Page 1 of Until Nalia
One
NALIA
I attempt to open my eyes when the alarm on my phone starts to beep on the mattress next to me, but they are so heavy with exhaustion, I can’t seem to pry them open. Reaching one hand out from under the blanket, I search for my phone and begin tapping the screen until the obnoxious noise is cut off.
I have never been a morning person, growing up I drove my parents crazy waiting until the last possible minute to get up for school, and as an adult not much has changed. Only now I have to be personally responsible for making sure that I actually do get up. There is no one around to threaten me with a bucket of ice water or to come into my room a few dozen times annoying me until I’m out of bed.
When my second alarm starts to buzz, I groan and search for my phone again, then repeat that process of turning it off.
“Are you ever going to get up, Namalama?” Peeking one eye open, I look at the bedroom door and find my baby sister standing in the doorway holding a bowl of cereal in one hand and the spoon in the other. At almost ten years old, she has mastered the art of adulthood. I swear, some days she is more mature and self-sufficient than I am, and I know for certain that she is more mature than other kids her age.
Then again, she had a life where she had to do things on her own. My birth mom wasn’t, or isn’t, the type of person to put anyone else above her own wants and needs. Hence why she lost custody of my twin brother, Sage, and me when we were little. She wanted to go out and party, and decided that at two years old, we could just stay on our own for days. That’s how we ended up in foster care and later adopted by our parents, Nico and Sophie. It’s also why, when I was old enough to look into my birth mom and found that she had other kids, I got in contact with her and moved back to Colorado. I didn’t want what happened to my brother and me to happen again. And I guess part of me wanted to get to know her. But over the years, I’ve realized I wasn’t missing out on much with her not being in my life. I do have a good relationship with her other two kids, who are older now and both in the military, stationed overseas.
“I’m already up, Zuri, you’re just imagining me in bed,” I mumble, and she rolls her eyes.
“That’s good since I have school this morning.”
Shit.
I’m sure she thinks I forgot.
“The doors don’t open until eight twenty-eight, kid. We still have a long time before we have to leave. We won’t be late.” I toss back my comforter and sit up, placing my feet on the fuzzy carpet next to the bed, smiling at her. “You look cute.” In a pair of jean shorts and a pink and white striped shirt with frilly socks and her favorite black and white Vans on her feet, she looks like a preppy skater girl.
“Thanks.”
“Do you want me to put space buns in your hair?”
“Yeah.” She smiles.
“Alright, go get your hair stuff, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” I get up and stumble to the bathroom, flipping on the light, almost blinding myself.
After brushing my teeth, I wash my face, apply moisturizer, and tie my hair into a ponytail before I shut off the light. I wander back into my bedroom, straighten my cream duvet, and fix my pillows, adding the decorative ones that I tossed on the floor last night before I got into bed.
I get dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt and walk down the hall, the smell of freshly brewed coffee getting stronger the closer I get to the kitchen.
Stepping around the corner, I find Zuri at the island with her grey and white rat, Pippin, perched on her shoulder. I was less than happy when my parents surprised her with the animal at the beginning of summer, but much to my dismay she fell in love instantly, and I knew that there was no turning down the gift.
“I made you coffee.”
“Thanks, kid.” I pour myself a cup and walk to the fridge, taking out the creamer. It’s almost empty, actually. The fridge is almost empty. I need to get to the grocery store today at some point. I mentally add that task to the ever-growing list in my head.
Some days, I feel like no matter how much I do, there is still stuff left undone. It wasn’t an issue when I was only responsible for myself, but now, I have Zuri to look after, so I can’t just put off unwanted tasks. If I don’t go to the store, she doesn’t have food to eat; if I don’t do laundry, she doesn’t have clean clothes. Sometimes the reality of having someone else depending on me can be a little too much, but I’m adjusting. We’re adjusting. And I think that we’ve done okay for ourselves so far. It doesn’t hurt that now that we have moved back to my hometown, closer to my parents and family I have a whole village of people who are willing to step in anytime I ask. Or even when I don’t ask, and they see me floundering.
“Are you excited about today?” I take a sip of coffee. Hopefully, the caffeine will kick in soon, and I won’t feel like such a zombie.
“I don’t know.” She lifts a piece of her cereal to Pippin, and he takes it in his tiny pink front paws and starts to eat.
“I think it’s going to be great. You’ll make some friends, maybe even some who live in the neighborhood, and I heard that they have a play that the fourth graders can sign up for, that might be fun.”
“Maybe,” she mumbles with a noncommittal shrug of both her shoulders.
I don’t push the subject; I know she is nervous about today. First days of school are always difficult. Add on top of that not knowing anyone and that just makes it even worse.
After putting her breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, she gets back on her stool. I brush out her long blonde hair and put it into two pig tails at the top of her head then twist each of them into tight buns that I secure with bobby pins.
“Alright.” I finish with a coat of hairspray, and she picks up the mirror to inspect her reflection. “Good?”
“Yes.” She looks at me over her shoulder. Her unusual green-blue eyes, that are the exact color as my own, meet mine as she smiles. Our eye color is the only feature we share; in every other way, we look vastly different. I have no idea who my father is, but with my somewhat darker complexion and dark curly hair, I have always assumed that he was Black. I don’t know that for certain, and Sharon has claimed she doesn’t remember him, the same way she claims to not remember who Zuri’s father is.
