“Even on weekends,” her father said.
She shook her head, glanced at me, and looked down.
“The second we hear of any misbehavior, and you know by now what I mean by misbehavior, around her or including her, everything changes for both of you, understand?”
Kiera said nothing. She did glance at her mother, with what I thought was a look of such disgust and rage that it would surely have turned my heart into stone if I were Mrs. March.
“Now,” he said, sounding softer, “if you’re going straight to school in the morning and if you return straight home after school on the days you’re not attending therapy, Sasha may ride with you. It would free up Grover and the limousine for your mother’s use and mine at times.”
Kiera started to smile.
“But if I hear of any bad driving, speeding, or anything of the like, I will take away your driving privileges, and of course, we’ll forbid Sasha to go anywhere with you.”
“We have to come right home all t
he time? Sometimes we like to get a snack or something, Daddy.”
“If there is any change, call your mother and get her permission first,” he said, relenting.
Kiera looked satisfied but wasn’t. She was an expert when it came to manipulating her father.
“May I just say, Daddy, that it’s very difficult for us to go to a movie or a house party or anything, for that matter, and have to be back by eleven on weekends. Half the time, the movie doesn’t let out until nearly eleven, just like it did the other night. It’s not good to have that sort of pressure on someone. I’ll end up driving too fast just to make the curfew. Either I do that or not include Sasha in things.”
“Eleven is late enough for a girl in the ninth grade,” Mrs. March said.
“Not in today’s world,” Kiera countered.
“Let’s leave it between eleven and twelve,” her father said. “Call it the pumpkin factor.”
“Pumpkin factor?” Kiera asked.
“Cinderella,” I said.
Mr. March smiled. “That’s right, Sasha. Remember? At twelve, her carriage turned into a pumpkin.”
“Which one of us is Cinderella?” Kiera asked impishly.
I thought she was also looking for some clear expression of affection from her father, but before he could respond, her mother did. “I hardly think it’s you, Kiera,” she said. “You already live in a castle.”
“You’re right, Mother,” Kiera said. She turned to me. “Then maybe Sasha will get her prince after all.”
Her father laughed, but her mother didn’t. She heard something I heard, too. It sounded more like a threat than a promise of something nice. After that, the conversation changed to other topics, mostly between Mr. and Mrs. March. When we left to go up to our rooms, I wasn’t sure who had won the argument I had overheard earlier, Mrs. March or Mr. March or Kiera. From the expression on Kiera’s face, I was sure she believed she had.
“Don’t worry,” she told me, “we’ll find ways to avoid coming right home on the days I can drive you.”
“As long as I can get done what I have to get done,” I said as a caution.
She didn’t hear me or care to. Instead, she went into her room after she said, “Ricky really missed you after school today.”
Her comment really distracted me. I had to concentrate harder to complete my homework and get to the clarinet. I was determined to impress Mr. Denacio in the morning, but a half hour into my practice, I had very bad cramps. I knew what it was; it was my time of the month, but it hadn’t been this bad since I began to be regular again.
I don’t know if it was because of our poor nutrition or simply the stress that came with living in the streets, but I had hardly begun to have periods before we were evicted from the apartment and then had to leave the hotel. In those early days, Mama was always there for me, but once we were on the street, I was on my own. I made sure I always had what I needed, but sometimes I would go weeks overdue, and once I went nearly two months. Since living with the Marches, I was clock-regular. I had merely forgotten that it was my time, but the severe cramps were more than a reminder; they were an alarm bell.
I prepared for my flow to begin and then curled up in bed, which was the way Kiera found me when she came to my room to tell me about something very secret. For a moment, she didn’t realize what was happening to me. I had my eyes closed and my hands pressing on my tummy. She really didn’t look at me. She entered and began to pace.
“I’ve been debating telling you about our secret club,” she began. “There are the three of us, Deidre, Margot, and me, but we inducted Marcia Blumfield and Doris Norman recently, so now there are five of us, and …” She paused when she really looked at me. “What’s your problem?”
“Monthlies,” I said.