"Junie, come on. Get out of the car," my estranged stepfather says, his voice already laced with frustration. He stands on the gravel driveway, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing impatiently toward me. I stay rooted in my seat, arms crossed, glaring at him like he's the reason the world is falling apart.
"No," I say firmly, my voice rising as storm clouds started to claim the sky. "I'm not getting out until you turn this car around, drive us straight to the airport, and take us back to London. I want to go home. This.....this isn't home."
My sister Callie lets out a dramatic sigh from the seat beside me, her head leaning lazily against the window. She doesn't even bother to hide her annoyance. I shoot her a sharp glare, but she doesn't flinch, just smirks like always.
"Junie Lynne Adley," my mother's sharp voice cuts through the air as her stiletto heels click against the curb. She's in full Dior today, looking more like she's stepping onto a runway than into our new life. "Get out of that car this instant. You have school on Monday!"
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Chill, Mum," Callie says from her seat, reaching across me to pat her shoulder like she's the adult in this mess.
My stepfather exhales and tries a different approach. "Come on, Junie. You're turning eighteen tomorrow. Can you just... cut us some slack? Please? Just get out of the car, Junie bug."
At that, my jaw clenches. I whip my head around and narrow my eyes at him. "Don't. Call. Me. That." My voice is low, venomous. "You don't get to call me that. Only my real dad gets to call me that."
He rolls his eyes like I've just said something immature. "You mean your 'real dad' who took our estate and ran off with his eighteen-year-old intern?" he says with a shrug. "Yeah, great role model."
I fold my arms tightly across my chest and sink deeper into the leather seat. "It's semantics," I mutter bitterly, avoiding his gaze.
"Junie, get out of the damn car!" my mother barks, suddenly out of patience. "You're acting like a spoiled brat!"
That finally gets me. With a groan, I shove the car door open and step out, slamming it shut behind me. "I can't believe you made us move here! Brad and I were going steady!" I hiss as I stomp onto the path toward the front door.
Callie snickers behind me like she always does when she knows she's about to get a rise out of me. "Oh, please. Brad was just trying to get in your pants," she says, skipping ahead with infuriating lightness in her voice.
I shoot her a glare that could melt steel. My hands ball into fists at my sides. "Don't mess with me, Callie. I mean it."
Ignoring me completely, I turn to my stepdad. "When's my treadmill being delivered? I need to keep in shape if I'm gonna make the track team."
"Next week," he starts to answer, but Mum cuts in.
"Next week," she says crisply, adjusting her sunglasses like the sun has personally offended her.
"Next week?" I echo, my voice climbing in disbelief. "How the hell am I supposed to stay fit until then?"
"Oh no," Callie says mockingly, throwing her hands up in the air. "How ever will you stay fit? I dunno, maybe stop being a fat pig?" she singsongs with a laugh.
That's it.
I lunge at her, grabbing the collar of her stupid pastel pink jumper. "You bitch! Take that back. Right now!"
"I will not," Callie shrieks, stumbling backward as I yank. "Oink oink, Joy-Bear!"
"You're supposed to be the older one!" I shout. "You're a pathetic little brat!"
"Language!" my mother and stepfather shout in unison like it's rehearsed.
I wrench myself free, glaring at all of them. "I hate it here. And I hate all of you!" I spin on my heel and storm up the steps toward the front door.
"Menstrual much?" Callie calls after me, laughing like she's the funniest person alive.
"Fuck off, much!" I shout back without looking, stomping into the house.
"I heard that!" my mother yells.
"You were supposed to!" I fire back as I reach the top of the stairs. My room is already set up—neatly arranged, overly perfect, like they think that makes this place home.