Piper June.

Ezra blew the smoke out of his nose, bringing the cigarette back to his chapped lips. He was listening to some music as he made his way through the packed tunnel. His thin fingers dug through his pocket and dropped his loose change in a passing homeless man's dirty cup. He thought of lighting up a cigarette but thought better of it.

He was trying to cut down.

He stood on the subway platform, waiting for his train. Going home was probably his favorite part of the day, mostly because he got to people watch. People did the most interesting things when they thought no one was watching, and he always liked to see how far they'd take it.

It didn't take long before his train arrived, and in about ten minutes, he took a fifteen minute walk to his sort-of-not-really falling apart home. His father's junky old red car sat in the driveway. The mailbox was empty. He threw his sweater on the couch, along with his school books and keys.

“Hey, Charlie!” he called out, wandering past the secondhand furniture that decorated his living room.

He was on a first name basis with his father too, mostly because he saw him as a room mate and not much more. Where was he, anyway? Ezra frowned. He had to be home from work because his car was outside. Ezra scratched the back of his head as he thought. Charles worked in an office, filing papers and drinking coffee with a stained tie. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching a woman with curly brown hair sitting on one of the stools next to Charlie at the island counter. He sighed impatiently, staring at Charlie and his lady friend while tapping his feet on the cracked tile floor. Not again. “Hey, Charlie. Who’s this?” Ezra asked casually, shooting Charlie a dirty look.

“Ezra!” his father exclaimed, looking mildly guilty and surprised. “You’re, uh… you’re home early!”

“I'm actually late. Thanks for noticing, anyway.”

“He calls you Charlie?” the woman inquired.

“I'm talking to Charlie, this is like an us thing,” Ezra said, rolling his eyes. "Who are you, anyway?"

“Ezra, apologize!" Ezra looked at his father blankly, annoyed. After a few awkward moments, Charlie cleared his throat. "This is Rose, my girlfriend.” He shot Rose a look, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m sorry you can’t mind your own business, Rose. I’ll be downstairs.” He stomped off to his room in the basement and threw himself on his bed, fuming as he sighed heavily.

His mother, Vickie, passed away about five years. She was the reason Ezra was the way he was. She was free and happy, and she’d be damned if anyone tried taking that away from her. She encouraged his artistic pursuits, going as far as buying him a baby grand piano for his eighth birthday. She encouraged liberty and independence, leading to Ezra calling his parents by their first names. Unfortunately, she died a few weeks after his little sister Eliza was born, due to complications during the birth. It happens. He loved Eliza, mostly because she looked just like a younger version of his mother and was pretty even tempered for a five year old.

At first, Ezra didn’t mind if Charlie dated. Maybe, he hoped, there’d be someone to cook him something besides burnt macaroni and cheese. He was getting tired of take out every night anyway. Maybe there’d be someone to help him take care of Eliza—and that was a win-win on both sides. However, that all changed when Charlie had women parading in and out of the house in a never ending stream of debauchery and had women that Ezra and Eliza didn’t even know sleeping in their mother’s bed only a few weeks after the funeral.

Ezra put his foot down and refused to support it. What happened to love lasting forever? His father's love hadn't lasted for more than a month or two, and then he was like some wild animal that went after any woman who looked at him for half a second. His father left Ezra and his sister to take care of themselves. Since Charlie basically forgot about Eliza, Ezra had to take care of her. He didn’t really mind, because Eliza was pretty quiet as a baby.

Charles didn’t know what his son was up to, and he didn’t want to know. As long as he wasn’t getting arrested or getting anyone pregnant, he was perfectly alright with what his son did, as long as he didn't do it around Eliza.

Ezra shuffled over to his piano. It was the one thing in his room that wasn’t cluttered or dirty. Everything else had clothes hanging off of it, or was cluttered and messy. He usually tidied up every other Saturday before he went out and got trashed with Quinn, but he hadn't felt up to it as of late.

He opened his book of sheet music and began to play. Playing piano was one of the few things that actually helped him relax and unwind. His father begged and pleaded with him to go to a private performing arts school, but Ezra didn't want to. He had to take care of his sister and he didn't want to be forced to play anything for anyone. He'd do it when he wanted to, how he wanted to, and that was that.

An hour later, he was sitting across the dinner table from his father and his “girlfriend” and next to his sister, Eliza. He picked at his food sullenly, debating on whether or not he should go out with Quinn that night. He didn’t want to be stuck at home with his family and his father’s new chew toy, so going out with Quinn it would have to be. But for the moment, he had bigger things—or persons, rather—to tackle. It was going to get pretty ugly, he knew so, but if it meant that she probably wouldn't want to stick around, so be it.

“So, Rose, what do you do?” he inquired, pushing his food away. He'd pick up something to eat on the way to the party with Quinn.

“I work with your father.” She giggled, glancing at Charles.

“His name is Charles, don't you know?” His father sent him a warning glare, which was lost on him. They both knew he wouldn’t do anything anyway. Charlie was pretty spineless when it came to actually raising his kids.

“So, um, how was your day, dear?” Rose asked, trying to brush off Ezra's harsh words.

“My name is, for the last time, Ezra, and that’s Eliza. What’s your problem with names, Rose?”

“What’s your problem?” she countered, looking at her boyfriend’s son.

“My problem is that you’re pretending to care when the four of us know that, regardless of the impression you leave on me or Eliza, Charlie and you are going to go at it like animals as soon as you think we’re both asleep.” Ezra tended to be brutally honest when he was annoyed. “So, let’s just cut to the chase. Catch you later, Charlie. Night, ‘Liza,” he said with a wave, getting up from the table. “It was lovely meeting you, Rose.”

“Ezra! Where are you going?” Charlie exclaimed, hoping to display at least an ounce of good parenting skills—even though he didn’t have a single parenting bone in his body. Eliza kept pushing her peas off the table, one by one, eyeing her father and older brother disinterestedly. She really didn't care.

“Who knows? The night is young and so am I.”

He grabbed his house keys, walking out into the frigid November air. He felt slightly relived, but also a bit guilty for leaving Eliza there by herself. She'd get over it. Hopefully. Ezra walked the three blocks to Quinn’s high-rise quickly, pulling his hat over his ears every few seconds. Ezra’s thin index finger rang the buzzer once, waiting for someone to answer.

“Hello?” Mrs. Cleary, Quinn’s grandmother, replied shakily.

“Hi, Georgia.”

“Ezra?!”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Quinn. We have a study group at the library tonight.”

“Oh! Okay then.” He laughed to himself, walking inside after the buzzer rang to let him know the door was unlocked. He climbed the four flights with difficulty, but still managed to present Georgia Cleary with one of those heartthrob smiles as he asked for his friend. “Quinn! Why can’t you be more like Ezra? Such a sweet boy," she grinned, pinching his cheek. Quinn simply rolled his eyes as he grabbed his set of keys off the table, shoving some money into his pocket. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“No, thank you. I already ate. Rain check on the alfredo?” he said with a small smile. The boys left after that, heading downstairs to Quinn's beat-up white Cadillac.

“Where to?” Quinn asked, turning the key in the ignition. The car spluttered for a few seconds before roaring to life. Ezra simply stared out the window and ignored Quinn's question, lighting a cigarette angrily.

“Her name is Rose.” He ran a hand through his hair, flicking the unfinished cigarette out the window. “Rose!”

“Derek’s party it is then,” Quinn mumbled to himself, heading in the direction of one of the many parties held by the popular members of the student body for the evening.

“She works with him, apparently. Rose! Who names their kid after a flower?” Quinn kept silent, knowing that his friend had the innate need to vent. “She’s not even that pretty. She came over for dinner today. Do you know what that means? Things are getting ‘serious’.” He crossed his arms, flicking the cigarette on occasion. “She needs to go.”

“Ezra… relax,” Quinn chided, grinning at his friend. "It'll be alright, man." Quinn reached into the glove compartment and shoved a small pill bottle at Ezra. "Knock yourself out. You're welcome."



Piper June and Jude were next door neighbors.

Jude saw it happen on an almost daily basis, but couldn’t speak up because Piper would beg and plead—sometimes going as far as to cry—for Jude to keep her mouth shut. It didn't mean she worried any less, or didn't wait patiently for the day where Piper finally gathered the courage to speak up. She just had to do it when she was good and ready, that was all.

Piper hung her coat on the coat rack near the door, took off her shoes and carried them along with her books through the kitchen to her step-mother's home office. They had just installed new hardwood floors and her step-mother, Olivia, didn't want her to get them dirty.

Her step-mother was sitting at her desk, typing away quietly at her laptop. She had her brown hair piled on her head in a neat bun. She was wearing a blue sweater and black slacks. She adjusted her glasses as she leaned into the screen, squinting.

“Good afternoon, Mom.” It bothered Piper to call her ‘Mom’, especially when her own mother was alive and well, somewhere in the world, doing something.

After the death of her sister Kathleen, her parents got a divorce. Kathleen died in a car accident upon her return from an audition to a performing arts school in the Upper East Side. Their car was rear ended on the bridge. Helene, their mother, and Paul, their father, survived with minor injuries, but Kathleen died en route to the hospital in the ambulance.

Helene blamed her husband for her daughter’s death, saying that because all he could think about was the business he ran, he wasn’t paying any attention to the road, thus leading to the unfortunate accident. Paul claimed that because Kathleen was crying in the backseat because she didn’t want to go to school so far away from home, and Helene wasn’t doing a good job at keeping her quiet, paying attention to the road wasn’t all that easy.

In any event, Paul and Helene divorced three weeks after Kathleen's funeral.

Paul gained sole custody Piper June because he managed to convince the court that his wife was a reckless artist who simply couldn’t handle raising a small child on her own. In all actuality, she could—she was just too drained to fight for much longer.

Paul wanted Piper June to be another Kathleen. Kathleen was his pride and joy. Piper was the accident baby, so her father never exactly liked having her around. Losing Kathleen was just not acceptable, so Piper would have to make do.

Piper June, however, was barely seven, so she couldn't possibly become another Kathleen. She wasn’t absurdly flexible nor very limber—so gymnastics and dance were out. She couldn’t sing very well or play any instruments. Although, she could play a minor scale or two because Kathleen taught her before she died. All Piper had going for her was the fact that she was remarkably bright. So, her father would exploit it and take advantage of it. All her trophies and certificates from scholastic competitions hung in his den/home office, overshadowed only by a mini-shrine to Kathleen, complete with votive candles and rosaries. (It bordered on obsessive.)

Paul would accept nothing less than perfection from Piper. Imperfection was completely and totally offensive and intolerable.

“Hey, champ. How was school today?” Olivia smiled brightly at Piper as she took a sip from her water bottle.

“It was okay,” Piper replied. “Is Dad home yet?”

“He’s in the den. Dinner’ll be ready soon, okay?”

Piper nodded, walking upstairs to her room, which was right next to her own bathroom. Being raised as an only child—even under such circumstances—had its own little perks. This was Kathleen's old room. Piper's old room was an even bigger shrine to Kathleen, and it made her so sad that she only went in when she really missed her sister. Piper set her belongings down on her dresser and placed her shoes back on the shoe rack that was on her closet door. She liked to keep everything neat.

Piper walked down the hallway to her father’s den, a feeling of dread settling into her bones. He was reading a report on the stock market, a focused look etched onto his face.

“Hi, Dad.” Paul looked up at his daughter, unpleased. She was standing next to his desk, a blank look on her face, something that she had perfected over the years out of necessity.

“Where have you been?” he implored, fuming. “Do you know what time it is?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she kept her eyes planted firmly on the ground. She couldn't make eye contact. Don't give him a reason. “I asked you a question, young lady.” He was standing over her now, anger rolling off him in waves as he glared at her.

“It's 4:30,” she replied quietly, barely whispering.

“And when are you supposed to be home?”

“Three on the dot.”

“So where were you?”

“I-I was tutoring at school—”

“With whose permission?”

It was moments like these that made her miss her mother the most.

“Ol—Mom. Mom said it was okay.”

She knew that her father wouldn’t stand for her calling Olivia by her first name, no matter how uncomfortable that made her. Her own mother was fine. And even if it seemed like she didn't care about Piper, she was still alive. At least, Piper thought she was. She didn't know.

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought Mom told you—”

“What have I said about assuming?” She mumbled a reply, trying to remember as many perfect squares as she could. Piper tried to keep herself mentally as far away as she could when her father was in one of his moods. It didn't always work. “Excuse me? Don’t mumble,” he hissed, livid.

“Don’t assume, know.”

“Exactly, you belligerent twit.” He grabbed her by the arms, earning a gasp. She was sure that he would only add to the growing collection of bruises on her body. “Like, for example, how I know how poorly you’re doing in school.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your progress reports came home today. Why do you only have a 99 in your English class?” Piper June whimpered, hoping he’d just let her go. “Answer me!” He struck her cheek harshly, leaving a red mark. "You should have a 100. How do you expect to stay valedictorian with these kinds of grades, huh?"

“I’ll try harder,” she stammered, trying not to cry.

“Kathleen wouldn’t have to try, Piper.”

“I’ll be better, Dad. I promise.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He let her go but her eyes remained glued to the floor, refusing to look up. “Go wash up for dinner, kiddo,” he said in a fatherly tone, tousling her hair. She left, shutting the door behind her quietly. She made her way to her bedroom, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she leaned against the door, biting her lip. How hard would she have to try before she was as good as Kathleen? What would she have to do before she was better?

She set out a pair of pajamas to wear after dinner, sobs turning into mere hiccups. She wasn’t Kathleen, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. She just was Piper June, no more, no less. She wanted to scream at her father, somehow trying to make him understand that Kathleen was dead and gone, and that no matter how hard he tried, she wasn’t ever going to come back, no matter how much he wanted her to. She walked to the bathroom, washed her face and patted it dry.

“Piper!” Olivia called up the stairs. “Dinner!”

Piper sighed, looking at her reflection. Even if she wasn’t happy or Kathleen, she could, at the very least, pretend. That was something she was good at. She fixed her hair quickly, sniffling as she looked away and shut the lights. She walked to the dining room, taking her place across from her parents.

“So, dear, how was your day?” Paul asked. Piper June was forgotten, and she didn’t mind for once. She toyed with her spoon, pushing her food around her plate. Olivia proceeded to describe her day in great detail. Her day never really changed, seeing as she was a dental hygenist who went to a different school every day to teach kindergarteners how to floss.

“I have an announcement,” she giggled, looking at her husband and step-daughter. Piper looked away from pretending to eat her poorly cooked dinner long enough to hear what Olivia had to say. “Don’t worry, Piper, it’s nothing bad. You might have a little brother or sister soon. I'm pregnant.”

Her jaw went slack, looking at her step-mother with wide eyes. Pregnant?

“C-Congratulations.”

She tried to repress a shiver at the thought of Paul and Olivia actually being together that way.

Later that night, after finishing her report for history and all her other homework, she logged onto her laptop. Not soon after, Jude sent her a message. They (mostly Jude) started gossiping and ranting about what girl hooked up with what boy at so-and-so's party and so on while Piper June tried to figure out who all these people were. Spending so much time with her nose in a book meant that she didn't get to know their classmates as well as Jude did. When Jude’s older sister, Magdalyne, came home, she had to get off (they shared the laptop) but still promised to pick her up in the morning like she always did.

Piper lay in bed that evening—like every other evening—and thought. She thought about Kathleen, hoping that wherever she was, she was okay. She would think about the perfection and grace that her sister had, and how it seemed that she'd never be like her. She would think about her parents and stepmother. Olivia must have agreed with her father, because she never once spoke up against the abuse inflicted upon her.

Paul must have been utterly ashamed of his talentless daughter.

He would surely try to turn the coming infant into a prodigy.

Then, she’d think about Helene, a woman she hadn’t seen since she was eight. Kathleen, from what she remembered, was the spitting image of their mother. Their mother was wild and free, an artist with her own gallery in SoHo, putting her life’s work on display. At some point, Paul and Helene were one and the same, but as the years passed by, his business replaced her. Her mother stopped speaking to her (seemingly abruptly) she was thirteen, right after Olivia and her father got married.

She missed her terribly, but assumed that, since Helene hadn’t called, she didn’t want anything to do with her.

If only she knew how terribly wrong she was.