Milayna by Michelle Pickett Read Free Book Online Page B

called.
    I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to talk, but I knew she’d expect an answer. “Yeah.”
    She walked around the corner into the kitchen and leaned her hip against the counter. “How are you doing?”
    The microwave beeped. “Fine. I’m just really hungry, and I have a ton of homework. I’m going to take this to my room.” I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and threw it on a plate. She stood silent and watched me. “See you later.” I carried my things to my room and locked myself inside. Maybe if I locked myself in, everything would go away.
     
    ***
     
     
    Seven weeks until my birthday.
    Tuesday, I skipped school and went to my grandmother’s. I needed to talk to her. I needed to stretch out on her purple couch and let my problems and worries float away. My grams and I had a lot of talks on the purple couch. Maybe that was why I always felt pulled to it when life turned upside down.
    “Hi, Milayna,” one of my grandmother’s friends called when I walked through the foyer and into the great room. She was short and plump, with her hair dyed jet-black, which she insisted was her natural color. She smiled wide and waved. Her teeth were stained with bright red lipstick.
    “Hi, Mrs. Richardson.” I waved back.
    Telling everyone hi as I passed, I made my way to Grams’ apartment. She opened the door before I could knock.
    “Come in, child.” She motioned me inside and rolled her chair into the living room. The overhead lights gleamed down on the white hair that curled against her round face.
    “Hi.” I bent down and kissed her on the check. The familiar scent of her perfume tickled my nose, and I forgot I was mad. She was just my funny, old grandmother again. Not a freakin’ angel.
    “No school today?”
    “Not for me.” I shrugged a shoulder and plopped down on the couch.
    “Ah. Well, I knew you’d be back sooner or later.” She fiddled with the knitting she had on her lap. “A scarf.” She held it up. “Do you like it?”
    “Yeah. It’s pretty, Grams. Everything you knit is pretty. I like the pink and black.”
    “Well, that’s good. It’s for you,” she said with a laugh. “So, I guess you’re not here to talk about my knitting.”
    “No.” I picked at the hem of my shirt.
    “Well, get on with it then.” She tossed the yarn in a basket next to the sofa where I sat. I loved that my grandma was a fun, eccentric person—the kind that would have a purple sofa in a bright yellow room.
    I frowned. “I don’t want it.”
    “Well, dearie, there’s nothing you can do about that.”
    “I didn’t ask to be born this way.” My voice grew louder. “I want to give it away.”
    Grams shook her head while I was talking. When I finished, she shrugged and said, “You can’t just give it away, Milayna.”
    “Why not? I don’t want it.”
    “It’d be like someone trying to give away their brain.” She tapped her forehead with her fingers. “It just can’t be done. This is a part of you. You can’t separate yourself from it.” Her hand dropped to her lap.
    “Grams, I just want my regular life back.”
    “You still have your regular life. You’re just learning more about yourself. Everyone has growing pains. Consider this one of yours.”
    “Not everyone finds out their father is a flippin’ angel. I think that’s one helluva growing pain.” I stood and walked to the window. It had started to rain, and the drops covered the glass blurring everything outside.
    “True.”
    “There’s gotta be a way for me to get rid of this. Help me find it, Grams, please?” I turned from the window and knelt in front of her wheelchair. “Grams, how do people like Muriel and I have normal lives? Will we be able to go to college, have the job we want, or go on school functions with our kids?” I laughed, but it was a short, bitter sound. “Or even have kids? Can you imagine having a vision in the middle of labor?”
    Grams chuckled. “A woman in labor hunting down a demon? Yes,