Rachel Hawkins - Grim

“I said stay in the house! ” her mother hissed.

“Ma’am, I think it might be better if we all continued this conversation inside the house.”

“No! Absolutely not! I don’t have to let you in there, not unless you’ve got a warrant.” Her mother began to flail.

Dina turned just slightly, so that the police officers couldn’t entirely see her mouth, and said, “You are making things worse. Calm down, and I mean now, or you are going to ruin everything. ” She caught the tiny frog that leaped from her mouth and cupped it in her palm, praying that the cops hadn’t noticed and saying a silent prayer of thanks that it had been a small frog rather than a huge snake.

Her mother’s eyes focused on her, the fog of whiskey and panic clearing for just a moment.

Think. Dina mouthed the word at her mother.

Her mom nodded. Her shoulders dropped, and her entire demeanor changed. “I’m so sorry, officers. I didn’t mean to get so upset. I’m sure you understand—when I thought one of my daughters might have been hurt...” She trailed off meaningfully. The cops’ faces softened.

“Of course,” the taller one said. He looked at Dina. “You’re okay?”

She nodded. Her mother put her arm around her. “I’m just going to take my daughter here back inside. Do you need anything else from us?”

The police looked slightly stunned at her sudden shift in attitude, but they glanced at one another and shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good.” Her mother turned and guided Dina toward the house. It was then that Dina noticed that her mother was gripping her shoulder so tightly that it ached. The second the door closed behind them, her mother pushed her up against it. The alcoholic mist of her mom’s breath washed over her face.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing out there? What if they’d seen? Have you lost your mind?”

“I was trying to stop you from getting arrested. Again.”

Dina’s mother leaped back in disgust as a snake landed at her feet. “Looked to me like you were trying to get me in trouble. Again. ” She danced around the snake, into the kitchen, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table.

“Yeah. Jameson. That’ll solve everything, ” Dina grumbled as she scooped the snake up off the ground.

“Shut your damn mouth. You think I need you? You think I even care what happens to you now? How’m I supposed to take care of a freak-show daughter who won’t even do what I say? Huh?”

Clara appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening at the words freak-show daughter. Their mother didn’t notice her. She unscrewed the cap from the bottle and pointed it at Dina. “Maybe we would be better off without you. Maybe you should just get out.”

Dina twined the snake around her arm. “Maybe I should.” She looked at Clara. “And maybe you should come with me.”

“No!” Her mother slammed the bottle down onto the table with enough force that the liquor splattered out onto the scratched wood.

Clara cowered.

“Come with me,” Dina said.

Clara looked at the bucket she still had clutched in her hands. “I can’t,” she whispered. A shower of sapphires fell from her lips like tears.

Dina nodded.

“I want you out of here by the time I finish this drink,” her mother spat.

“Fine.”

Dina thought about the things in her room. Her posters. Her clothes. Her art supplies. In the end, she stalked down the hall, threw her clothes and her sketchbook into a duffel bag and zipped it shut. When she turned around, Clara was standing in the doorway with a purple Crown Royal bag in her hand.

“Please,” she said, “take these.” She caught the large ruby that dropped along with the words and tucked it into the bag before holding it out to Dina.

The velvet was heavy against Dina’s hand.

So this was what it was like to hold a fortune.

“Come with me,” she begged Clara again.

Clara shook her head, her eyes darting toward the kitchen. “I can’t.” There was a defeat, a surety, in the set of her shoulders that told Dina there wouldn’t be any convincing Clara otherwise. At least not right now.

Dina crossed the tiny bedroom and wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “If you ever want to get out of here, you just call. Okay?” She plucked a garter snake off Clara’s shoulder.

“I will,” Clara said. Dina caught the daisy that dropped from her sister’s lips and tucked it behind her ear.

She grabbed the bucket of snakes and toads and walked out of the house. She did not look back.

Outside, she opened the door to Nick’s car, which was still parked in front of Mrs. Swanson’s house. She could tell it was his because it had a decal in the back window declaring it “Nick’s Ride.” She looked down at the reptile-filled bucket.

“Sorry, guys,” she whispered. “But this is important work you’re about to do.”

She tipped the bucket, gently releasing the animals into the car, where they promptly slithered and hopped into every hidden corner of the interior. It wasn’t much in the way of revenge, but it was a start.

A door slammed. Dina looked up and saw her mother hurry out to the car with her purse cradled against her chest. Dina knew she was headed to the pawn shop, cashing in the jewels that Clara was churning out like a human ATM.

Dina shook her head and walked toward the bus stop. She had enough money in her pocket to get downtown, and a guaranteed, no-questions-asked bed at the warehouse that her artist friends lived in.

Blessings. Curses. Who was to say which was which?

* * * * *

It’s not every day you get to make your true love’s dreams come true.

Or not come true, as the case might be. I get to choose.

As much as I love Rowan, as much as I want him to have the life he deserves—to have life itself—I hesitate, my hand on the switch. Because I know that if I give Rowan what he wants most in the world, I’ll never get to be with him again.

You don’t realize how selfish a feeling love can be until it calls you to do something selfless. At least, I didn’t.

Forget my name. It’s stupid and I never liked it anyway. Two years ago, when I first dyed the streaks into my hair, people started calling me Blue, and the nickname stuck. My parents even call me Blue now, though they think it’s just a phase I’m going through. I don’t know whether I’ll keep the turquoise streaks forever, but the name? Changing it legally on my next birthday. Mom and Dad can just deal.

My parents are a little old-fashioned, I guess. They keep expecting things to go back to the way they used to be—even though that world vanished when they were only children.

Once upon a time, they say, you didn’t have to leave school at age twelve and start work; you could choose your own career instead of having to take the assessment test. Back then you could breathe the air outside without a filter, and pick out your own food in these stores that used to be big—big as cargo bays, Grandma said—and had every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. The vegetables had grown in the dirt, out under a sun that didn’t sear living things. And people just had babies if they wanted to, didn’t have to apply for licenses or anything, and they made them the old-fashioned way.

I know all of that is true, and some of it sounds romantic, but mostly it sounds strange. What’s the point in thinking about how people used to live? I try to keep myself focused on the here and now.