Sarah Carlson - Everythings Not Fine

Everythings Not Fine

TURNER PUBLISHING COMPANY
Nashville, Tennessee
www.turnerpublishing.com

EVERYTHINGS NOT FINE

Copyright 2020 Sarah Carlson.
All rights reserved.

This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design: Rebecca Lown

Book design: Karen Sheets de Gracia

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Carlson, Sarah J., author.

Title: Everything is not fine / Sarah J Carlson.

Description: [Nashville : Turner Publishing Company, 2020] | Audience: Ages 418 | Audience: Grades 1012 | Summary: Seventeen-year-old Rose Hemmersbach aspires to break out of small town Sparta, Wisconsin and achieve her artistic dreams, just like her aunt Colleen, but must face her mothers heroin addiction and its ramifications first.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019035589 (print) | LCCN 2019035590 (ebook) | ISBN 9781684424108 (paperback) | ISBN 9781684424115 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781684424122 (ebook)

Subjects: CYAC: Drug abuseFiction. | Family problemsFiction. | Dating (Social customs)Fiction. | High schoolsFiction. | SchoolsFiction. | ArtistsFiction. | WisconsinFiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C4115 Eve 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.C4115 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019035589

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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Sarah J. Carlson

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Holliss chainsaw snore yanks me out of sleep. His lanky leg, half swathed in his Pikachu sheet, hangs off his bed.

I chuck my teal owl accent pillow at him.

Huh? Dont! he whines, then chucks it back at me.

I catch it and tuck it under my head. Stop snoring then, Holly Dolly.

Dont call me that, butthead, he mumbles into his Pokmon pillow.

God, Im seventeen. I cannot believe I have to share a room with a nine-year-old who smells like sweaty pit. Especially when our room is currently like ninety degrees. I stretch my arm and turn the oscillating fan toward me, then snatch my phone from the bedside table. We ran out of minutes; thank God our neighbor Tracis Wi-Fi password is just her name.

I send Dad another link for those trundle bunk bedsbecause seriously, why cant Hollis, Vi, and Sage share a room?then check Instagram. At the top of my feed is a selfie of Seraphina Abramsson. Behind her is an empty Broadway theater with golden pillars and a crystal chandelier hanging from a ceiling covered with Renaissance-style frescoes. Shes wearing her trademark red lipstick, offsetting her milky skin and long, silky white-blonde hair.

The caption:

Just finished my last show. Wicked, its been an unbelievable year. While Ive deeply loved playing Glinda, Im ready for what lies ahead. For the next two weeks, Ill be traveling the world searching for the true meaning of love. I dont know what life will hold when I walk the streets of NYC again, but Im okay with that. XO Sera.

I want her life. Not the acting part, but living far away and truly embracing your art. Traveling the world.

Her post has 1,352 likes. Still, I fight back the urge to heart it like always. Its dumb. She wouldnt even notice someone named RoseMarie liked her stuff. And even if she did, she wouldnt connect it to her niece in Sparta, Wisconsin.

My ears strain to hear the sound of the shower or a toilet flush, but the house is silent. Meaning the bathroom is mine. I scramble out of bed and yank a black Unrequited Death shirt from my top dresser drawer, then my black jean shorts from the bottom drawer.

Justin said these make my ass look hot. But last night it was Trinas ass he was grabbing behind a rack of animal print blouses in plain sight of my register. That dull ache throbs deep inside me.

I ram the shorts back in and grab some blue jean ones instead.

Those black shorts would be symbolically perfect for Justin in My Mind though. Shredded black to parallel Frida Kahlos traditional Mexican attire in Diego in My Thoughts.

I should just shower, but I cant let inspiration slip through my fingers. If a bedroom door opens, I can beat any of the kiddos to the bathroom. I snatch my canvas and a graphite pencil from the mound of art stuff at the foot of my bed and then escape the land mines of Holliss dirty socks and underwear to the living room. I set my canvas on Dads Field & Stream magazines, circa 2014, layering our coffee table. Ive already done the underpaintingpure cadmium red, because itll be a good contrast to the brooding purples and darkness Ive felt since Justin broke up with me.

My pencil scrapes across the layer of acrylic as I add those raggedy, cutoff black shorts to my self-portrait with Justins face on my forehead, his strong Greek nose, cleft chin, and square jaw. To capture his piercing blue eyes, Ill use french ultramarine and white. The bust of Dads twelve-point buck, the deer of legend from five years ago, watches with its dead eyes. Thatd be an interesting element to add, especially since now I spend every night sitting on the couch watching Cops with Dad after the kiddos go to bed. A buck head mixed with a dash of Kahlo inspiration might really grab Belwyns attention. The website said their viewbook with all the application requirements would be emailed out after Labor Day. So any day now.

I lightly sketch the buck head in a corner, its antlers twisting through the edge of the canvas.

Shut up, stupid! Sages nails-on-chalkboard voice booms through their bedroom door adorned with princess coloring sheets and a Green Bay Packers poster.

The beasts are stirring. I grab my clothes and bolt for the bathroom.

I peel off my pj shorts and faded middle school band T-shirt. The plastic octopus shower curtain is grainy with soap scum, and all the caulking is black with mildew, but because I got here first, I get to savor a shower without fear of the hot water running out.

Today is the only day this week Im free of cash registers and fingertips blackened by dollar bills and mountains of back-to-school clothes to de-hanger. I have the whole beautiful day with Mrs. Hoffmans oils in the art room to add the finishing touches to my summer masterpiece, The Two Roses.

I dry off and get dressed. My black eyeliner pencil scrapes across my eyelids as I draw thick black lines, making sure they match on both eyes. After mascara, I blow-dry my freshly dyed platinum blonde, bluntly cut chin-length hair, then spray my long bangs sweeping across my forehead.