on the safe side, part 2

January 10, 2084 - Ryanne Phoenix is 13, Summer is 19.

Soundtrack: "Because of You," by Kelly Clarkson.

After dinner - before her father can pull Ryanne aside to chastise her for her disappointing attitude, before Piper could sulk away from the table, acting all sorrowful like Ryanne could actually hurt her feelings, like she actually had that power - Ryanne gets up first. She grabs her sister by the arm, and quickly tugs them from the dining room and upstairs to her bedroom.

"I wanna show you something," Ryanne says.

It's just a few albums, mostly, with their cases wide open and lyrics inserts sprawled across the floor. But she found some posters too. Summer introduced her to these bands, all of her own favorite music. This was stuff Ryanne had never heard of before - ska punk, reggae, psychedelic, vintage funk, thrash metal. None of that bubblegum pop the other girls listen to at school. Nothing so sickeningly complacent.

Summer laughs out loud. "You would like this music theory class I'm taking at school. We have to learn an instrument." Summer pauses. "I'm a percussionist."

"What does that mean?"

Summer grins. "It means drums."

"Really?" Ryanne's eyes light up. "That's the coolest thing ever. Are you gonna be in a band?"

"Maybe in some other life," Summer says. "I'm not that good. I'm okay, but it takes years of practice. You should do something though, learn an instrument while you're still young." Summer takes a sharp breath at the word "young". "So you're grounded for life, I hear. What did you do?"

"Did they send you to spy on me?"

"No, they didn't send me at all. I just wanna know."

Dark utility closets flash to mind, and Angelo Shaw. She feels like such an idiot that she believed him, that they wouldn't get caught. "I only did it once."

"What did you do?"

"He said you can't get pregnant like that."

"Who said?"

"Angelo," Ryanne says. "But it was just one time, and we got caught. But it's not a big deal - you can't get pregnant like that. You can't."

"But you can get herpes," Summer says, an edge of panic in her voice. And then a bit softer. "It won't make him love you."

"You used to do it to Tyler, and he loved you."

Her sister's mouth hangs open. "How do you-...?"

An ear to the wall, an eye at the crack beside the door, the soft sounds of young love drifting through her open window on a warm summer breeze. How else does a motherless girl learn anything about the world? Summer stalls, then she speaks. "That's... different. And hell, not when I was thirteen!"

Ryanne huffs, pulling her knees to her chest. "I don't want him to love me anyway."

The two of them are quiet. So quiet they can hear the muffled sounds of their father and Piper downstairs, cooing and cuddling each other. Or whatever it is they do. Just as fast as the lecture had started, Summer changes the topic again. "Hey, you wanna see something?"

Summer leaps up from the floor, whipping her dress high, tucking it up under her armpits to expose her back.

It's an angry sunburst in red, still a little swollen and puffy around the edges. Ryanne has never seen a real and actual tattoo with her own eyes. Especially not this close.

"Wow, did it hurt?"

"Yeah, like a bitch," Summer says.

"It's so cool," Ryanne says. "I want one."

"When you're older," Summer says, moving her dress back down. "What would you get?" Ryanne starts to think, images filling her head. So many ideas. So many possibilities. But before Ryanne can answer, Summer's gaze has drifted to the corner and she moves quickly to whatever it is she's found.

A dollhouse.

"I can't believe you still have this," Summer says. It's their old dollhouse, shaped like a tree. Summer pics up a doll in her hands, turning it from side to side, inspecting the moving arms and legs, the torn shirts and missing shoes, smiling at it sadly.

"Yeah," Ryanne says. "We found it in the attic when we moved again. I mean, they had to put it somewhere, I'll probably throw it out or something."

"No, don't." Summer picks up the furniture, the plastic tiny dinnerware. She finds a strewn shoe and returns it to its needy foot.

Ryanne lowers herself along the wall beside the dollhouse.

"It's weird here," Ryanne says. "It's like, normal. But not."

Summer turns her head then, away from the dolls in her hands. "Nobody wants to talk about it," Summer says. "How Dad tried to kill himself."

Ryanne looks at her sister, wide eyes gaping, trying to take it all in. Yes, she nods, in big, hungry gulps of agreement. That is it exactly, living in this family where everyone tiptoes around everything that's ever happened, a dead mom, an almost dead dad, an aunt with breast cancer. Ryanne nods her head furiously, holding her breath at the sheer truth of it all.

Summer finally adds, "Because I think nobody knows what to say about it."

Ryanne doesn't know what to say either. Especially not right now. Maybe later she would, but not now. Instead she says, "You should stay over, like a sleepover. You can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. Do you remember when we lived in that little condo, and we had to share a room for a while? Do you remember when we had camp-outs in our sleeping bags on the floor?"

Summer tilts her head, lips curling into so slight a smile. It felt like an apology. "Yeah, I remember," she says. "But I have class in the morning, and some homework to finish up tonight. I actually need to get going. Maybe on the weekend?"

She stands, and Ryanne does too. Summer hugs her. "Love you, Squirt."

"Love you too," Ryanne says.

Ryanne can always hear when her sister has finally gone. The rumble of a cracked muffler sounding down the street, louder than anything she's ever heard.

*******

footnotes: (Ryanne wants to remember (and is also nosy) // the utility closet // part 1)