Description: 1 Sarah Robinson had been ordered to pack a suitcase and, to the best of her ability, she was going to use that task to express her displeasure at the mess her life had become. She yanked a zebra-striped swimsuit and several pairs of underwear out of her top drawer. Slam! A few weeks earlier, her father had married a flight attendant that he'd met through an online dating service. Sarah had held out hope that when he actually met the woman, he wouldn't like her. But when he came back from his first trip to visit her in Texas, he told Sarah, "After your mother died, I never thought I'd be happy again. But I've fallen in love. I know you'll love her too." "Well, that's not ever gonna happen." Sarah hurled the clothes at the open suitcase on her bed and opened up another drawer. She jerked out a pair of jeans. Slam! On the second trip to Texas, he proposed. And then, on the third, he married her. Of course, he tried to get Sarah to go along, but she refused, insisting on staying home with her grandparents because she truly believed her father would never go through with the wedding unless she was there. But he did. And then he and his new wife went on a short honeymoon trip before he flew home. Sarah's new stepmother came with baggage: two new stepbrothers for Sarah. Her father had told her over the phone, "The youngest is ten, and he is just a hoot. And the other is twelve, just like you. You two have so much in common." "The only thing we have in common is our age." Sarah twisted the jeans up and hurled them at her suitcase. She pulled out another drawer and dug into a pile of shorts, snatching up three pairs. Slam! The three of them, the Murillo family, had taken a few weeks to sell their home and pack up, so they arrived the day before and had already settled, somewhat, into the Robinsons' extravagant Southern California home. Sarah took one look at their worn luggage and figured it all out. Her new stepmother was after her dad's money. Classic. "She's just a golddigger." Sarah walked into her closet and began plucking shirts off hangers with so much force that some of the hangers broke and fell on the floor. She backed out of her closet and used her foot to kick the door shut. Slam! Sarah walked over to her bed, held the shirts over her head, and heaved them into the suitcase. She grabbed a hanger off the floor and whirled around, knocking some things off her dresser and onto the floor. "Oh no!" She quickly bent to pick up a gold and glass perfume flacon, and then sighed with relief when she saw it was unbroken. She held it up to her nose and breathed in. White Shoulders. Her mother's scent. Also on the floor was a silver frame, which she snatched up. "Oh, Mama" The photograph inside was of the two of them on Heritage Day in kindergarten. Sarah's long, black hair was in loop braids, and her blue silk kimono had come from her mother's trip to Japan to visit relatives. Less than a year later, her mother was gone. Sarah slid into a heap on the floor beside her bed and set the frame in her lap. "If you were here, none of this would even be happening." She buried her face in her hands. But tears wouldn't even come, because she was too angry to cry. This was so unlike her, to be banging and crashing about. But at the moment, she was too mad to worry about the mess she'd made. The worst, the absolute worst , was the reason why she was packing. The night before, at the newly merged family's first dinner together, Sarah had been at her usual place at the dining room table, to the right of her father, who sat at the head. John Robinson was a tall man, and very fit from playing tennis every morning before heading to work at his construction company. He wore black-rimmed glasses that made his blue eyes appear bluer, and his blond hair was nearly white in places, bleached from the California sun. Though Sarah told him it wasn't cool, he preferred to wear polo shirts and khakis nearly all the time. Sarah had inherited his chin and his dimples, but everything else-black hair and dark eyes and small frame-came right from her mother. Sarah's new stepmother pulled out the chair across from Sarah and sat down. Yvonna Murillo was as beautiful as the models in fashion magazines. Actually more beautiful, Sarah had to admit, given all the rampant airbrushing that went on. Her eyes were darker than dark, her long hair the same, and her nose and lips were perfect, like someone had painted them. Yvonna wore a flowered sundress that showed off her muscular arms and slim figure, which, apparently, had gotten that way from playing tennis nearly as much as Sarah's father. But Sarah needed no reminding that the beautiful woman across the table from her was her new stepmother-thus, her enemy. Sarah scowled. "That's my mom's chair." "Sarah." Her dad narrowed his eyes at her. "Please stop." Yvonna's forehead wrinkled as she jumped up. She sounded like she wanted to be helpful as she said, "I can sit somewhere else." "No. Please stay where you are." John set a hand on Yvonna's arm and she sat back down. He told Sarah, "That was rude." "It's true!" Sarah blurted. "That's where Mom always sat." "Sarah." Her dad lowered his voice. "I know that. But things have changed." "Yeah, I noticed." Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, blinking back angry tears. She glared farther down the table, where her two new stepbrothers sat next to each other. Nacho, the younger one, retained some baby fat. His dark hair was in a short, little-kid haircut that made him look younger than ten, and his white Dallas Cowboys T-shirt had some kind of dark stain on the sleeve. Chocolate from the look of it, thought Sarah. Like he'd eaten a Snickers bar and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He noticed her staring at him and he glanced down. His eyes widened and he jumped up. "I need to change my shirt." "Nacho," said Yvonna. "It's fine. Just sit." "But I forgot to wash my hands." He pushed his chair back. His older brother grabbed the chair. "Just sit, dude." Marco had the same color hair as his brother, only his was longer and seemed purposely unkempt, the same as a lot of boys at Sarah's school. His orange shirt bore a graphic of bull's horns, and the words DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS. With a huff, Nacho plopped back down in the chair, scowling. Both boys had their mother's eyes and nose, although Nacho's cheeks were chubbier. John stuck a black plastic spatula into the flowered casserole dish in the middle of the table, then plopped something on her plate. Sarah sat forward to appraise the rolled-up tortilla smothered with a red sauce and melted cheese. "What is that?" she asked. Her father answered, "Yvonna's enchiladas." Nacho piped up, "They're the best." Sarah glared at him for a moment, and then asked the question that had been on her mind for quite some time. "Is he seriously named after a food?" Yvonna's dark eyes sparkled as she laughed. "No, not at all. He's named after my grandfather, Ignacio." She looked at Marco. "But Marco couldn't pronounce it. He called the baby Nacho. And it stuck." She smiled at Nacho. "Now I only call him Ignacio when he's in trouble." Marco held up his plate. "Can we eat now?" The boys passed their plates down, and their mother loaded them up. Sarah stared down at her dinner. "I don't like spicy food." Under the table, her dad nudged her foot. She looked up at him, and he widened his eyes at her. She sighed. "Fine." Sarah glared at her plate. Everyone else began digging in with gusto, and John issued a "Yum, these are great," before taking another large bite. Sarah's stomach growled. She doubted her dad would put up with her going into the kitchen and making a peanut butter sandwich, so she picked up her fork and took the smallest bite possible. The sauce wasn't too spicy after all. And who could complain about melted cheese? She ate another bite. "See?" said her dad. "Good, huh?" Sarah didn't want to admit she liked it. So instead of answering, she shrugged. "What's in the middle?" Yvonna smiled. "My special roasted chicken." Sarah dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud clink. Then she wrapped both hands around her throat, pretending to choke. "But I'm a vegetarian!" John set his fork down. "Since when?!" Sarah chugged half her glass of water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then set the glass back down. "Last week." She pulled apart the sides of her white zippered hoodie to reveal a black T-shirt with the word PETA scrawled across it. "I'm not eating this." Her dad rolled his eyes at Sarah and told Yvonna, "I'm so sorry." "It's okay." Yvonna set her hand on his. "Maybe we should go ahead and tell them."

Please Wait