4. Amaya

4

AMAYA

ELEVEN YEARS OLD

“ D on't eat that too fast. You'll get a bellyache."

I look up and around.

"And don't roll your eyes at me, young lady."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Nana," I say sweetly, and blink fast at her. Swallowing another bite of carrot cake, I add, "I'm not a baby. I know what makes my belly hurt. And it's not this."

I lift the plate to my face and giggle when the wrinkles around Nana's eyes deepen. "Don't you dare," Nana warns.

My tongue touches the leftover frosting for just a taste, but Nana steals my plate of yumminess away. "Hey!"

"Don't be pouty, Maya," she huffs and tugs me into her side. Nana's getting old, Mom says, but I don't think so. She's really strong still.

"I'm not pouty," I grumble, tucking myself against her. Nana always smells so cozy, like pumpkins and cinnamon.

She hums, but before she can tease me any more like we always do, the front door slams open, and Mom is tumbling through the entryway. My shoulders lock up and my feet press harder into the cushions beneath me. Whenever mom is around, my body always feels tight. She always chases away my sleepiness too.

Wide awake now, I try to listen to the thump of Nana's heart instead of Mom's bad words. Inhaling deep as she gets closer, I force out the icky smell of adult drinks and dirty armpits with Nana's homey scent.

"Really, Steph? It's four o'clock; shouldn't you still be at work?"

Before Mom can yell at us like she usually does when she smells like this, the doorbell rings. Instantly tears burn my eyes and I frantically look to my nana to fix this before the boys ring the doorbell again. Mom's eyes snap to the door, then to me, and my hands react with a tremble. I don't like feeling like this, but I don't know how to stop it. Only Nana can do that for me.

Patting my thigh, Nana stands and nudges my mom toward the staircase. There are more bad words from Mom and muttering from Nana as they disappear from view.

I jump as the doorbell rings again and Oli shouts for me through the wood. Wiping my hands on my tank top, I stand, but I don't walk to the door yet. I don't know if it's safe to do so. I don't have to wait for Nana for more than a couple of seconds because she's basically floating down the staircase and opening the front door with a big smile.

"Nana!" they cheer.

"Maya will be right out, boys!"

She closes the door and beckons me over. I don't notice I'm crying until she sweeps me into her arms and brushes the wetness away. Her brown eyes are full of love and sparkles when I look up at her.

"Someday, Maya, you'll realize those boys will love you no matter what. They would never judge you."

I sniffle one last time and shake my head. "I don't?—"

"Go play!" she hoots and kicks my flip-flops toward me before disappearing into the kitchen.

One more deep breath and I'm finally ready to see them. Opening the door, I prepare myself for their reactions.

Sammy's bright green eyes narrow and darken beneath the shadow of his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" he demands.

For being just a year older than me, he can be pretty bossy. I ignore him because it gives him something else to focus on. Sammy hates when I don't do what he says.

"Why are your eyes so red, Maya?" That's Emmett. His voice is soft, and his brown and gold eyes are the opposite of Sammy's: gentle and worried.

I close the door behind me and jump down the steps. I don't want to answer their questions. It's embarrassing. My mom is so different from their parents and I don't know why. I'd rather just hang out and have fun.

"She was obviously crying, Em,” Oli mutters. There's a commotion on my porch, but when I turn around Oli's there with his arm thrown around my shoulders. "Ignore the doof and crank, Maya. It's okay to cry. I cry sometimes too."

For some reason, Oli's words make me want to tear up again. I give him a wobbly smile instead and push him off of me. Oliver is crazy and dangerous. If I let him hang on me any longer, there's a chance he will drag me to the ground when he trips next. I don't need matching bruises on my knees or hands. I get enough on my own.

"Last one to the park has to jump in the pond!"

Oli's challenge rolls through my body, making me antsy and jittery. I won't lose this time!