around, expecting to see squirrels run through the thick brush, but instead a girl stepped out from behind a tree. He watched her inquisitively. Katrina didn’t look, either not hearing or not caring, as the girl approached.
She was about their age, her long brown hair sloppily braided down her shoulder, like she’d done it herself in the dark. Wispy pieces stuck up everywhere. She wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, an oversized Chicago Cubs shirt tucked in the front of them. She smiled as she met Corrado’s eyes, revealing a set of clunky metal braces. "Hi! I'm Celia Marie."
"Celia Marie?" Katrina asked, still wading in the water. "What kind of name is that?"
Celia shrugged. "The kind my parents gave me."
"Well, it's a stupid name," Katrina said. "I'm glad my parents didn't name me that."
Celia seemed taken aback by the response, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Katrina never had a nice thing to say about anything.
"Well, what's your name?"
"Katrina Sophia," she replied. "Just like Sophia Loren. She's the best actress ever. I was named after her."
Lies . She'd been named after their grandmother.
"I don't like her that much," Celia said, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "I like Faye Dunaway better."
"You would," Katrina snapped, eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze toward the girl. "Faye Dunaway's stupid and stupid people like her!"
"Takes one to know one," Celia retorted, not backing down. "Stupid."
Katrina gaped at the girl, stunned someone would talk back to her. It took everything in Corrado not to laugh at his sister’s expression.
"You… you… you… I hate you!" Katrina trudged up the bank of the creek and stormed past them, heading for the house, her shoes caked with thick mud. "I hope you get eaten by monsters and die!"
"Ditto!" Celia shouted after her.
Once Katrina was gone, Celia turned to Corrado cautiously. "Is she always like that?"
He nodded.
A boy approached them then, younger, less sure about Corrado's presence as he weaved through the brush. His expression was guarded, suspicious, when he appeared from behind a tree.
"This is my little brother, Vincent," Celia said, motioning toward him.
"I'm not that little," Vincent grumbled.
"You're littler than me! You're only eight, but I'm almost eleven."
Celia grabbed a hold of a tree and pulled herself up into it. She sat on a thick branch, swinging her stick-thin legs, not a trace of polish on her dirty toes.
She was unlike any girl Corrado had ever seen before. Girls wore dresses and painted their fingernails. Girls didn't climb trees and know about baseball… even if she did like a terrible team like the Cubs.
Vincent tried to climb the tree with his sister, too short to reach the branch. Celia jumped back down to help him, and Corrado took their distraction as a chance to slip away. He headed back toward the house and found Katrina alone on the back porch.
Corrado sat down beside her.
"I don't like that girl," Katrina declared.
Corrado said nothing, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Katrina may not like her, but Corrado had to admit he kind of did.
"Do you kids want some ice cream?"
Katrina and the DeMarco kids nodded excitedly. Mrs. DeMarco laughed at their eagerness and got up from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.
Corrado continued to pick at the food on his plate. Even though he hadn't eaten since leaving Las Vegas, he couldn't force anything down. It was too foreign to him in this old house. It was strange, being with these people who weren't yelling, who didn't throw anything. It was like those television families. They even prayed before they ate.
"You're quiet."
Celia's voice dropped low as she whispered across the table. Corrado knew it was directed at him, but he didn't bother saying anything.
It wasn't as if she'd asked a question, anyway.
"He's an idiot," Katrina said. "So it's better he doesn't talk. He'll just bore you to death."
Katrina closed her eyes and threw her head
She was about their age, her long brown hair sloppily braided down her shoulder, like she’d done it herself in the dark. Wispy pieces stuck up everywhere. She wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, an oversized Chicago Cubs shirt tucked in the front of them. She smiled as she met Corrado’s eyes, revealing a set of clunky metal braces. "Hi! I'm Celia Marie."
"Celia Marie?" Katrina asked, still wading in the water. "What kind of name is that?"
Celia shrugged. "The kind my parents gave me."
"Well, it's a stupid name," Katrina said. "I'm glad my parents didn't name me that."
Celia seemed taken aback by the response, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Katrina never had a nice thing to say about anything.
"Well, what's your name?"
"Katrina Sophia," she replied. "Just like Sophia Loren. She's the best actress ever. I was named after her."
Lies . She'd been named after their grandmother.
"I don't like her that much," Celia said, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "I like Faye Dunaway better."
"You would," Katrina snapped, eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze toward the girl. "Faye Dunaway's stupid and stupid people like her!"
"Takes one to know one," Celia retorted, not backing down. "Stupid."
Katrina gaped at the girl, stunned someone would talk back to her. It took everything in Corrado not to laugh at his sister’s expression.
"You… you… you… I hate you!" Katrina trudged up the bank of the creek and stormed past them, heading for the house, her shoes caked with thick mud. "I hope you get eaten by monsters and die!"
"Ditto!" Celia shouted after her.
Once Katrina was gone, Celia turned to Corrado cautiously. "Is she always like that?"
He nodded.
A boy approached them then, younger, less sure about Corrado's presence as he weaved through the brush. His expression was guarded, suspicious, when he appeared from behind a tree.
"This is my little brother, Vincent," Celia said, motioning toward him.
"I'm not that little," Vincent grumbled.
"You're littler than me! You're only eight, but I'm almost eleven."
Celia grabbed a hold of a tree and pulled herself up into it. She sat on a thick branch, swinging her stick-thin legs, not a trace of polish on her dirty toes.
She was unlike any girl Corrado had ever seen before. Girls wore dresses and painted their fingernails. Girls didn't climb trees and know about baseball… even if she did like a terrible team like the Cubs.
Vincent tried to climb the tree with his sister, too short to reach the branch. Celia jumped back down to help him, and Corrado took their distraction as a chance to slip away. He headed back toward the house and found Katrina alone on the back porch.
Corrado sat down beside her.
"I don't like that girl," Katrina declared.
Corrado said nothing, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Katrina may not like her, but Corrado had to admit he kind of did.
"Do you kids want some ice cream?"
Katrina and the DeMarco kids nodded excitedly. Mrs. DeMarco laughed at their eagerness and got up from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.
Corrado continued to pick at the food on his plate. Even though he hadn't eaten since leaving Las Vegas, he couldn't force anything down. It was too foreign to him in this old house. It was strange, being with these people who weren't yelling, who didn't throw anything. It was like those television families. They even prayed before they ate.
"You're quiet."
Celia's voice dropped low as she whispered across the table. Corrado knew it was directed at him, but he didn't bother saying anything.
It wasn't as if she'd asked a question, anyway.
"He's an idiot," Katrina said. "So it's better he doesn't talk. He'll just bore you to death."
Katrina closed her eyes and threw her head
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