CHAPTER 3: Disgusting Dinners and Digestive Systems

The doorbell echoed through the house, and my very unladylike growl of frustration almost competed with it.

“I’m not getting it!” I shouted, because contrary to popular belief, people who yell after hearing a doorbell do not necessarily want to answer it.

“Get the door!” Mum called from downstairs.

I jumped almost a metre in shock before rushing out an, “Okay!” Then I turned back to the mirror and scanned over my clothing, if you could call it that. The green dress stuck to my body like first skin. Forget second skin. First. It was tight around the chest, and honestly, it was a miracle my lungs were still participating in this thing called life. The waist had definitely been made for a toothpick, because it seemed determined to prohibit all blood flow to my legs. Luckily, it sort of flowed out around my hips, but unfortunately, it barely made its way to my knees. The dress almost looked scared to touch them.

On the bright side, I could move my legs without falling down and possibly breaking my neck. Also, the handprint from earlier had miraculously vanished, and by miraculously, I mean I had applied creams like crazy until it disappeared. The dress had straps, and a suspicious bruise shaped like someone’s fingers would not have been easy to explain at dinner.

I looked back up at my bare face. Makeup who? My green eyes stared boldly back at me, or at least as bold as slightly dilated eyes could look. Was I secretly intoxicated? I had only drunk sparkling water, and I was pretty sure Kyle had stopped his “alcohol in a water bottle” trick. There were only so many of my drunken dances Mum could take before someone got disowned.

The doorbell rang again, reminding me that I should have been downstairs about ten minutes ago. I quickly slipped into black flats because black went with everything, even this hideous green dress, and made my way downstairs. On the way down, I resisted the urge to do my usual slide along the railing. This dress would somehow find a way to wrap around my neck and strangle me. I could feel it in my gut. Or maybe that was just the blood circulation giving up.

I approached the front door cautiously enough that anyone watching would probably assume I was trying to approach a lion. I pressed my left ear against the wood, attempting to figure out who stood on the other side.

Please be Kyle. Please be Kyle.

My brother had a habit of taking our furry pal, Waggles, on walks after finishing his part-time job. Waggles was a Samoyed with fluffy white fur and big adorable brown eyes, truly a beautiful dog and probably the most emotionally stable member of this family. Kyle refused to tell me what he did for work, of course, which only made me imagine him standing in a dark alley with a pack of suspicious goods, waiting for some shady person to pass by and make a purchase. If you get where I’m going with this, wink wink. I was secretly hoping he had lost his keys and was the one knocking.

“Hello?” a screechy voice called from the other side, making me flinch.

I didn’t remember Kyle sounding like he was dying.

“Anybody home?”

Oh no.

It was the Addams Family. Well, more like the impersonators.

Before I could stop myself, absolute rubbish left my mouth. “Hello, this is the door voicemail. Unfortunately, the Kataminas are not home and will not be for a very long time. Please proceed to turn around, return to your own house, and don’t leave a message after the beep. Beep.”

For a moment, there was silence. I stood staring at the brown wood in shock, questioning my own sobriety. What the heck was that nonsense?

“Daniella, did you open the door?” Mum shouted.

Her voice knocked sense back into me. The Casaties had definitely heard her, which meant I now had to open the door like a civilised person. Dang it.

With all my might, I forced my hand towards the many locks. You could never be too safe in Zarp City. Our front door had enough bolts and chains to protect a royal vault, which might seem excessive unless you lived in a city where giant pet snakes wandered into traffic and no one even cancelled school over it. After a while, I finally unlocked the last one, fixed my grimace into a forced smile, and opened the door by an inch.

Who knew? Maybe it really was a witch behind it.

The first person I saw was Mrs Casatie.

Looks like I was right.

Her dark, beady eyes scanned me from head to toe. I noticed the very obvious lift of her chin so she appeared higher than me, even though she wasn’t that much taller. Her pointy purple heels added maybe two inches, not a throne. I looked at the top of her head, half expecting a black pointed hat, but was disappointed to find her black hair neatly pinned into a bun that completely juxtaposed my messy wet one. Mine looked like I had crossed an ocean to reach the door.

Standing beside her was a young girl with hair just as dark as her mother’s. Large dark-brown eyes sat above a pointy nose that was way less pointy than Mrs Casatie’s, but still sharp enough to hurt if I accidentally bumped into her. Did they have nose sharpeners or something? The child gave me a small smile, which I completely disregarded because I was busy moving on to the next family member.

My fake smile faltered.

I eyed the boy in front of me in complete and utter shock. Even though this wasn’t my first time meeting the family, they still managed to shock me into silence every single time. The boy resembled the undead. He looked as if his soul had been sucked out, put back in, then sucked out again for good measure. His eyes were dark and hollow, his face grim, and his entire presence gave off an aura of death. I quickly shut my mouth when I realised it was practically decorating the floor.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I silently moved away from the door. And no, I was not running away. I was simply making room for them to enter.

They looked at me blankly, so I decided to use words. Terrible choice. “Are you related to the Addams Family?”

No.

Wrong words.

Mrs Casatie’s face remained stiff. “Excuse me?”

The woman scanned my dress with a slight scowl and a judgmental look. Believe me, lady, I felt the same about this dress. I cleared my throat and dragged the poor smile back onto my face, practically grabbing it by the throat and shoving it beneath my nose. “Welcome to our humble abode, again.”

I raised my arms to direct them inside, but they still stood outside looking confused. What was so difficult about using your legs to step through a door? Were they secretly vampires who needed me to formally invite them in? In that case, they could enjoy the welcome mat. I swiftly turned and walked back into the house. I had no patience for people who weren’t sure why they had shown up.

Unfortunately, I barely made it around the corner before walking straight into someone.

Kitchen utensils went flying through the air. One naughty fork lodged itself into my head. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. It stabbed my poor hair bun, which was on my head, so technically I was not completely wrong. I landed on the floor with my limbs in weird positions, surrounded by knives and forks that had scattered dramatically around me. Luckily, the only thing that hurt was my derrière, which had unfortunately been introduced to the ground. Where were the not-sharp spoons when you needed them?

“Daniella!” Mum’s shout met my ears.

I looked up to find her still standing. How was that possible? She had been the one carrying the utensils, yet I was the one on the floor looking like a failed magic trick. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, furious in that silent way that made you wish she would just shout and get it over with. “I swear you’ll walk off a cliff one day if you don’t start watching where you’re going.”

She reached down and grabbed the fork stuck in my hair bun.

My eyes widened in realisation. “Wait!”

She was already pulling by the time I shouted. The fork furiously held onto my poor hair, refusing to let go. My head shook violently from side to side as Mum struggled to remove it. The fork, I mean, not my head, although at this rate she might as well have been trying to decapitate me. “Stop... this... stuck... STOP!” I managed to get out as my head wagged from side to side like a dog’s tail.

After what felt like eons, Mum froze and quickly let go of the fork. You’d think it was because I was writhing in pain, but no. It was because we now had an audience.

The Casaties stood at the end of the hallway staring at us in shock. Well, this was awkward. Me sitting on the floor with a fork in my bun, Mum standing beside me with horror written all over her face, and several sharp utensils scattered around like we had prepared a very aggressive welcome ceremony.

Mum straightened and gave her famous welcoming smile. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Humble indeed. Step right up and get a fork stuck in your hair. If you’re feeling a little fancy, we’ll even arrange for a knife as well. Though I couldn’t promise our aim was perfect, I could guarantee an encounter with the famous cutlery.

Dinner was somehow worse than the fork incident.

I hated the seating arrangement. Opposite me was Strange Boy, on my right was Strange Girl, and sitting beside Strange Boy was Strange Mother. Mum sat at the end of the table near Mrs Casatie and the girl, wearing a smile that looked calm to everyone else and deeply threatening to me. Our six-seater table had never looked so formal or so uncomfortable. Anyone watching from outside might have thought we looked like the perfect family dinner, provided they could ignore the tension thick enough to be cut with a saw, the silence strong enough to convince you that you had died, and the constant glares mostly targeted at me.

I was cursing my dear brother Kyle for missing such a momentous occasion. He had missed the last dinner too. I swore he was doing it on purpose. What annoyed me most was that he hadn’t let me join him in wherever he had escaped to. Instead, I was stuck across from the boy who looked like he had been raised in a basement by ghosts.

At least Mum had cooked like she was feeding a royal family and their distant relatives. I glanced, more like gawked hungrily, at the food spread across the table. Pasta, mac and cheese, rice, different types of meat and, luckily, far away from me, the leaves. Salads upon salads decorated with different colours sat at the other end of the table, trying to pretend they belonged. Mum could have been a chef with food this amazing. Instead, she chose to be an interior designer. I guessed that was where I inherited my incredible artistic nature. Oh, and my amazing modesty. I had been told I was quite humble. Well, the exact words were, “She’s a crazy witch. Devil’s spawn.” In my books, that translated to, “She’s so sweet and humble. Angel sent from above.”

I discreetly wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth, or as discreetly as I could while Strange Boy eyed me like I was a wild cat. I didn’t bite. Scratch, yes, but no biting. That was disgusting. Putting my teeth into someone’s skin? Bleh. I didn’t know where it had been. Who knew? Maybe they liked rolling around on bathroom floors. I gave him a disinterested look and turned my attention back to the food.

Unfortunately, guests got the opportunity to dig in first. I had to sit there watching them collect delicious food and place it on their plates, trying not to look as disgruntled as I felt while silently praying my stomach would remain quiet for a little while longer. I was starving. The last time I had eaten was lunch, and now it was eight. We usually had dinner around seven. One hour meant a lot to me.

Finally, I could dig in. I went straight for the lasagna and paid absolutely no attention to the green stuff. I also avoided making eye contact with Mum because she would give me the face, and the face would force me into eating vegetables.

Conversation began once Mrs Casatie stopped acting snobby long enough to engage in the art of small talk with Mum. They spoke about curtains, neighbourhood noise and some community committee I hoped never to be invited to. I simply munched my food in silence, or at least I thought I did.

“Can you eat a little quieter?” Strange Boy asked.

Oh no. Here we go again.

From what I had learnt last time, conversations with this one weren’t pleasant. The first and last conversation I had hoped we would ever have went a little something like this:

“You don’t look your age,” he had said.

“I’ve been told I don’t look my age, sound my age, next thing you know you’ll say I don’t pee my age. It would be some rubbish like, ‘Sixteen-year-old girls pee standing up.’”

He had stared at me, confused. “Um, how many toes do you have?”

“Ten.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, nonsensical questions don’t deserve sensical answers.”

“Wow,” he had said after a pause. “That’s deep.”

“Not as deep as how that brain is in your head.”

And that had been the end of the conversation. Thankfully.

Now, I raised one eyebrow at him. Sadly, the other followed, and both eyebrows ended up raised in a weird manner. I quickly scrunched them down, attempting to look threatening so I could cover up the face I had just made. I didn’t bother responding because I knew no good would come from it. Why couldn’t he be silent like his sister?

“Do you poop?” he asked.

The remaining food in my mouth immediately found its way to my windpipe, and I started choking. Coughing loudly, I grabbed my orange juice and took a desperate sip. Through my coughing fit, I noticed everyone staring at me.

“Are you okay?” Mum asked gently.

I nodded once I stopped coughing. Mrs Casatie looked at me nonchalantly, as if I hadn’t just nearly met my end through lasagna.

I turned back to Strange Boy angrily. “What?”

Maybe I hadn’t heard correctly. I tended to mishear things a lot.

“Do you poop?”

Nope. I heard correctly.

I stared at his straight face before glancing around the table to check if anyone else had heard that. Both our mothers had returned to their conversation, and his sister was staring intently at her food as if it might grow legs and run away if she looked away.

Okay then. Let’s see where this stupidity goes.

“Well, like every normal breathing human being, I defecate.” I had hoped that would stop him.

“No.”

I stared back at him. No? What the heck did he mean, no?

“You see...” He placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands, the food on his plate completely forgotten. My plate, on the other hand, was empty. I had been seconds away from going for thirds. “Girls don’t poop.”

I blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Yet I still couldn’t grasp his words.

Strange Boy say what?

I would have rolled onto the floor laughing if he didn’t look dead serious. Emphasis on dead. I stayed quiet and allowed him to continue explaining how my body worked to me.

“When you eat, your body digests the food, yes, but instead of working like a male’s, the remaining waste, as we humans call it, does not leave the body.”

I was pretty sure every toilet I had ever used could beg to differ. Also, backtrack. Did he say we humans? I was still trying to deduce what species he belonged to, and it was not looking promising. All this talk about poop was making me lose my appetite, and that was not easy to achieve. See why I called that family strange? And I didn’t go around insulting people for nothing. Well, not anymore. The school had threatened to suspend me, so I had to stop pointing at people and shouting things like “Hey, banana head!” It had only been a joke, 0.000001% of the time.

“It stays in the body and is transferred to certain areas, like the breasts.”

Oh my gosh. That made so much sense. Note the sarcasm.

My face morphed into one of pure disgust. I needed to leave the table before I puked all over the delicious food I still planned to enjoy later. “Excuse me, I have to use the...” I started to stand, but a ripping sound cut through my words.

Please tell me I imagined it. Please, please tell me I was hearing things as usual.

I slowly sat down again. When I felt the cold wooden surface of the chair against my bottom, I knew I was done for.

“Never mind,” I said meekly.

The dress had ripped. Ripped. Torn. Cut. However you wanted to explain it, the wonderful piece of fabric had split, and I would have greatly appreciated this if I hadn’t been wearing it. “Is something the matter?” Strange Boy asked.

Before I could respond, Mum’s voice rose cheerfully from the other end of the table. “Yes, Daniella is excellent at everything. She can clean, coo—” She paused so abruptly that I narrowed my eyes. “She’s great at babysitting.”

I eyed her suspiciously. What was she up to?

“She could babysit Angelique for you when you’re busy,” Mum added.

Who?

I glanced at the girl sitting next to me. Was that her name?

Mrs Casatie’s face scrunched in displeasure. “No, that’s alright. My husband can watch her.”

My eyebrows almost ran off my forehead in shock, and my words tumbled out before I could stop them. “You don’t have a husband.”

Silence greeted me. Everyone turned to glare, including the not-so-innocent-looking girl seated beside me. Mum simply stared, and I could’ve sworn the words shut up were printed across her forehead. Why couldn’t it be possible to grab words and shove them back into your mouth?

“Who said that?” I asked weakly, looking around in fake shock.

Again, where was Kyle? He was usually around to subdue my stupid comments. He literally acted like my filter, always there for a quick pinch before I pissed off an “innocent victim.” His words, not mine. If my comment wasn’t pleasant, then neither was the one receiving it.

Luckily, the attention moved from me before my mouth had time for round two.

“Did I say husband?” Mrs Casatie asked smoothly. “I meant my sister.”

Right. Because husband and sister could so easily be confused. You could tell from the fact that they started with the same letter, rhymed beautifully, and had the exact same number of letters. Gotta love satire. I had even seen cases where wives accidentally called their husbands sister. Honestly, it happened a lot in the land of Terrible Lies and Nonexistent Siblings, because last time I checked, and by checked I meant was told because I would not be bothered to investigate, Mrs Casatie was unmarried and an only child.

Angelique looked down at her plate again, but not before I caught the quick glance she gave her mother.

Interesting.

By the time the guests finally left, I had never been more grateful for a torn dress.

Leaping into my room, not literally of course, I rushed to shut the door. Leaning against it, I let out a heavy sigh. Dang. Dinners with people you didn’t like were hard. I think I lost a limb trying to wrestle the conversations. Thanks to my large dress incident, yes, large because my behind was now fully on display, I had to suffer through the rest of dinner and wait until the guests were leaving and no one was looking before I could run upstairs.

You might be wondering why I wasn’t helping pack up. Mum had kindly assured me that she had everything under control. I liked to believe she meant it and didn’t say that because I could break ten plates by stepping into the kitchen. It wasn’t my fault I was a klutz.

Mum had tried to set me up for a part-time job and failed tremendously. I mean, I wouldn’t even hire me. My clumsiness was on another level, and my people skills were leaning into the negative scale. I was the ideal example of a person you shouldn’t hire, not even as a security guard. I would just try to beat up everyone I considered a threat, emphasis on everyone.

I quickly changed into my pyjamas and threw the ripped dress out the window. It fluttered down into the darkness like an ugly green ghost, and I wished it luck in its next life. Then I skipped into the warm blankets. It was currently ten o’clock. I had to sleep early unless I wanted to sleep through school tomorrow. It was only Tuesday. So many days to go.

After I finally managed to fall asleep, I was roughly woken by a weird sound. It almost sounded like a body dropping, followed by a crash into my dresser. I could’ve sworn I heard some colourful words as well. I guess the walls did speak.

In the dark, I couldn’t see anything, but I could still use my other senses. Like touch. Which was how I felt someone practically throw themselves onto me and roughly cover my mouth with their hand before I could scream.