Chapter 5 Chapter Five

Mira’s pov

My knuckles were starting to hurt.

I knocked softer this time because loud clearly wasn't working, and I was standing in this hallway with my bag digging into my shoulder and running out of ideas.

"Emma, we're going to have a great time, I promise. Can you open the door?"

"No."

I pressed my lips together and stared at the door. The silence on the other side was the kind that meant she was listening, waiting to see what I would do next.

"I'm going to keep knocking then."

My fist hovered over the door, and it hit me slowly. I was doing exactly what Aunty Nina used to do. She would stand outside my door, knocking softly, singing bits of songs until I got curious enough to open it.

She had the prettiest voice I had ever heard, and I wished I could sing like her.

I was thirteen when she stopped coming. Mum said we couldn't afford her anymore. I thought I didn't care, but I silently checked the door every morning, waiting for her scuffed white sneakers with the left lace always coming undone to appear. And then one morning I just didn't check anymore, and I think that was the part that hurt the most.

"I'm going to start singing," I warned calmly. "And I need you to know I have the worst voice you have ever heard in your entire life. If this door isn't open by the time I count to three, I will start, and I will not stop."

I waited.

"One."

No response.

"Two."

I heard shuffling behind the door.

"Threeee." I stretched the word, but she still didn't open it. I inhaled and steadied myself.

Walked in and dream-came-true-ed it for ya!

I'm working late, 'cause I'm a singer…

That's that Emma espresso!

Say you….

The door swung open.

Emma stood there in an oversized shirt, arms crossed, one sock on, and one foot bare, like she had been interrupted mid-argument with herself. She looked at me, and I kept my face still and my arms at my sides.

"Your voice is horrible."

"I warned you," I answered. "Can I come in, Emma?"

She held my gaze for a long moment, then stepped back from the door. It wasn't exactly an invitation, but it was enough.

I walked in. Her bed had a crayon drawing taped above it and a Hello Kitty doll resting on the pillow.

"I can see that you like drawing. What else do you like to do?" I prompted, looking around the room.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, jumping onto her bed. She grabbed a doll and pressed it against her chest.

"Can I sit?" I moved slowly toward the bed.

She made room for me.

"What's her name?" I cooed, reaching towards the doll carefully.

"Snowy." She hugged it tighter.

"That's a cute name."

"Nat said it's lame. Is that true?"

"The name is perfect," I whispered. "Nat is just boring."

A small smile tugged at her face, and I watched her tense shoulders relax slightly.

"So," I asked, "what do you usually do around this time?"

"Watch TV mostly," she shrugged.

"What show?"

"Starlight Academy. But I've seen all of them."

"Want to put one on anyway?"

She thought about it for a moment.

"Let's watch the movie Mom put on yesterday. I didn't finish it."

She hopped off the bed, and I followed her downstairs. She curled up at one end of the couch in the living room while I took the other close to her, watching her laugh as the movie played.

"Your mom said pasta for dinner. Do you want to come sit in the kitchen while I heat it up?" I asked as the credits rolled on the screen.

"I'll come sit." She slid off the couch, the doll lying across her arm.

We moved to the kitchen, and she climbed onto the counter beside the stove with the help of a small step ladder, swinging her legs.

I pulled out the pasta and placed it in the microwave.

"So, how is school?" I asked, setting the timer.

"Great. Are you good at maths?" she asked. "My teacher gave the whole class homework because Caleb said the equation was still confusing to him." Her voice pitched up with the injustice of it. "One person!"

The timer clicked. I brought the bowl out and started stirring it.

"That's rough," I muttered, tapping the spoon on the edge of the pot.

"It's not fair, is what it is."

"It really isn't."

She seemed satisfied with that and was about to say something else when his voice cut through the kitchen.

"You are not allowed in the kitchen, and you need to leave."

I spun around, nearly knocking the spoon out of the bowl. He was standing in the doorway, backpack still on his shoulder, eyes fixed on me like I had broken into his house.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"How am I supposed to eat, dumbass?" Emma's voice shot across the kitchen. She straightened up on the counter, scowling at Nat.

He looked at her, then back at me.

"I'm home now. You don't need to babysit her anymore. I'll take over, and I will pay you fully."

"Do you two know each other?" Emma asked, looking between us.

Neither of us answered; he just turned and left.

I dished Emma's food, helped her down from the counter, and set her plate on the dining table.

I didn't know what to do. The discomfort sat heavily in my chest, but I held myself still and listened to more of Emma's school drama.

“He’s such a dummy and he sti-”

"That’s not a nice word,” I said gently, cutting into her words. “Let’s use polite words instead, okay?"

She paused mid-bite, staring at her food. After a moment, she continued quietly.

“Would you want me to look at the assignment?" I offered, putting the pasta bowl in the dishwasher.

"Are you good at maths?" she asked, tapping her spoon against the edge of her plate.

"Maybe."

Her eyes lit up a little, and she started shoveling food into her mouth.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I straightened in my seat, Emma glancing up at me.

"Didn't you hear what I said earlier?" Nat's voice filled the room again. He walked toward me and dropped fifty dollars on the table in front of me.

"I don't want to see you here again."

I stared at the money. The two bills sat flat against the table, and I could feel my heart beating in my ears.

“Get out!” He shouted. My stomach dropped as he lunged toward me.