shop until closing time, when he sent her only one text message telling her to find her own way home. She closed the store, counted the money in the till, swept the floors, locked the doors, and called her sister. Anna interrogated her during the drive home, and had not stopped since.

Melissa walked past her and into the kitchen, where she paced over the tiled floor. The kitchen was green and small, so she only managed three or four steps before she rotated on her socked foot and turned back out into the hallway. Another step took her into the living room, a larger space with hand-crafted tables, a plush sofa, and a television almost too big to be enjoyable to watch. Anna stood by the window, chewing her nails. They were acrylics, bright red, so she wasn't able to break them but a loud clicking sound rang out with each pass of her teeth over them.

"How angry is he?"

"Very angry," Melissa said.

Anna spun on her heel and stalked out into the hall. "Angrier than when I broke the good china?"

"Yes."

"Angrier than when you skipped school for a week?"

"Yes."

"Angrier than-"

"Anna, he was livid." She spun around, and followed her sister into the kitchen. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know," she said in a small voice. Then she turned to look at Melissa. Her eyes were wet. "Listen, just… don't talk back."

"Anna-"

"I'm serious. No talking back. And make sure you look him in the eye."

"It doesn't matter. It's not going to work."

Her face changed and she turned suddenly, then disappeared down the hall. When she came back, she had a sleeve of pills in her hand.

"Take these before," she said. "It will hurt less."

Melissa's eyes welled with tears.

"I know," Anna whispered. "I'm sorry. I wish I could get us out of here, but I need more time. Just a little bit more time. I'm so sorry, Mel."

She nodded, and tried to swallow her tears to be brave for her sister's sake. She took the pills from her, popped them in her mouth, and then stuck her head under the kitchen tap. She gulped down the painkillers and wrenched off the water.

Then, from outside came the sound of a car pulling up to the house; an engine turning off; the clicking of metal cooling down; a key turning a lock; loafers squeaking over tile. Then-

Melissa bit back a swear.

Her father appeared, stinking of alcohol. His flushed face rounded the corner and he stumbled into the room. He emptied his pockets and threw the contents on the kitchen table - his wallet, his keys, his phone. Then, like a sack of rotten vegetables, he collapsed into a chair, sad and drunk and reeking.

Anna hurried to fetch him a glass of water which she set in front of him. He lifted his head to look at her. Said nothing for a terribly long moment.

"Clear out," he mumbled.

"Would you like anything to eat?"

"Out, both of you!"

The two girls exchanged glances, then scurried upstairs. Hopefully, he had meant to banish them to their rooms and not to the curb.

Melissa and Anna had learnt to communicate through looks and gestures from a young age. Upstairs, on the landing, they decided that they should just go about the night as if everything was normal. That was what their father preferred, usually. Pretending that everything was okay, even when it was not. They went about showering and brushing their teeth and slathering on lotion. Then, the two girls slipped quietly into Melissa's room, where they waited out what felt like the end of the world.

Melissa's room wasn't the cosy sanctuary Rita's was. The walls were flat white, sheer drapes framing the single window that overlooked the street. Her room was large enough for a bed and a small wardrobe and a tall, skinny dresser. The sheets and duvet were both white. The furniture was painted white. Everything was clean, unworthy of comment and impossible to criticise.

Melissa pulled the duvet and pillows off the bed and set them by the window. The two sisters sat on the floor under the window for hours, suspended in a careful quietness.

"Whatever happens, you can't lose your cool." Anna picked at the fabric of her pyjama shorts. "I'm making money, Mel. Serious money. We're going to get out of here soon."

But she didn't understand why, if she had money, it hadn't happened already. She'd bought a new car, hadn't she? She bought new clothes and skin care products and makeup all the time. Last week, she ordered a new microphone and another upgrade for her computer.

"It's okay," she said after a moment.

Anna turned her head in the dark to look at her. "What?"

"If there's not enough for both of us," she said, "you can leave."

Her sister was very still. She didn't see or hear her breathe. Then, she lurched forwards, as if kicked in the stomach. She leaned towards her, hands on her shoulders, clammy and too firm. "Mel. Mel, that is absolutely not happening. I have the money. I have to prove things, though, so that you can come with me. I can't just take you. You're not eighteen."

Sure. That made sense, but it didn't mean it was any easier to accomplish.

Besides, the issue wasn't with money, or with proving anything, or with her age. The issue was that Melissa was bad. And if she went off and lived somewhere with Anna far away from their father, then she would still be bad. And Anna would have to teach her to be good. And if Anna didn't teach her then she would always be bad, for her whole life until she died.

She nodded to herself, satisfied she was right.

Anna exhaled and leaned back against the wall. "Did you have fun with Rita, at least?"

Melissa smiled in the dark, a big smile and she thought it was a shame Anna couldn't see it. "Yes," she said, and it was true. "The most fun I've had in a long time."

"Let me guess what you stayed up all night talking about," she said. "Hmm, colleges?"

She shook her head.

A pause. "Homework?"

Melissa screwed up her nose. "No. Rita wouldn't stop talking about Rosalie Cullen the whole night."

"Isn't she dating her brother or something?"

"Yeah, but they're not blood-related," Melissa said. "Besides I don't think that matters to Rita."

Two knocks on the door, nearly blended together.

Anna and Melissa looked at each other, wide-eyed. Her sister's hand fumbled for hers in the dark. She found it, and clutched it tightly, as if she could press confidence into her skin.

Melissa swallowed, and then said quietly, "Come in."

The door swung open, and all the air left the room, and all the air left Melissa's lungs, every particle far too terrified to remain.

Her father's figure loomed in the doorway, backlit by the yellow glow of the hallway light. The smell of beer quickly wafted over to Melissa, who pressed herself further back into the wall.

"You don't give me permission. I go wherever I want in my own damned house."

Melissa sat up straight. "Of course."

He raised a finger. In the dark, shadows crept over his arm, and the yellow glow of the streetlight outside the window painted the tips of his fingers as if he had stuck his hand in a bucket of paint. "You," he said, gesturing at Anna. "Out."

She stood silently, and left the room without a word. Melissa knew she was doing it for her sake, so it wouldn't be so bad for her, but she felt the sting of abandonment all the same. She wished her sister had stayed. But then, stayed for what? To see what would happen? To count the bruises?

She was better off outside of the room.

Her father turned to her, his face wicked in the low light. "You two built a sty."

"What?"

"Like a pig," he spat. He stepped into the room and gestured at the blankets and pillows arranged under the window. "You're fucking nesting."

Melissa stood and rushed to apologise. If she apologised, if she showed him she was bad and he was right, maybe things wouldn't escalate. "I'm sorry."

"The floor is for poor people," he said. "I bet the Sharmas all sit on nice expensive chairs, don't they?"

"Sorry."

"Well, we have money too. I treat you and Anna right, don't I? Bought you this nice house in this nice neighbourhood."

Melissa's chin dropped, just a fraction. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to see him look at her with such disappointment, with so much hurt. "Yes."

"And you sit on the floor like an animal."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a fucking pig," he spat. Then he paused, tilted his head. "You know, they don't let pigs go to college."

"Dad-"

"They go to little factories, where they make paintbrushes and fertiliser." He paused. "Maybe I should ship you off to one of them, since you're so ungrateful for this house, for everything I do for you. Maybe Mr. Sharma will use you to keep his plants happy outside that big house of his you disrespect."

Melissa was quiet. Her blood, rushing through her body, turned cold. She stood very, very still. She kept her eyes on her father, wide and alert. Her muscles were taut with the urge to dart past him and out the door. But that wasn't a good idea. That was definitely not a good idea, was it?

"I'm talking to you!"

He bent over, struggling to keep his balance as he tugged a leather shoe from his foot. He stood up, and hurled it across the room at her. In his drunken rage, he missed her head. The shoe flew and hit the wall with a loud thunk, then dropped to the carpeted floor. Melissa turned. A dirty mark marred the wall behind her.

"Now look. You've fucked up the paint."

But his voice didn't sound right anymore. Muffled over the pumping of blood in her ears. Heat spread through her face, her arms, her chest. The room darkened, the edges of her vision clouding.

"What, you don't talk anymore? Just oink, oink? Well, if you want to act like an animal, you know where they sleep!"

He lumbered across the room towards her, bobbing as he shifted from his bare foot to his taller shoe. He stretched out his arm, and then his fingers tangled in her hair. Sharp pain sprouted along her scalp when he yanked.

Quickly, suddenly, immediately- everything was black.

Everything was beautiful, cool, dark black. Melissa fell backwards, under the shade of a tree in summer, to somewhere soft and comfortable and safe. She receded to some other place in her body, and she stayed there in the dark coolness of that place for a long, long nap.

-o-

Nearby, the sound of a lawn mower that refused to start. Sea spray under her eyes, wet and salty, as if the ocean had sneezed on her face.

No. It was her.

Her chest heaved with sobs. Her cheeks were wet, the taste of saltwater sat on her lips.

She opened her eyes.

Sunlight reached in through the window and cradled her. She blinked, squinting through the light, cheek pressed to the carpet. Morning.

Slowly, she sat up. Her hand hurt, and the back of her head throbbed in time with her heart. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. She lifted her hand and held it out in front of her for assessment, trying to calm her breathing at the same time. Purple bruises bloomed over the knuckles of her right hand, but she was able to curl and uncurl her fingers without too much trouble. Then, gingerly, she touched the back of her head with a fingertip. She probed gently, searching for slick wetness or the stickiness of drying blood. Her shoulders slumped when she found nothing but a large bump.

It was a Sunday which meant no school at least, but there was nothing her father disliked more than her sulking after a punishment. So she dragged herself up from the floor and forced herself to stand. The room only shook a little, like a snow globe, once she was on her feet.

She stumbled out of her own bedroom and down the hall to her sister's. She knocked on the door, three quick raps in a certain rhythm to identify herself, and the door flew open. Anna stood there, wide-eyed, mouth agape. She looked absolutely horrified, which was a feat in itself; she played scary games for a living, and she loved horror films.

"Oh my God."

She took her gently by the hand and tugged her to the little yellow bathroom on the second floor. Melissa was instructed to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, and she obeyed without resistance. She smiled to herself. Her father would be pleased to see that his punishment had worked and made her more obedient, and she was glad to make him proud.

Anna got to work cleaning up her head wound and wrapping her up in white cloth bandages. She changed the gauze on her arm too. She did all of it without a word, which was worrying.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes traced the pale yellow tiles climbing from the floor to ceiling.

"You don't need to apologise, Mel. None of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

But that wasn't true, of course. Melissa had been bad. Melissa had hurt her father's feelings, though she hadn't meant to. And, well, he hurt her back, but that was only fair, wasn't it?

After packing up the first aid kit, Anna helped her downstairs and into the kitchen. Again, she instructed her to sit, and Melissa was all too happy to lower herself into a chair at the kitchen table.

Anna made her a light breakfast, and poured her a glass of water. She placed the glass in front of her, along with a bowl of sliced fruit and two pain pills. Melissa happily gulped down the water and pills, and started picking at the fruit. And when her father entered the room, a pleasant small smile on his face, Melissa knew her dad had come back. This was a gentle, kind man. This was a humble, unassuming bookstore owner, who had two motherless daughters he loved very much.

He sat opposite her, and pulled the bowl of fruit away from her. He started picking at her breakfast, and then stopped to look at her. "I had to do it, Melissa."

She nodded, and the world rocked along with the motion. "I know."

"You need discipline."

"I know."

"And you need help," he said. "Professional help."

She frowned at him. "What?"

"What you did last night," he said, shaking his head, "was completely unacceptable. I will not have you damaging property like some delinquent."

Her confusion grew. "What?"

"Make sure you wear a hat to school tomorrow."

Her hand hovered over her wounded head. "To hide it?"

He looked at her as if she had said something strange. "No. For the sun. It's a UV Index of 10." He wolfed down a slice of apple, then a halved strawberry, and then another. "And you're starting therapy on Thursday. I'll shuffle around your work schedule."

Melissa shook her head, now beyond confused. "What?"

"No, Melissa. There's no way you're getting out of this." Then he polished off her breakfast. He stood and crossed the room, then placed the empty bowl in the sink for one of the girls to wash. He stopped on his way out of the room to study her. "On second thought, maybe you should stay home for a bit. You look horrible."

And just as quickly as he had appeared and eaten her meal, he was gone.

Melissa didn't understand. She went off in search of her sister. She dragged herself upstairs, and found Anna in her room. She had remade the bed for her, fluffed up her pillows and smoothed out her duvet. Anna stood along a stretch of bare wall, a rolled-up piece of glossy paper in her hands. Melissa stepped further into the room and came to stand next to her. She then saw what her sister was trying to hide with a poster.

Next to the curved scuff mark left by her father's shoe was a gaping hole.

Her eyes widened, then drifted to her hand wrapped in white bandages. Slowly, she turned her head to look at Anna.

"Mel, it's alright. I know you-"

"I don't remember this," she said in a small voice.

Anna frowned. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "I don't remember any of it."

Her sister reached for her, pulling her into a hug. She was taller, and able to rest her chin on the top of her orange, wounded head.

"He says I put that hole in the wall. It makes sense," she said, running her fingers over the rough bandage covering her knuckles, "but I don't remember it."

Anna was quiet for a long time. And then, very gently, very softly, she said, "Maybe you left for that bit."

Melissa paused. "Then where did I go?"

But neither girl could answer that.

-o-