Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (22 page)

“Exactly!”
Jackson smacked the steering wheel lightly.

“But
what about
Saw
?” Tegan said. “It’s not a remake.”

“True,”
Jackson conceded. “That shit is gory as hell, though.”

“Oh,”
I groaned. “I could hardly stand to watch it. I refuse to watch the sequels.
I’m sure they’re just as gross.”

Tegan
nodded her agreement as Jackson said, “Oh, the second one definitely is, which
is why I prefer psychological thrillers to horror and gore.”

“Like
Seven
?” I suggested.

“Oh,
yeah, great movie,” Jackson nodded. “Definitely one of my faves.”

By
the time the movie started, I was completely relaxed. Any anxieties I’d had
before had vanished, and I was able to watch the movie with rapt attention.

Afterward,
Jackson and I discussed the differences between the book and movie, which we
had to explain to Tegan, and she had a few questions that hadn’t been answered
even after a second viewing, which we tried to explain as best we could.

The
drive back to my house went much too fast, and after thanking Jackson for
taking us and buying our tickets, we said our goodbyes.

“You
weren’t kidding,” Tegan giggled as we made our way up to the front door.
“Jackson is gorgeous but also so cool. Now, I can see why you’ve been talking
about him so much.”

“I
don’t talk about him
that
much!” I blushed.

Tegan
gave me a look that plainly screamed, “Liar!”

I
knew she was right. Since the ride home from the mall and our occasional
conversations on instant messenger, it was hard not to. He wasn’t just a pretty
face. He was so easy going; it was impossible not to have a good time when he
was around.

I’d
known for weeks already, but it was finally official; I’d caught the crush bug,
and I had it bad.

While it
was a bit unsteady Mom’s first week back to work, most everything around the
house was okay. Dinner came later, and the dishwasher didn’t always get filled
or emptied immediately, but it wasn’t as extreme as I had anticipated. I’d come
to realize it wasn’t fair for Mom to carry all of the responsibility, but that
concept seemed beyond reason when it came to Skylar, Luke and Dad, and by the
second week, things were starting to get a little crazy around the house.

The
tension between Mom and Dad remained, but it was easier to ignore. Mom seemed
to be getting along great with her new job, and I had become less unsettled by
her absence in the immediate hours after school was over. Because Dad was still
in a snit over Mom taking the job—or so I assumed—and Luke and Skylar were too wrapped
up in themselves, I felt obligated to ask Mom about work, which she was always
happy to talk about.

“It’s
great,” she sighed contentedly the first time I asked. “I’d forgotten just how
much I enjoyed teaching.”

After
that I made it a point every day to ask about her day. I knew I didn’t like it
when no one around the house, aside from Mom, was courteous enough to ask about
my day, so I wanted to do something nice. After all, she brought me into the
world, so I kind of owed her.

I
seemed to be the only one who felt this obligation. As Dad was still being very
grouchy, it seemed like when he wasn’t ranting erratically about something he
read in the newspaper or saw on television, he was quiet and surly. Whenever
anyone asked him a question, his replies mostly came out sounding like a grunt.
Frankly, I was growing quite concerned. It was rather unnerving to sit at a
table with a man who looked like he could rip the head off the first person who
put a toe out of place.

Luke
and Skylar had both been faring pretty well with the changes, despite their
initial dismay. It only took Luke a couple of days to create a new routine for
himself once he realized we had no parental supervision for nearly two hours
after school. I was completely blindsided the first time he brought his newest
girlfriend, Brooke, over to the house.

She
was a peppy and petite blonde. I’d seen her around school a few times, and I
was pretty sure she was a cheerleader. I didn’t know much about her, though,
because Luke hardly ever brought his girlfriends around, which probably should
have been my first warning.

As
soon as they got to the house, Luke led her upstairs without so much as a word
to me. I didn’t think much about it at first, but then, when I went upstairs to
my room a little later, I heard the noises.

Now,
I didn’t make it a habit of meddling or discussing my brother’s sex life. I
didn’t care. The things I’d seen on his laptop and heard from Stevie and Skylar
were things I wished I hadn’t. I could deal with it, though, and push it back
into the recesses of my mind and pretend I hadn’t heard any of it. But actually
hearing it with my own ears was not something I was prepared to handle.

Because
Luke’s room was right next door to mine, we shared what seemed to be a way too
thin wall, which resulted in me hearing things I wished could be unheard;
Brooke’s whimpers and moans, Luke’s grunts and groans and the awful squeak of
his mattress and the clunk and clatter of his headboard against the wall.

Needless
to say, I scurried back downstairs and stayed rooted to the couch until Brooke
had gone, and the next time Luke showed up with her in tow, I shied away from
my room while mentally cursing my brother to the farthest recesses of Hell.

Aside
from the mental scars Luke had left behind, I was also irritated with him
because if I couldn’t go into my room, for obvious reasons, then I couldn’t get
online. If I couldn’t get online, I couldn’t talk to Jackson. We’d talked a few
more times via instant messenger since our first conversation. He was usually
online for a little while after school, so we never talked long, but I’d come
to cherish those conversations.

I’d
seen him at school a time or two since we went to the movies, but it was never
long enough to talk. Besides, it seemed so much easier from behind a computer
screen. It gave me a chance to check my mental filter, whereas I usually felt
befuddled in his presence. The uncertainty was less severe since we hung out
that one Saturday, but now that I’d admitted to myself that my crush on Jackson
wasn’t solely based on looks, I still felt somewhat shy when I passed him in
the hallways.

Skylar
also seemed rather annoyed with Luke for bringing Brooke over. Skylar wasn’t
around as much, but, on the couple of occasions she was, I warned her off from
going upstairs, and, realizing what Luke and Brooke planned, she’d glared and
joined me in the living room to watch television.

I
was fairly certain her anger had less to do with Luke having sex a floor above
us and more to do with the fact that she was jealous she didn’t have a guy to
bring over to do the same. Because I was still upset with her after being so
mean to me during the shopping incident and the flirty smiles she’d sent
Jackson’s way, I thought it served her right. I only realized later that I
should have allowed her to be subjected to Luke and Brooke’s loud sex as
punishment.

By
midway through Mom’s second week of work, Luke and Skylar’s easy acceptance
finally gave way to frustration.

“I
have no clean clothes,” Skylar complained after dinner one evening.

“Neither
do I,” Luke chimed in. They both looked to Mom, who I was helping load the
dishwasher.

“Why
are you telling me?” Mom retorted. “You’re both plenty old enough to do your
own laundry.”

Luke
looked shocked by the mere idea of
approaching
a washer and dryer, but
then the shock seemed to give way to fear at the thought of actually
using
them.
Although, in his defense, I suppose he had a valid reason for his fear. When he
tried to start the dishwasher last week, he wound up overflowing the thing. I
wasn’t exactly sure how he managed it, but Mom wasn’t too upset.

“At
least he was trying to be helpful,” she’d sighed.

Skylar
just looked highly affronted at the concept of washing her own clothing, like
the task was beneath her. With her arms crossed over her middle, she huffed
angrily. When I sighed in exasperation at her ridiculousness, her eyes landed
on me. “What about Silly?”

Mom
glanced at me, puzzled as I was. “What about her?”

“Why
does she still have clean clothes?” Skylar accused.

“I
do my own laundry,” I glared.

Apparently,
Skylar thought since I could do my own laundry, then she wouldn’t have a
problem doing hers, so, eventually—she, evidently, wasn’t completely out of
clean clothes, as claimed—she broke down and gave the washer and dryer a try.
The result: a complete disaster.

Luke,
still fearful of the washing appliances, bravely asked Skylar if she could wash
a couple of things for him because he, mistakenly, thought she had things under
control.

It
was a Wednesday afternoon, and neither Luke nor Skylar had to work and were
both, surprisingly, home that evening. She’d already started the wash when I
came downstairs to get something to drink.

I
was surprised to hear the dryer running as I passed the utility room. As far as
I knew Mom wasn’t home yet, but I didn’t think too much of it until the buzzer
for the dryer went off and Skylar strode through the kitchen into the utility
room.

As
soon as I saw her, I realized she was the one doing laundry and suddenly had a
very bad feeling. Uneasy, I watched as Skylar threw the contents of the dryer
into a laundry basket before moving the clothes in the washer over to the
dryer. Then she grabbed the basket and went into the dining room to start
folding.

I
watched with mild interest as I sipped on a can of Cherry Coke. Luke came into
the kitchen just after Skylar had started folding. He grabbed a can of Mountain
Dew from the refrigerator and turned to walk toward Skylar, opening his mouth
as if to ask her a question, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

Skylar
was, of course, listening to her iPod, so I wasn’t even sure she’d seen Luke
enter the room, and she didn’t seem to really be paying much attention to what
she was folding, but as Luke stared at her for several moments, she seemed to feel
his gaze.

She
tore the ear buds out, clearly annoyed. “What?”

His
eyes zeroed in on the shirt she was holding, and he asked, through gritted
teeth, “What is that in your hands?”

Skylar
glanced down and shrugged. “The shirt you asked me to wash.”

“What
the hell did you do to it?” he demanded as he walked closer to inspect his
shirt.

What
had once been a white Beatles t-shirt with a picture of John, Paul, Ringo, and
George on the front and a list of the songs on their White album on the back
was now light pink.

My
feeling of foreboding, apparently, hadn’t been unwarranted. I knew immediately
that Skylar must have failed to sort the clothes by color. I’d have wagered she
hadn’t looked at the tags for any special instructions either.

I
felt sorry for Luke. I knew it was his favorite shirt. The expression on his
face was somewhere between rage and desolation.

“You
fucking turned it pink!”

Skylar
was immediately incensed. “I did not!”

“Oh,
yeah? So it just turned itself pink somewhere between the time I gave it to you
to wash and the time it got in and out of the washer, huh?” Luke spat.

“Okay,”
Skylar scoffed, “maybe it turned pink in the wash, but I didn’t do it on
purpose.”

Luke
didn’t seem to care whether the error was intentional or accidental. “You’re
buying me a new one.”

“Why
should I?”

“Because
you ruined it! I can’t wear a
pink
White album shirt, you twit,” Luke
said. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t know how to wash clothes?”

“I
know how to wash clothes,” Skylar replied as she sifted through the rest of the
clothes in the basket, grabbing another item to fold. “Everything else is
fine,” she said, but at that moment, she held up what was formerly her
three-quarter-sleeve ivory cashmere top. No longer ivory, it was now the same
shade of pink as Luke’s shirt, and instead of looking like it belonged to an
eighteen-year-old, it looked better fitted for an eight-year-old.

We
all stared at it for a moment in complete silence. I had to bite the inside of
my cheek to keep from laughing. It was just too much. Then, finally, after what
seemed like an eternity of silence, Luke seemed to regain the ability to speak.

“Wow,
I guess you really are the expert on laundry,” he commented. “Or at least the
expert on how to make clothes fit a toddler!”

“Shut
up!” Skylar’s confidence seemed to finally crack, and anger mixed with
embarrassment. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s not my fault.”

I’d
managed to stay quiet up until then, but I had to speak up. “Actually,” I said,
“it kind of is. I mean, that’s a cashmere top.”

“I’m
fully aware of that, Silly.” She spat my name as if it were a curse.

“Well,
then you should have been fully aware that you’re only supposed to dry clean
it,” I pointed out.

That
shut Skylar up immediately, and, if possible, her pale face grew paler, and
there was a quick moment of surprise before her face went blank.

“Mom
drops all of the clothes that need dry cleaned off at the cleaners at the
beginning of each month,” I added. “She keeps them in a pile beside the laundry
basket. Just for future references.”

“Wha—how—why
didn’t you tell me that
before
?” Skylar exclaimed as I pushed away from
the counter where I’d been leaning.

“I
didn’t know you were doing laundry,” I replied with a shrug. “Or I would have.”

“Yeah,
right,” Skylar glared. “I bet you think this is really funny, don’t you?”

“Well,
yeah,” I replied, honestly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Luke crack a
smile. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one amused by Skylar’s lack of common
sense. “Maybe next time you should try sorting the clothes by color and
checking the tags before you put them in the washer,” I suggested.