Much to Tara’s surprise, it had been quite easy to get the couch in and, armed with a fresh sense of victory, she was ready to take on more of the furniture, but found only a few chairs. No tables, or beds, or any other large furniture.

“Don’t you need somewhere to sleep?” Tara asked, putting the box she was about to carry in down.

“I ordered them and they should’ve gotten here already…” Mister Brigman said, mostly to himself.

“Adrian, sweetie…” Mrs Brigman sighed, “What’s the date?”

“It’s Tuesday, so… the thirteenth?”

“It’s the twelfth…”

“...Oh.”

“Guess we’re staying another night at my father’s..”

Tara half listened to the conversation as she helped Chrissy carry boxes up the stairs to what was to be the girl’s room.

She had been in the specific room a few times before, when the previous tenant's daughter, Dawn, had babysat her, and now found it slightly disconcerting. It was supposed to smell like Dawn’s perfume, but now that it was empty, it smelled like wood, boxes, and the surprising amount of dust that had managed to accumulate in the short time since the Summers family had moved.

Chrissy dropped the box she was carrying in the middle of the room, sending a small cloud of dust dancing through the rays of evening sun that spilled through the window.

Tara meanwhile put the one she brought in neatly next to the wall, then moved Chrissy’s haphazardly discarded box to stand on top of it.

“Why?” Chrissy wanted to know, as if her decision making skills were being challenged.

“Because they need to bring in a bed tomorrow, right? They’ll trip over it.”

Chrissy nodded stupidly, apparently not having thought that far.

Twenty minutes later, the girls were carrying the last of the boxes up the stairs. A large one that required both of them to keep it balanced.

“Hey,” Tara, who held the bottom end, observed, “It’s upside down.”

“Is it?” Chrissy, who was walking backwards up the stairs, returned.

“It says ‘this side up’,” Tara observed, tapping her finger against an arrow that was now upside down.

“Probably fine… right?”

As if waiting for the words, the duct tape gave under the weight right when they reached the top of the stairs. Several years worth of comic books, mixed with hand penned drawings cascaded down the stairs in a rapid of paper, the glossy providing the glitter among the matte.

Chrissy let out a scream that was a mix of dismay and frustration. Tara just stared at the waterfall of paper coursing between her legs.

When she was certain that the torrent of paper was over, Tara dared to move. She let go off the box and very carefully started the collection process, neatly collecting the sheaves from floor, finding it was a mix of comic books and drawings. Some of the drawings were copies of characters from the books, others were sloppy children’s work and some were simple studies of body parts and random objects. Each was signed in a messy hand that didn’t look like it should belong to the same skilled fingers that had authored the drawings. The older were signed ‘Christina’, while the newer ones opted for ‘Chrissy’.

Tara, who had a slight need to keep things organized, sorted them as she went, much to the confusion of Chrissy who was haphazardly collecting her comic books, neither making a neat pile nor seeming to care what order she collected them in.

“Something wrong, girls?” Mrs Brigman wanted know, appearing under the stairs.

“Just a victim of gravity, mom. It’s fine. Last box…”

Mrs Brigman smiled, which Tara found strange, until she spoke,

“Fewer disasters than I expected,” she observed, “You girls up for pizza?”

“I think my mom will have dinner ready soon,” Tara replied, barely managing to hide the disappointment in her voice. She wasn’t looking forward to eggplant casserole.

“In tat case,” Mrs Brigman said and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

“In that case what?” Tara asked, directing the question to Chrissy’s

The other girl shrugged, “She always does that. Can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“I was just thinking the same about this picture…”

Chrissy glanced to what Tara was holding, “That’s uhhh.”

She turned a shade of red more impressive than her hair and refused to elaborate. She snatched the paper away from Tara and stuffed it hurriedly between her notes.

“What?” Tara asked, confused, she had thought the pencil sketch some sort of vegetable, a cucumber, maybe an eggplant.

“Anatomical study,” Chrissy mumbled, “Just trying to…”

Tara thought about it, then shook her head, “That doesn’t look like that.”

“How would you know?”

Tara, who had had helped herself to some of her brother’s adult literature on several occasions, refused to answer the question.

“I just do. I’ve seen…”

“…Liar.”

Tara didn’t want to be known as the girl who looked at things like that, so simply shut up and returned to collecting paper, glad to see Mrs Brigman return.

“You can eat with us,” she said, “I talked to your mom.”

Tara wasn’t sure what she dreaded more, sharing a table with Chrissy after this conversation or her mom’s eggplant casserole.

“You girls want extra cheese?” Mrs Brigman asked, apparently having scrounged up a menu for the pizza place somewhere.”

“Mom,” Chrissy suddenly said, “How are you going to order pizza?”

“What do you mean?”

“They haven’t installed the phone yet.”

“Oh, in that case…”

Mrs Brigman was gone again.

Tara and Chrissy shared some looks, then took the collected paperwork upstairs, before returning to sit on the stairs, waiting for Mrs Brigman to return.

“Hey,” Chrissy said suddenly, “Tomorrow…”

“Sorry,” Tara said hastily, “I have plans tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Chrissy said, the disappointment audible in her voice, “Okay…”

For a time, only the sound of Mr Brigman’s shuffling feet interrupted the silence.

“I’m telling you,” Tara suddenly said, “They don’t look like that.”

Chrissy stuck out her tongue, “Prove it.”

“I just might,” Tara said, mostly to herself.

“What?”

Mrs Brigman saved her the effort of explaining herself.

“Hey,” she said, “Your mom made enough for everyone, so we’re having dinner at your place.”

“...I was afraid she’d have,” Tara sighed. With her brother and her best friend, who normally ate with them on Tuesdays, not around, Mrs Brooks was likely to make too much, as she was too used at making a massive meal on Tuesdays.

“Don’t worry, Tara,” Mrs Brigman said, “I promise you pizza, so you’ll get it…”

A flash of hope reared its head in Tara’s.

“...Some other time.”

Tara smiled wryly and stood up, preparing mentally for the eggplant casserole.