Getting Played by Celeste O. Norfleet Page B

and half smiles. “Are you ready to go?”
    I nod, seeing she’s been crying. My heart won’t let me ask her again.
    It rains the rest of the day. I’m not talking about that little bit of stuff that comes down in a mist. No, I’m talking about that heavy rain where you can barely get the windshield wipers to go fast enough. We went to my dad’s office first and then we drove to Virginia. Since nobody was there, she dropped me at my dad’s house, and I hurry to the front door and ring the bell.
    It still drives me crazy that I have to ring the bell at my own house. I wait a few seconds. No one answers. I can hear the television inside blasting. I ring the bell a couple more times. There’s still no answer. Next, I try the door knob. It turns. As soon as I open the door, I realize it’s not the television blasting. It’s Courtney.
    She’s upstairs screaming her head off as usual. I go in and listen at the bottom of the stairs for a minute to hear who she’s yelling at. I should have guessed. It’s my dad. And I can just imagine what the argument is about—money, other women and me. It’s her standard trifecta when it comes to their fights, although not necessarily in that order.
    Simply put, Courtney wants my dad’s money. My dad gives her just enough to take care of the house, no more. She hates that. She knows my mom got whatever she wanted.Then there are the other women. Courtney wants my dad to be faithful. That’s really not gonna happen. And then there’s the third one, me. She hates me. That’s okay, ’cause I hate her ass, too. I don’t know what my dad expected to happen when he introduced us. Me to like her? She’s in my house trying to take over—did he really expect best friends? It wasn’t gonna happen. Then, after I slapped her, it was really on.
    All of a sudden the argument gets really loud. I know postpartum is supposed to be a bitch, but seriously, who could tell the difference with Courtney’s crazy-ass. She’s a raging, screaming lunatic most of the time. Apparently today is no different. Either way, I don’t feel like being bothered, so I go to the family room beside the kitchen and see if the boys are around. They usually hide there when my dad and Courtney argue. I told them to turn the TV up really loud, so they’re usually parked in front of the television with a DVD. Today they’re not.
    I head back to the front of the house, then cut through the living room to go to my father’s home office. I once found the boys hiding under my dad’s desk. I think that’s when we started getting close. I remember looking under the desk and seeing their big brown eyes staring back at me. They were petrified. It reminded me of myself. I hated it when my parents argued. After that, the boys and I became close. I was their big sister and their hero. I liked that. Also, the office is where I usually hang out when I come here. It kind of reminds me of my old house before everything changed.
    The rest of the house was cluttered with a mass of cheapbargain basement furniture. I guess Courtney thought if she had more stuff scattered around, you wouldn’t notice how cheap it all looked. She was wrong. The place looked a hot mess. All but my dad’s office—that was nice. It looks almost the same as it did when I lived here with my mom. I open the office door and walk in and then stop instantly. There’s this guy with music earbuds on sitting at my dad’s desk.
    I stand there and watch him for a minute or two, more ’cause I’m just shocked to see him there than anything else. He’s tall and light-skinned and looks a little like my dad. The first thing I think is, damn, I have another brother. But then I know that isn’t right. He looks too old. He has to be like about twenty. So, he’s just sitting there going through my dad’s computer like he owns the