Chasing Darkness by Danielle Girard Page B

putting on lipstick, and then
smiled into the mirror. “Perfect,” she whispered, just like her mother always
did.
    Tiptoeing
to the door, she took a deep breath and then opened it a crack and peeked out
into the hall. Since her stepbrother left to visit his mother, the house had
been like the library at school. Every time she said anything, her mother or
stepfather said, “Shh.” She didn’t miss Randy. He was a twit. But it meant
there was no one to order around, and Whitney was bored.
    Her
mother and stepfather were still in their room, and Whitney knew she needed to
be quiet. Her stepfather worked at night and slept all day, so Whitney could
never make noise in the house. Only Randy got to make noise. “He’s a boy,” her
mother would say. “Plus, Randy doesn’t know he’s making noise.” Randy was deaf.
Whitney thought if he couldn’t hear, he should be quieter, but Randy was the
loudest kid she knew.
    Whitney
hurried down the hall and tore down the stairs, making as much noise as
possible before skittering out the front door. The street was quiet, but
Whitney knew there’d be someone around somewhere. Halfway down the block a car
thundered past her, music blaring. Whitney covered her ears and cringed. She
hated those loud cars. She reached down and pulled up the sock on her right
foot. It had managed to fall around her ankle again. She wiped at the scuffed
patent leather shoes that had belonged to someone else and wished that for once
she could have something brand-new. Someday she would. She was going to marry
someone very successful so she could have all brand-new dresses. Her mother
said it didn’t matter that their clothes were used. “It’s how you wear them
that matters,” her mother would say.
    Molly
was sitting on her doorstep and without hesitating Whitney approached. “What
are you doing?”
    Molly
squinted into the sun and shrugged. “Nothing.”
    Whitney
twirled around. “Do you like my dress?”
    Molly
nodded without really looking at it.
    Whitney
smiled. Of course she liked it. It was beautiful. “May I sit down?” she asked,
curtsying.
    She
shrugged again. “Sure.”
    Whitney
frowned at the girl’s response. It wasn’t very polite. “Do you want me to
stay?”
    “I
don’t care.”
    With
her hands on her hips, Whitney let out a long sigh like her mother did when
she’d done something wrong. Then, pointing a finger, she said, “You should
invite me to sit. It’s only polite, you know.”
    Molly
looked up at her and frowned. “Fine. Sit down.”
    She
rolled her eyes. What could she do if Molly was rude? Her mother always told
her that some people just weren’t raised right. Brushing off the step, Whitney
sat down, spreading her dress around her and then crossing her legs and
settling her hands in her lap.
    Molly
pulled her knees to her chest and rested her arms on her knees.
    “I
heard about your mom,” Whitney said, trying to raise the subject nicely.
    Molly
didn’t answer.
    “What’s
it like?”
    Molly
frowned. “What’s what like?”
    “Not
having a mom.”
    She
shrugged. “I dunno.”
    “Are
you sad?”
    Molly
nodded, chewing on her lower lip.
    “You
can cry if you want to.”
    “I’m
not going to cry.”
    Whitney
shrugged. If her mother died, she would cry. She would cry and cry and cry. And
then where would she go? She couldn’t live with Randy and her stepfather. They
wouldn’t want her. She’d probably get shipped back to her father’s house in
Michigan. She scrunched her face at the thought of living with her stepmother.
No, she would definitely cry if her mother died.
    Whitney
straightened her back and smoothed her pink skirt. A small brown stain caught
her eye and she picked at it. It was chocolate—from her cousin Teddy’s birthday
party.
    “Why
are you here?”
    Whitney
looked over at Molly, who was watching her. “I came to see how you were doing.”
    The
little girl narrowed her gaze. The streaks of dirt on her face made tiny cracks
when