Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby(5)

 

With difficulty, the conversation finally, slowly got going again. Samara flew through two more rounds of questions without any trouble, and then came the question, “What’s the worst thing your sibling ever did to you?” Samara thought frantically as other people were telling funny stories. One girl had the whole group in stitches. Funny, funny .... Alison was funny. She had funny Alison stories. She just had to pick the right one.

 

The guy next to her was telling about a knock-down, drag-out fight with his younger sister, and that made Samara think of the perfect story. She was feeling good as her turn to talk arrived--if she could tell a really good story and make them all laugh, maybe they’d forget about her faux pas before. Everyone could relate to wacky sister stories, right?

 

“So my sister gets around, if you know what I’m saying.” This was going well already; a few people giggled, and one whooped. “And I ... well, I liked her boyfriend, he was nice, and I hated to see him duped, so I told him my sister was seeing another boy from another school, and when Alison found out .... I mean, I thought I was showing restraint, because actually, there were two other boys!” People laughed. “Maybe three. And she was so pissed .... She’s all, ‘I’m gonna salt and burn your bones!’ And she gets out the salt and she’s throwing it all over me, and then she gets out the kerosene, and then she seriously busted out the blowtorch and chased me around the house with it! Dad was mad, especially because I ... well, my hair was half as long by the time he got home--she got close enough to singe a couple of times, even though I’m fast ....” The giggling had kind of died out as she told her story. She looked around and realized they were back to staring with horror.

 

“She’s pretty good with a blowtorch she wasn’t really gonna hurt ....” More meaningful looks were exchanged. “But, I mean, no bones were broken. She didn’t cut me or anything; I don’t think she even bruised me.” This attempt to reassure didn’t help in the slightest. The girl next to her moved farther away. No one would make eye contact anymore.

 

When the next question came around to her, everyone seemed awkward and uncomfortable, like they didn’t want to have to sit there and listen to her answer. In fact, they all seemed so uncomfortable, she took her leave after a few more minutes, and everyone seemed really relieved.

 

Samara returned to her room and flumped onto the bed. That was pretty much every freshman in her entire dorm she’d managed to alienate just now. Her only comfort, as she crawled under her coat to sleep in her clothes on the bare mattress, was thinking of how Alison would be laughing her ass off right about now at Samara’s misfortune. “That’s my little sister,” she’d say with gusto, patting Samara’s shoulder. “You’ve always been a freak.” That had always been okay with Alison and Dad.

 

A little over a week later, she was so homesick and lonely, she finally broke down and called Alison. She hadn’t before because, you know, it was Alison. If Alison had wanted to talk to her, had been ready to talk to her, she’d already have called. Samara was the one who’d committed the betrayal; she had no right to go asking Alison for forgiveness or conversation or anything right now. She’d already texted an apology, which there also had been no response to. Still, she just couldn’t help herself. She needed to talk to her sister.

 

There was no answer. Samara called again. Same thing. She left a brief message, then gave up. Alison always had her phone on her. If she didn’t answer ... she must really be pissed.

 

It didn’t occur to Samara until she was eating lunch alone in the cafeteria, again, that Alison might actually never speak to her again. She’d expected that of their dad, but Alison? Was she really such an obedient daughter that she might toe Dad’s line to the point of disowning her own sister? The only other possibility there could be for her failing to respond was ... she couldn’t let herself think about that. Anyway, if her phone still had enough charge to ring on Samara’s end, she must be okay.

 

Samara didn’t have enough money for books, so she did all her studying in the library. It was nice, actually--better than hanging around in her dorm where it was all scared looks and titters behind her back. She didn’t dwell on the possibility that coming to college had been a mistake after all. Okay, so things sucked, but at least she had a place to sleep and enough to eat and dad wasn’t having her lie to debtors and whatnot all the time. So she didn’t have a family or a single friend. She couldn’t decide if the trade-off was worth it, but it didn’t matter. This sucked, her life before sucked ... it was as if her very existence was a mistake. She was used to it.