Cause a Scene.

Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.

Home sweet home, rang bitterly through my mind as my little Honda sped passed the twinkling sign, piercing the dim, early morning dark with its bright headlights and shattering the shocking silence with tires rumbling against the blacktop of the highway.

The dawn shone a deep, beautiful purple color directly north of the food of our car, lighting up the Las Vegas skyline enough to cause windows to glitter in the sunrise and illuminate the remaining stretch of The Strip that I drove upon.

For the first time since I began my lengthy drive from Reno, Nevada to my birthplace, buildings and attracting, restaurants and patrons were visible to my weak, tired eyes. Pulling the car to a gentle stop at a red light, my hands gripped the steering wheel and I pulled myself from my slumped position against the backseat, groaning at the dull pain throbbing at the base of my skull.

All around me was silent as I leaned over the round helm and craned my entire body to peek up at the extravagant structures littering both sides of the wide street.

A pointing tower soaring hundreds of feet into the pink tinted clouds. The stratosphere. A rodeo clown jutting from a neon colored, square sign, decorated festively with an assemblage of bulb lights. The Circus Circus Casino. A long, pale cement building illuminated by flood beams. The Fashion Show Mall.

Disappointment lodged itself in my throat. Growing up in Las Vegas from the day I was born to the day I turned fourteen, The Strip seemed larger than life. A far off, distant place I was never allowed on because I wasn’t of legal age or legal drinking age. The buildings seemed brighter, more extravagant, larger and more beautiful.

Now, this time around as a bitter seventeen-year-old with nothing to lose, it looked like every other street existing in Nevada. The buildings looked like buildings decorated with cheesy signs and gimmicks to attract the intoxicated people who inhabited such a place.

To say the least, the reality of the once place in my hometown I dreamed about for years was an epic letdown.

Releasing my grasp on the steering wheel, I fell into my original spot in the middle of the Honda’s driver’s seat, my hands clasping themselves against the thighs of my pajama pants. I inclined my head and stared out at the dangling traffic lights.

Then again, the bittersweet reason for my homecoming could be the explanation for my less than thrilled reaction.

My grandfather’s death, the main of two motives to pick up almost four years of my life and lug myself back to Las Vegas where I belonged. The first being a revelation I experienced the moment I received the phone call saying Grandpa had died. I realized life was too short to be so far away from the people I actually loved, and I demanded we go back to Las Vegas to my mother.

She, and her new husband, Chad Elwood, were the second reason. Both became enraged when I made a huge fuss over wanting to go home to stay, not just for the funeral, and Mom threw herself into a frenzy and screamed. We’re never going back to Las Vegas! You will stay in Reno with us, and I forbid you to go to that funeral, Hanna Beth Lucas!

Apparently the heartless harpy didn’t care one bit that my grandfather happened to be her father, a brave, wonderful man who raised her and three other children. He paid for our upkeep in Reno, the rent on our house, the tuition for my entrance to a private school for music - the subsequent cause for the first move away from Las Vegas. The best man whom ever lived, and she was throwing him away because she liked life with her new husband more than she would ever love it elsewhere.

More words exchanged between the two of us, and she consequently banished me from ever returning to her sight. She kicked me out, told me the house in Reno was no longer my home, and what happened to me no longer mattered to her.

Thus, my seven hour trip in the middle of the night to Sin City, with nothing but the bare minimum: my notebooks, acoustic guitar, and duffle bags of my clothes.

Leaving Reno would no doubt crush me for the first span of time. Everything I dreamed of -- a record contract at the end of my school career in Hadsell Private School-- was four hundred seventy miles south of the back tires. Normal high school awaited me just down the street. Public high school, a less than desirable apartment above Grandma’s garage, Grandma, my twin brother, Heath, and my step-sister, Ella.

Extracting Grandma, Ella, and Heath, nothing I cared for existed here, in the city of lights, heartbreak, and naked women. Chances, opportunities for a girl barely seventeen-years-old with a tiny talent didn’t subsist in this place as easily as it did in Reno.

Stomach clenching, I decided to face reality and swallow it like a woman. But there were still many chances for me to follow my dreams of music in Las Vegas, I simply had to sought them out on my own and not wait for something to fall in my lap. Following my dreams meant chasing them as well. It wouldn’t be that hard.

With that the mindset, the ability to sleep at night inside the drafty, creaky, ancient garage would somehow be much easier.

On the other hand, something in me felt relieved to be coming home where I no longer had to suffer through day after day alone while Mom and Chad ran off on dates and who-knows-where-else. Here, in my bustling homeland, solace would be found in the form my immediate family.

I glanced at the family picture dangling from my rearview mirror, with my mother, my grandparents, my brother, myself, and my step-sister all bunched together on a beach in Florida.

The love I held for my mother was incomprehensible. She was my everything before her quickie marriage into the Elwood family, but now her energy and focus were reserved for her new husband, and as a newlywed, she only had eyes for him, not her teenaged daughter.

Even I, Hanna Beth Lucas, needed a degree of attention, and I hoped Grandma and Heath -- or someone -- could give it to me.

Somewhere behind me, a car blared its horn with an annoying, shrill screech, slightly muffled by the float of music from my MP3 player buds stuck within my ears. I snapped my head from its resting position to see the light was green now.

Hands flying back to the steering wheel, I pressed on the gas and my Honda lurched forward along the street, moving beneath the stoplight and riding along the stretch of road ahead. Grandma lived just beyond the Vegas Pointe Plaza down the street.

Thankfully. Seven hours cramped into my tiny car proved to be a bad, bad decision. My legs only held a small margin of feeling, having lost all sensation and blood somewhere in Fallon.

The Vegas Pointe Plaza emerged as our little, striking red car crested a miniscule hill. The beige building sped passed my backseat window, and, seconds later, I turned down the scenic East Warm Springs Road. Sprawling, towering houses of all different shades and girths with tailored gardens and yards and perfect, straight cement driveways lined the street.

Certain front yards held kiddy pools, neon colored children’s toys, and sprinklers of various widths and breadths. Others were the scene of rich Las Vegas, with glistening Mercedes residing in the driveways and gardeners busying themselves with tending to rose bushes and watering the grass. Guard dogs sat on large front porches, barking at me as I cruised by.

I wound the car through Gilespie Street, Ebb Tide Avenue, and Spring Tree Street, each of them holding beautiful houses that cost more than my entire life, before turning onto Dark Forest Avenue.

My eyes banked each house number as I inched down the residential street. Grandma lived at 246 Dark Forest Avenue; I passed 236, 238, 241... Once I passed a one story brick house with faded green lawn chairs, a banged up gray Corvette, and a black Camaro sitting out front with the number 244, I curved the car to the right and stopped the Honda at the curb, and pulled the gear shift into PARK.

I settled backward with a heavy, loud sigh. My new home lay just beyond the enclosed area of my small, eco-friendly car.

Grasping the side of the passenger’s seat, I stretched to the side and took in the house, the familiar scene from my childhood. 246 Dark Forest had a certain air of whimsy and calm to it from years of my wise, unique grandparents inhabiting the two story blue house. White paint bordered every section of the front, including the windows and around the black entrance. White pillars held the tiny roof up above the brick front porch; railing of the same color spread out along the right of the porch, and down the brick steps.

On the porch, two wooden rocking chairs were placed on either side of the door. A table and two other white chairs were ahead of the wide, front bay window.

Along the cement steps leading up the tiny hill to the cement walkway that led to the house, Grandma planted orange and yellow Marigolds. A newly planted tree sat in front of the sidewalk on the left side of the clean cut yard.

Opposite the left addition to the house at the end of the driveway resided my new home: the detached garage, bearing the same periwinkle blue color as the house. Three wide, bright windows stared down from the apartment above. Around the back, a staircase led to the balcony of such, where the only entrance to the garage loft existed.

I unbuckled my seat belt, pushed open the door, and climbed out of the car, stepping up on the brown sidewalk and slamming the door behind me. Immediately I wanted to climb back into the air-conditioned safety of my vehicle. A wall of heat smacked into my head on, making me choke.

August in Las Vegas, Nevada. The sky was cloudless and blue, and temperatures soared high, possibly into the hundreds. No wind or breeze or oxygen made it into the air. It almost felt close to suffocation; it was stifling!

The front door of the house flung open, clattering against one of the rocking chairs. Grandma appeared on the threshold, dressed in an unreasonable fur coat, glittery top, and black slacks. She looks at me, let out a cry and threw herself down the two sets of steps at me, stopping at the bottom step just short of where I stood.

I watched her eyes roam up and down me, tears sparkling in her eyes… And I quickly assessed her as well. Standing in such close proximity with her after two years of no contact, it was easy to tell Grandma and Mom looked amazingly alike.

Mom had long, wavy, brown curls that reached the middle of her back and her eyes held the sky blue color native to the Lucas family.

Grandma once had the lengthy brunette tendrils -- I knew so from old photographs littering the walls of her house -- but now her curls were white with age and stopped just below her shoulders. Red lipstick and blue eye shadow were the only things breaking her pale skin.

They even almost dressed alike, except Mom wasn’t crazy enough to wear a coat in the middle of summer. But on several occasions I saw her wear slacks and shell tops of different colors.

Grandma abandoned her post and grabbed my shoulders in her firm, strong hands. Her shining eyes stared at my face, inching over my every feature. “My Hanna Beth,” she whispered, and it was like opening the flood gates. I collapsed into her, winding my arms around her body, her doing the same.

I shook with gentle, dry sobs. Grandma petted my head and battled with her own silent tears. Without words, we knew why our outburst came on in the blink of an eye. Grandpa, our reunion, the fact I was back in Las Vegas for the time being, where she could fawn me with love like I was a child again.

“Yo, Hanna!” The male voice echoed across the yard. It was much deeper than I remembered, but it had also been almost two years since I had seen the owner.

I detached myself from Grandma and looked at the porch. My elder twin brother stood on the first step, his hands buried in the front pockets of his baggy blue jeans. Black hair spilled down into his line of vision and a single lip piercing decorated the left side of his mouth.

Heath. My sibling and best friend up till my move to Reno. We were fraternal, not identical, so our personalities as well as our appearances differed greatly. Where Heath was outgoing and went out every night and always had a fathom of friends flocking him, I was shy and stayed in and never had any friends. We were polar opposites, timid Hanna Beth and popular Heath.

He was the big brother in every sense of the word. He was the first born by seventeen minutes and he was always there to make sure his little sister was protected. He never failed to put me first in his book.

Heath trotted down the steps. I broke into a jog and met him halfway on the walkway. He gathered me up in his arms and hugged my flush against his chest. I snaked my arms around his torso, embracing him back.

I missed Heath the most. He was the first person to take my passion for music seriously. My grandparents did once I actually became brave enough to play them a song, but Heath was there beforehand, rooting me along.

His talents were elsewhere in the art field. He had a knack for drawing and sketching everything he saw and felt. I had more than one of his works in frames in my box of various items in the back of the car. He captured in pictures what I did in words and note on my acoustic guitar. My songs.

Heath pulled away and held me out at an arms length. “You’re back in Vegas, Hanna. It’s kind of weird, you know, after you were gone for so long.”

Guilt wedged itself in my throat. Why had Heath and I lost contact when my career at Hadsell Private School started? He wasn’t countries away, only cities. A phone call outside of the annual once a month and holidays would have sufficed.

Raising my delicate hand, I patted his cheek. “It was only three years, Heath. We weren’t complete strangers while I was in Reno.”

“I still missed you.” He kissed the top of my head and gave my another hug, squeezing me until my ribs ached. Planting my hands on his chest, I pushed him away and laughed.

Heath ruffled my hair. I swatted him away, shoving him to where Grandma was watching, her hands raised to her mouth and eyes shimmering. A corner of my heart screamed out in pain. Grandpa should have been here with us! He should have been standing beside Grandma, his bald head shining in the sun, his arm tucked around Grandma’s waist where it belonged, and gushing over how much I had grown or how long my hair had gotten.

Another thought struck me, and I glanced over my shoulder and at the house. “Where’s Ella?” I questioned.

Grandma smiled and stepped forward, curling her arm around my shoulders. “At school,” she answered, and pointed me at the garage. “Hanna Beth, dear, would you like to see your apartment above the garage? I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

I turned to the car and retrieved my first duffle bag of clothes from the backseat and nodded at Grandma.

She led me across the yard, around the side of the garage, and into the fenced in backyard. We walked up the gray, wooden steps and up onto the balcony. Grandma pulled a small, silver key from the pocket of her slacks and slid it into the lock in the sliding glass door. It clicked as it unlocked, and she pulled it open.

Sun filtered into the apartment and landed on… white tiles? I glanced at Grandma; she smiled and stepped over the threshold. Disappearing to the left, she flipped on a light switch, and everything in the living room became illuminated.

At the sight of the unfamiliar room, I heard a shrill gasp slip from me.

The garage loft appeared nothing like how I remembered it when Heath and I used to play inside the dark, creaky place. Where it used to be exposed, splintered wooden floorboards, white tiles stretched through the first strip of the foyer, leading to a small counter holding a silver mini fridge, a red microwave, and two wooden cabinets painted white on the right side of the room, and two white doors at the end of the stretch.

To the left, the walls were a light green color. A large off-white, black, and brown rug -- that I recognized as an African made object Grandma had gotten from a thrift store -- spread out from one wall to the other. A white couch sat cattycornered against a crook in the wall, a green floral pillow and a green, blue, and orange pillow resting on the cushions, a pale wooden coffee table in front of it.

A dark wood wicker chair with a rounded back was a few feet away from the couch, an orange cushion in the seat and a red and white crocheted blanket hanging over the back. Beside it, an aged end table sat with a lamp and a phone.

Then, finally, at the end of the room against the furthest wall, was an empty bookshelf and an entertainment center with a flat screen TV an a radio settled on top of it.

“What?” I looked at Grandma again, confused. “Grandma, the hell is this? What happened to the creepy apartment?”

Her feeble hand smacked into my upper arm. “Mouth, young lady!”

“Sorry.” I followed her into the open area, shaking my head in disbelief. “How did you do this? It’s beautiful.” Actually, beautiful was an understatement. This place, my new home, felt and looked like a dream, one that I didn’t deserve.

After I had been infuriated when I learned we would be coming home to Las Vegas, I was rewarded with this.

Grandma grinned. “Heath and I fixed it up when we heard you were coming a month ago. Your bedroom is over there, through that door--” She pointed to the first door at the end of the tiles. “--and your bathroom is beside it.”

“Grandma!” Heath shouted from outside, making Grandma and myself twist around to peer at the door, but he was still down in the front yard, so he was nowhere in our line of vision. “Pom Pom ate a pillow! Come here!”

Grandma raised a hand to her forehead, sighing. Pom Pom was her hyper Rat Terrier, who had an obsession for tearing things - paper, books, pillows, and rugs - to shreds. Dropping her hand, she patted my shoulder. “I should… probably help your brother. That boy…”

She kissed her cheek before hurrying out onto the patio. “And that dog!” she added, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone in my - my! - new apartment. Slowly, I trudged the soles of my Vans across the tiles to the bathroom door and pushed it open.

Just like the living room the bathroom was green. Why, I had no idea, but I loved it, from the dark green of the upper half of the walls, to the brown tiles of the lower half of the walls, to the glass bowl of the sink on the modern silver sink, the brown tiles of the floor, to the purple shower curtain.

I walked inside and stepped in front of the sink, curling my hands around the metal holding the sink up. Bowing forward, I stared at the reflection looking back at me in the mirror.

Unlike Mom, Grandma, and Heath, who held the natural looks of the Lucas family, I was the black sheep in the appearance department. My eyes were a reddish brown color, and my long, straight brunette hair hit at the middle of my back was somewhere between dark and light brown. It was darker than Mom’s, but lighter than Heath’s naturally raven black hair.

My skin held a tan that was foreign to the army of the pale faced Lucas’s, but, in a way, I was still pale. A couple of freckles dotted the bridge of my nose; they were only visible if someone came extremely close to my face. My lips were naturally plump, and not a single piercing littered my body.

I wasn’t one of the girls that hated herself because she didn’t look like a supermodel. I was happy with how I looked, and proud I wasn’t a carbon copy of “that girl”, blonde and skinny and perky. Something I considered my best asset was that I was unique and didn’t have to be “that girl” to feel good about myself.

I dropped my duffle bag to the lid of the toilet and fished out a pair of jeans. I striped off my pajama bottoms, pulled on the blue jeans -- leaving on my thin, navel revealing t-shirt -- and left the bathroom to enter my bedroom.

As soon as I stepped into the room, I thought I was imagining things. I blinked several times and looked up at the white ceiling for a few moments, bracing myself. If I had actually seen what I thought I did, Heath and Grandma were taking acid when they designed my bedroom.

Looking down again, I realized the image was still the same. Lime green walls and brown carpet surrounded a queen sized bed with an indigo bedspread, zebra pillows, and a cheetah bed skirt. Draping down from the ceiling, hung from hospital-like rods, were indigo drapes. Strings of beads hung down from the closet; a white vanity with a cheetah stool sat beside the bed on one side, with a white nightstand on the other, a zebra lamp on top of it.

I would have to thank Heath and Grandma later. The apartment was absolutely perfect for me; I loved every detail of every room. They hit the nail on the head with their interior designs.

Leaving my bedroom, I crossed the bright living room and walked back into the hot summer day. I jogged down the steps, circled around the garage, and walked back to the car. I fumbled with the back hatch of the Honda, cursing under my breath, until it finally sprang upward, revealing my other packed up belongings.

I heaved my cardboard box of books, journals, folders, and pictures, balanced it on my hip, and slung my second duffle bag of clothes over my shoulder. Teetering up onto the curb, I left the trunk open and hurried back to my apartment, where I dropped them both on the ground beside the coffee table and hopped back outside.

Moving around the edge of the garage, my eyes landed on the car, and I froze in my tracks. Standing a few feet away from the Honda on the sidewalk were two unfamiliar men, strangers, dressed from head to toe in black.

I scanned the front yard. Mom, Grandma, Heath, and Chad must have already went inside the house. So, I was alone with two -- two -- two what? Were they members of some local gang who fed on innocent, non expecting teenaged girls?

My shaded spot in the girth between the house and the garage was a short distance from the door. I was a good sprinter, and I could make it to the door before they noticed me. Screaming was a good possibility, too.

“Man up, Hanna Beth,” I told myself quietly. “Chad taught you how to fight enough to save your life. How dangerous could they be?” Not even I felt convinced by my words. For all I knew, they could have been packing heat. One bullet would take out me an my little one hundred pound, five foot three stature.

I lowered my gaze and walked purposely toward the car. They looked up the moment I came into view and watched me as I stepped off the curb and heaved out my painted guitar case from the ajar trunk. Next, I threw my backpack of various things an, using my free hand, I pushed on the trunk…

Nothing happened. I put more force into my push. The trunk bobbed, but did nothing otherwise. Perfect. If they were murderers, they certainly knew I was weak.

“Dammit,” I muttered, dropping my guitar to the curb. Using both hands, I shoved down again, but it didn’t happen. Carefully, I stole a peek at the two guys, praying they stayed where they were, and just as I was about to give up and haul ass back inside, I heard it.

The most heavenly and life changing sound of my life to date.

A loud male voice yelling from behind me, making me twist around. “Do you need any help?” A young man, tall and lanky with shoulder length black hair, was jogging down the sidewalk toward me. Tattoos littered up and down the skin of his arms and crawled up his neck. He wore a black t-shirt and black pants.

As he grew closer, I saw he had a very handsome face, but he was oozing confidence. He looked nice enough, but it was easy to tell he knew how attractive he was and he knew how to use it to his full advantage. He thought he was the shit, blatantly put.

I smiled up at him sheepishly when he came to a stop on the road beside me. “Yeah, I can’t close the trunk.” I almost mentioned the creepy men watching me, but didn’t. This man could be one of them! Or, they might hear me and attack both of us.

The man closed the trunk with one hand and gave a glance over the hood of the car. When I turned, the two were already retreating back across the street, and a wave of relief washed over me. My legs went weak and I rested my hip against the back of the car.

“Thank you very much,” I smiled, turning my gaze up at the stranger. Briefly, I was amazed at just how tall he was, soaring over me so I had to tilt my head almost completely backward just to give him eye contact. He was at least six foot.

“No problem.” He moved his dark eyes over my face, inspecting it. Obviously he noticed something familiar, because he said, “Are you related to Parthena and Heath Lucas?”

I nodded, grabbing my guitar case handle and hoisting it off the ground. “Heath is my twin brother and Parthena is my grandmother,” I answered. Why on earth did he want to know? “And my name is Hanna Beth. Why, do you know them?”

“By proxy, I know Heath. He’s best friends with one of my friends, and I’ve been living next door to your grandmother for three years.” He gestured to the house with the battered gray Corvette and Camaro. “My name is Ronnie, by the way. Your brother knows me by my last name, Radke.”

He slipped his hands into the tight pockets of his jeans and teetered backward on his matching black shoes, flicking his messy hair from his face and blowing out a long breath. “Your grandma is a very sweet old lady,” he added.

I smiled, glancing off to the side. “She is a very sweet lady, but she’s honestly not that old. She’s only sixty.”

This Ronnie Radke laughed shortly, flashing his eyes back at my face and staring for a long moment, a smile tugging at his mouth in a rather seductive smirk.

Unfortunately, the smirk didn’t work on me. He wasn’t my type… if I even had what could be considered a type. He was way too into himself, for one, and, on another note, he reminded me of Heath too much. Just, his attitude and how he made me feel like I had known him for years.

I made a pact with myself long ago I would not be dating anyone that put me in mind of relatives or friends. That always set a relationship up for failure, and if I wanted to have a boyfriend who would stick around for a long time, I needed to find someone unlike Heath, my grandfather, my friends back in my private school, and any other male figure of the Lucas name.

Who did that leave? …I would know the person for me when I saw him, and I knew that Mr. Ronnie Radke was not that man in the full minute we had known each other. But the gesture was flattering.

“Thirty is old for me.” Ronnie leaned against the car beside me. “So, no, Parthena is not old to the rest of Vegas, but she is to me. So was your grandfather.” My shock showed on my face, and he held up his hands quickly. “No, no -- I don’t mean old. James was a wonderful man.”

I smiled, waving for him to put his hands down. “He was.”

“I’m sorry he died,” Ronnie murmured, turning around until he had his back against the car and was staring somewhere down the street. “How did he die? Parthena and Heath don’t talk about around me--” He trailed off.

“His heart.” I cleared my throat into my closed fist. I was determined to keep my voice from breaking. “It… gave out after three minor heart attacks while he was in the hospital.” My attempts crashed, and my voice shattered like a deck of cards.

Ronnie waved his hands in the air between us so quickly a small breeze wafted from the action and ruffled the front sections of my hair. “Subject change,” he said, and looked down at my guitar case. “You play guitar? Are you in a band or something?”

“Acoustic, and no.” Veering the subject away from Grandpa to my music was an excellent choice, though somehow my black guitar always brought fond memories of James Lucas. The guitar had come from him, after all.

And he got me entrance into the music program at the most selective private school in Nevada. I owed him so thanks as far as my music went, but, now, I would never be able to relay the thanks he deserved.

“I’m more of a soloist,” I continued. “I write, sing, and play my own songs.”

“Really? You should let me hear you play sometime.” At my questioning look, he embellished on why he wanted to hear my sing. “I’m in a band. Escape the Fate. Ever heard of us?”

My mouth gaped. “O-o-oh! That’s you?” Who knew. “I listened to your band’s EP for the music program at my old school. Your music is amazing.”

“Thank you.”

As he smiled down at me, everything fell into place. He was used to having girls drop to their knees in front of him; people dreamed about him and boosted his ego so it was the size of North America, and he expected every girl to worship at his feet and fall for his devilish smirks and good looks and bad boy attitude.

Not happening.

“Hanna Beth!”

I nearly tripped over the curb pivoting to see Grandma standing in the open front door, her hands gripping the side of the door frame, sunlight glittering on her top. At her feet, Pom Pom barked and wiggled around in excitement. I could hear the thud of his tail against the wooden floor.

“Hanna, dear, I’m cooking breakfast. Come help me, like you used to?” Ronnie shifted at my side, and Grandma’s eyes snapped to him, only then noticing he was standing with me. “Hello, Ronnie,” she called.

“Hello, Mrs. Lucas.” Ronnie patted my arm, stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of me. He smiled one last time. “I have to get home anyway. See you around?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Ronnie jogged off to the white house he claimed as his home. I watched until the screen door flung closed behind him and he disappeared from sight before beginning my own trek up the cement steps and onto the porch.

Grandma already retreated inside, but she left the front door open for me. I stepped into the beach themed living room, hues of white and blue stretched as far as the walls would allow, with sailing mementos from my grandparents traveled plastered amid family pictures and fluffy, chic white furniture.

A staircase with pale wooden steps wound and disappeared upward at the far left of the room, a white banister winding the length.

I shut the door behind me with my foot and set my belongings down against the wall, wiping my hands on my jeans to rid them of the white paint flecks from my guitar case. I desperately needed a new one and retire the one I had received on my eleventh birthday.

Glancing around, I took in the familiar scene sprawled out before me, and smelled the sweet scent that seemed to linger in the air of this house.

A pan clattered against something in the kitchen. Pom Pom barked and Grandma said a very unladylike word that probably echoed much louder than she intended. Found them.

I crossed the white carpet to the French glass door leading inside. I pushed it open and slid into the yellow and black accented kitchen. The smell of eggs and green peppers met my nose immediately.

Grandma looked up from where she was crouched on the Tuscan tiles, sopping something off the ground with a silver pan at her side. She lifted her top lip in an embarrassed cringe.

Standing, she set the pan and dirty towel on the counter beside the stove and wiped her hands on the apron now hanging from her neck. Her eyes gave me the once over. “Are you hungry?”

Pom Pom, his slender, white body jiggling at my feet, nudged my leg. I sat down on the ground and pulled the little dog into my lap.

“I’m a little hungry,” I answered, my hand running along the length of Pom Pom’s back. “I didn’t eat before we left from Reno. What’re you cooking?”

“Eggs with the usual--” Onions and green peppers. “--and bagels are in the fridge. Heath has to have his--” My mind said the words before they even left her mouth. “--frozen waffles, of course.”

An involuntary smile plastered itself to my lips. Nothing had changed since I left, absolutely nothing. The breakfast Grandma had been cooking for my entire life still remained the same; the living room was beached themed, the kitchen like that of a sunny day in Italy, and each upstairs bedroom made up like a different foreign style.

What had I been mad about? This life was so familiar to me it was as if I never left three years ago. The realization of how much I missed this sheltered, routine lifestyle hit me in the chest, knocking the breath out of me.

Mom complained about how she wanted our existence in Reno to be different than the one we grew to expect in Las Vegas. But that by no means worked out. Her idea of “mixing it up” was marrying some complete stranger she met at her job as a sales representative, never being home to cook for me, and leaving me to fend for myself in our huge house in a guarded community.

Grandma’s way of living meant so much more to me than the horrid one I endured for three years. Not that Mom was a bad parent, because she really wasn’t! For the first one and a half years, she was busy with building her job.

The other one and a half years, she played the newlywed card every time I brought the subject of her spending time with me. I was sick of hearing that god awful word.

“I saw you met your new neighbor. Do you like him?” A smile was playing at the corners of Grandma’s lips as she pushed the eggs around in the skillet.

I set Pom Pom down on the floor once more and rose, stretching my arms high above my head. “He seems nice,” I answered. I rested my lower back against the kitchen table and planted my hands flat on top of the solid, dark wood. “He was to me at least.”

“Ronald is always nice to the pretty girls.” She peeked at me over her glittering shoulder. “You actually seem like his type, Hanna Beth…”

“No, Grandma. He’s not my type.”

She turned away from me with a shrug. “Then what is your type? Your mother said you weren’t much for dating back in your old school.”

Mother knew nothing about what I did in my old school apparently. In Hadsell, I obtained two short lived relationships with two boys who were a little out of the stupid, unbreakable string of rich boys who thought they were better than me.

One lasted six months, and I dumped him for saying some snide remark about a song I performed during class. The other was a measly two weeks, and, by the second Friday, I couldn’t stand the sound of his voice, so I also released him back into the single scene.

“I don’t know if I have a type, Grandma.” I looked around the numerous illustrated pictures of Mocha, Latte, Café, and Espresso lining the walls.

Sometimes I wondered if Grandma wished she had been born on a French beach somewhere instead of boring old Nevada, without a beach and a fake Eiffel tower down the road. The interior styling seemed to say that.

In the living room and the kitchen, at least. It had been a while since I had graced the upstairs; that was going to be next on my agenda after I ate.

Grandma laughed, pulling me back to her. “Ah, I hadn’t have a type when I was your age.” She sighed dramatically. “Then I met your grandfather and everything changed. He was my type.”

Grandfather. Today, this return home, this entire morning, truly was all about him, no matter who I talked to, whether it be complete strangers or the woman who loved the most important male figure in my life to date. James Schuyler Lucas.

Pushing away from the table, I stepped beside my only surviving grandparent and encircled her shoulders with my arms. “I’m really sorry we weren’t here when Grandpa died… or for the funeral. Mom just wouldn’t leave without Chad, and he couldn’t get away from his work. I wanted to say goodbye to him--”

“Oh, darling!” She gathered me up in her arms, dropping her spatula to the stovetop. “When he was in the hospital, and the doctors said he wasn’t going to live, I told him you loved him and that you said goodbye, too.”

I shook my head. “It’s not the same thing,” I whispered against her white hair.

Grandma released me and went back to pushing the sizzling eggs around in the skillet. She was quiet for the longest while, the sound of a nearby clock ticking the only noise breeching the dead silence of the entire house.

I tapped the back of my shoe against the dishwasher. It clanged metallically with each rhythmic hit, until Grandma finally spoke.

“Would you like me to take you to the cemetery tomorrow? That’s the closest thing to goodbye I can think of, and it’ll give you something to do.” Something told me she wanted to go to the cemetery as well. “Ella has been wanting to go, anyway.”

“Yes, please.” Laying my hand on her shoulder, I kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Thank you, Grandma. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hanna Beth.”

& - & - & - &

When I heard the sliding glass doors in the living room screech open, I was standing in the most right corner of my bedroom, transferring the clothes in my luggage to the hangers suspended in my closet. I made sure everything was being put in sections, jeans on one side, and shirts on the other, and my shoes would be on the Berber carpet below.

Two sets of footsteps padded across the tiles and the rug outside of my door. One set was fast and excited, and the other trudged with leisure. Then, the voices started.

“Where is she?”

“Her bedroom, I’m guessing. I don’t know.”

“Hanna Beth! Where are you?”

It was easy to decipher who the couple was. Heath and Ella, Ella having obviously come home from school, and she sounded excited.

“Bedroom!” I called.

The door flung open and a blur of bright pink and blue rushed over the threshold and threw itself at me. I dropped the pair of pants and the metal hanger in my hand to the floor as I stumbled backward, catching myself on the nightstand.

I wound my arms around the smaller body attached to mine and patted the back of the bright colored t-shirt of my attacker. Heath stood in the doorway, a huge, rectangular box held in one arm, and a smaller one in the other.

I furrowed my brows and carefully detached myself from Ella’s death grip. I held her out to give her the once over, and almost burst into tears. She had only been ten when I left Las Vegas, and this girl looked nothing like the one I remembered.

In place of light, delicate, straight-as-a-board hair was shoulder length, choppy, black locks resembling Heath’s. Her eyes were a beautiful blue-green, and her slight face was absolutely gorgeous, with a heart shape and cheeks still holding slight baby fat. Her skin was sun kissed, radiant.

She was only an inch shorter than me, and she wore a knee length, neon blue and pink dress decorated with hearts and lightning bolts. We had the same fashion sense, apparently.

“Ella Zarin, you’re gorgeous!” I tossed my arms around her again, forgetting about Heath and the mysterious boxes, and squealed shrilly.

Ella was right up there with Heath. I missed her in Reno, but I really had no idea just how much. She was the closest thing I had to a sister, after all.

Ella Zarin was the young daughter of my father, whom my mother gained custody of when Dillon Zarin, our father, died. But, when we left for Reno, we abandoned her and Heath. We left Heath with Grandma and Grandpa because he was a “disgrace” in Mom’s eyes, after wanting to drop out of school to pursue his art dreams at the age of fifteen. He did, a year later, when he was sixteen.

We left Ella because she had already been through enough in her young life, and being carted halfway across the state seemed like a horrible idea. Luckily, she was fine with living with our grandparents and Heath in Las Vegas.

But, I missed her so terribly!

“You’re gorgeous, too,” Ella replied, pushing away from me and turning to Heath. “So gorgeous that Heath and I got you birthday presents, four days late.” She gestured her arms out at the boxes, and Heath smiled widely.

I scooped up my pants and hanger and deposited them on the bed. I looked over at Heath and waved my hand in a continue motion. “You shouldn’t have, but since you did… show me!” I jumped onto the bed and crossed my legs.

Ella joined me on the mattress, and Heath lugged the boxes over to where we sat. He leaned the bigger of the two against the wall and held out the smaller box. Now I saw that a blue blanket was draped over the top.

Cautiously I pulled up the corner and peered inside. Within the dark confines, two bright blue eyes stared up at me. I yanked the rest of the blanket from the top, revealing a kitten barely the size of my hand, a fuzz ball of snow white fur and tiny ears and paws.

I pulled the kitten from the box and cradled it in my hand, looking at its tiny, adorable face. “You got me a kitten?” I whispered. “Why?”

“Because!” Ella scratched the kitten’s head. “It’s cute and you love animals. Besides, my boyfriend’s family’s cat had a litter--”

“Boyfriend?” I gasped. “Ella, no one told me you had a boyfriend!”

Ella’s face flushed. “Yeah, I… I’ve been dating someone for a few months.”

“Not just anyone!” Heath interrupted. “My best friend’s little brother, of all people!” He huffed like a child and grimaced. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to see one of your best friends making out with your step sister? It’s uncomfortable, I tell you.”

I circled my arm around Ella’s shoulders, laughing. “You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

Ella nodded. She was smiling so brightly, and she was glowing! She must have really liked this boy, whoever he may have been. And her boyfriend knew Ronnie, since Heath’s best friend was one of Ronnie’s close friends, from what I gathered.

“Oh, but first,” Ella said, “you need to meet Heath’s girlfriend. She’s… quite the character.” She nudged me with her elbow, shaking her head. “Grandma gives them eleven days at the most.”

“Yeah, and we’ve been dating for a year.” Heath rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what’s so bad about her. I like her. You’ll like her, too, Hanna Beth.”

We’d see about that.

Heath pushed the bigger box toward me, apparently finished with the conversation of his questionable taste in girlfriends and any talk of Ella being old enough to date. Typical. Heath, the big brother image, not wanting his sisters to have anything to do with boys.

In fact, I was pretty sure he wanted to imagine we still thought boys were “icky” like we resorted back to being five years old again. Tomorrow I would have to pull Ella aside -- maybe during the cemetery trip -- and ask her about this mysterious boyfriend.

And any other information Heath didn’t need to hear. For example, any kind of dirt on his girlfriend and why on earth Grandma didn’t think they would last hardly any time at all.

Transferring the kitten over to Ella’s lap, I took the larger box and pulled it closer. Slowly, I ripped open the cardboard top and glanced inside, silently hoping for a guitar case, a guitar case, a guitar case…

But, alas. Inside was a new acoustic guitar, a pink one with a cartoon-like white angel wing in the lower left corner. Oh, no.

“Oh,” I breathed, inwardly cringing. I did not need, nor want, a new guitar. My old one was all I needed. And it would take me an immense amount of time and practice to get used to playing the new one when I was so attune to the one Grandpa gave me.

Still. Heath bought it for me. I had to be nice about it, even if I was never going to play the poor thing.

I forced a smile, leaning the box against the mattress. “Thank you, Heath.” I rose from my bed and shared a quick hug with my twin. “But I didn’t get you anything for our birthday. I’ll feel guilty now.”

“Don’t feel guilty,” Heath grinned. “I don’t need gifts. I’m not the spoiled one in the family.”

I stuck out my tongue, shaking my head, as Ella laughed beside us. “If I’m the spoiled one, then I demand you two help me unpack.” I crossed my arms and arched an eyebrow, giving them no room to argue or deny my suggestion.

Ella handed my kitten over to me and picked up the box of books on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it wonderful to have Queen Hanna Beth back in Las Vegas?” she asked, feigning sarcasm. But I could hear just how thrilled she really sounded.

Heath ruffled the front of my hair. “The kingdom just wasn’t the same without her.”