Rae Else - Luna

J ess cracked the front door open.

Her gaze went to the cardboard fort in the corner of the living room. Psss, Caylee.

Nothing. She huffed a sigh.

Damn.

Her younger foster sister was a willing accomplice in her smuggling activities. Jess narrowed her eyes, listening for any noise from the kitchen. She eased her rucksack off her shoulders before slipping off her mud-caked sneakers and dragging the mangled camping chairs over the threshold. The beer bottles wrapped in the seats clinked. A stale waft of booze suffused the air.

Shit.

The bottles reeked more than shed banked on.

Tossing her bag on one of the bundles, she manhandled them upstairs, one under each arm. She trailed down the hall and pushed the bedroom door open with her foot and froze.

Her older foster sister stared back at her from the vanity mirror. Emmas perfect pout drooped. Emma wasnt supposed to be here. She worked the evening shift at the local diner every Friday.

Jess jutted her chin out.

Emmas glossy ponytail whipped around like a horses tail flicking away flies. No way. She jabbed the lipstick shed been using at Jess.

They said I could, Jess lied, trailing over to her side of the room. There were too many paints, paintbrushes, and papers strewn across her desk, so she dropped the bundles by her bed.

Colleen! Emma yelled.

Why does she have to be such a bitch?

She and Emma shared a room and were both seniors in high school but thats as far as their similarities went. The only thing Emma cared about was her looks, her worries consisting of nothing more substantial than over-plucked brows and broken nails.

Jess didnt waste time on such things. There were more important things, like CRAP, the Community Recycling Art Project. Shed joined last summer when shed been placed here. The initiative to turn litter within national parks into art had inspired her to develop paintings and sculptures of native animals then photograph them against the landscape, highlighting both pollution and endangered wildlife. It had been her ticket to Portland Art School in Maine. In a few months, shed be there and out of this backwater town.

Jess sprang up from the carpet as Colleen, one of their foster moms, walked in.

Colleens unease deepened the crows feet at her eyes.

Jess brought back more trash, Emma griped.

Just camping chairs. The canvas was too good to leave.

Colleen swept her hand across her tired eyes. Not in the house, Jess.

Its raining, Jess protested. I cant paint in the garden

Im not arguing, Colleen answered. Put it outside.

Jess stewed. Now that shed got into art school, Colleen didnt seem to place as much importance in her art activities. Her tone seemed to reduce her work to a hobby, to something that she could toss aside. Yet the panorama she planned for the chairs already consumed her. She knew from experience it was best to ride the wave of inspiration when it struck. The scene she itched to create already seemed more vibrant than her current surroundings. It was as if the moose she wanted to transpose on the frayed material was already there. The broken chair arm could be its antler. Shed put its calf on the other canvas chair. She imagined them against the burnt scrubland where shed found the litter, her broken animals as bruised as the Maine skya silent accusation to the viewer.

An idea entirely lost on Emma. The I-told-you-so face she pulled sent a jet of heat through Jess.

Jess clenched her fists.

Too bad, Ghosty, Emma taunted.

She glowered at Emmas stupid faceand lunged. Emmas glossy mane was swiftly in hand. Jess yanked it.

Emma screamed.

Colleen wrenched Jess off, wrestling her out of the room.

Psycho! Emma shouted after her.

Heat swelled through Jess, her pale face flushing and breath erratic. If it wasnt for Colleens wide berth already shepherding her to the stairs, shed be knocking that smirk off Emmas face.

Ghosty. The name needled its way under her skin. Her foster sister had spread it around school, on account of her pale hair that was so blonde it was almost white. Her eyebrows were the same; you basically couldnt see them. It was the one thing she tended to pencil in, except she used an art pencil instead of a make-up one. Shed been nicknamed Whitewalker at the last school, Albino at the one before that, along with a hundred others the creative geniuses of Maine dreamed up.

No, Jess wasnt into her looks, but it wasnt only that there were more important things; it was that the way she looked was yet another thing that made her stick out. Shed dyed her locks lilac and blue recently, claiming it was an alternative look picked up in Portland. During her recent trip to the art school there, shed seen lots of people with dyed hair and other alt looks, with piercings and tats. Of course, then shed come back here to Oblivion, and shed had no end of gawking. But the bright, brash colors were a better alternative to her natural white locks and the memories of teasing they all too easily conjured.

Colleen steered her into the kitchen, blocking the doorway like a bouncer. The aroma of meat and spices filled the room. Barb, Jesss other foster mom, was bopping at the stove, big headphones over her ears. She prodded beef around the pan. As she saw them, her eyebrows quirked.

Whats up? Barb took in Jesss clenched fists and red face. She gave the wooden spoon to Colleen and switched places. Where Colleen had stood behind Jess, Barb was in front of her, more relaxedor did a good impression of appearing so.

Breathe, breathe. Barb took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Instead of focusing on her warm eyes, Jess stared at Barbs hair, flattened by the headphones. Barb was always more understanding than her wife, Colleen. Yet her gentle tone made Jess feel like she was fragile. She tuned her out. She didnt need coddling. She could take care of herself. All that was needed was to get through the final months here.

It was a while before the tight knot of anger loosened itself. It was always the same. It happened about once a week. When something set her offusually EmmaJess couldnt control herself. She had to lash out.

Now that Jesss breathing was calmer, Barb asked gently, What happened?

Colleen answered for her, The two of em knockin heads as usual.

More like locking horns, Barb quipped, a wry smile on her lips.

Jess had overheard enough of their conversations about her issues to know that Barb thought learning to laugh at herself would help. She believed that laughter was the best medicine in life, as if Jess hadnt had enough therapists try to psychoanalyze her over the years. But Barb had faith that her own special brand would cure her.

Have you been for a run this afternoon? Colleen asked, her voice a little high.

Jess caught the strained note but forced herself to answer civilly. No, but I will. Before it gets dark.