Free Wild Roses by Deb Caletti

of a cute
fluffy animal. He looked like he could kill with his bare hands.
    "Be good," Bunny said as Chuck got in and shut
the door. Boy, I'd be good if he said that to me. I'd sit and embroider Bible
verses, I'd be so good.
    The car pulled away. I saw something that
surprised me. They had a bumper sticker: trust the process.
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    "We're twins," Ian said, and
grinned.
    "I could tell by your matching outfits," I
said. Rocket had curled up on the lawn. I could hear Dog William whining on the
other side of the fence.
    "He's my stepbrother. He moved us out here when
my stepfather died. He thinks it's his personal responsibility to look after us.
He comes over and makes, like, six boxes of macaroni and cheese."
    "Wow," I said. "I like his bumper
sticker."
    "Oh, man. Don't ever get him started on that
stuff. I'm serious." We headed into the house. "Chuck and Bunny are into the
whole metaphysical thing. They've been friends since they were, like, two. They
go around to their motorcycle groups giving talks on The Wisdom of Your Inner
Voice."
    "Okay this time you are kidding."
    "I wish I was."
    "That's hilarious. Metaphysical
motorcyclists."
    "It's worse. Neither of them has a motorcycle.
Jeez." He shook his head and laughed. Okay, great. Ian Waters was nice, too.
Beautiful, talented, nice.
    "Shall we get started?" Dino said when we came
in. I tried to check him out for any sign of irrational paranoia. His shoes were
on. His eyes looked normal. I allowed myself the thought that maybe we'd all
overreacted about yesterday. Or maybe Mom got Dino to take his medicine. This
super-fast-acting medicine.
    Dino grasped Ian's shoulder and squeezed it in
warm greeting. It looked like the lesson was going to go okay,
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    and I went upstairs. After a while I heard the
music starting. God, if I could only explain it. You wanted to let it take up
residence inside you. Let it flourish there, like a garden of wildflowers. You
wanted to possess it, hold it, become a part of it. It wrapped around you like
the cape of a wizard, full of magic color.
    I wanted it. That music, him. I put my pillow
over my head. That boy and his violin scared the crap out of me. My heart was
beating so hard it felt like it was trying to make an escape attempt.
    An eternity and an hour later, I heard the
front door close as Ian left. Mom came home shortly after, and we shouted
greetings to each other from different floors, something that never failed to
piss off Dino. Soon, dinner smells rose up the stairs.
    Dino's face was tight at the table, stern and
rocky. The favorite game of temperamental people is Try to Guess Why I'm Ticked
Off. (Contestant number one, Why do YOU think he's pissed off? Why, I'm not
sure, Bob, but I'm going to go with 'Because I Left the Faucet Dripping. BEEP.
I'm sorry, that's incorrect. The correct answer is: 'Because You Happen to
Exist.') Even if I'm determined not to play, I get sucked in. My brain just does
what it wants anyway, same as when I'm sitting in calculus, wondering if Mr.
Firtz could possibly have a sex life, even though the thought is revolting. The
brain can be a sicko, out-of-control thing sometimes, and at dinner I started
wondering who did what wrong this time. Likely Dino was doing a Mount Rushmore
imitation because we'd shouted at each other
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    across the house. I put my money down on that
one.
    "How did the lesson go?" my mother asked Dino.
She seemed more relaxed than she did that morning, in spite of Dino's obvious
attitude. Like me, she was probably relieved to find Dino more "normal" again.
Which meant, back to his old asshole-ish self.
    "A beautiful lesson with the boy. Except for
the fact that he was late. Cassie was entertaining him."
    I never thought Dino was very attractive--if
you've never seen a picture of him, his nose is chunky and his forehead is
broad, and he's got full lips. He's pretty short, too, just a little taller than
Mom unless she wears heels. His