3

By

Prologue•

5 years ago

I was twelve years old when I first met Tabitha Mayfield.

It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon and school was starting up in a week. I had just got back from staying at my dad's for the summer holiday. I was there for nearly a month, my skin much darker than it was when I left.

"Kitty, put something decent on."

My mother's sharp command in her thick Spanish accent startled me while I was lounging on the recliner watching Disney Channel, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. I was still in my pyjamas.

"Why?"

"People are coming over."

"Who?"

"Stop asking questions, Catalina. Just get changed."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Catalina!"

"Okay, mami."

I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I had my flip flops on the doorbell rang. I made my way down the wooden staircase to see who our guests were.

"Liana!" A cheery, matured female voice rang in my ears. I looked up to see a woman who looked about my mother's age, with cropped blonde hair and a wiry frame.

"Jessica, so glad you could make it!" My mother said with a laugh in her voice, hugging the woman and then welcoming her in. A blonde girl followed, who looked about my age.

"This is my daugher." Jessica grinned gingerly to my mother. "Say good afternoon to Mrs Dominguez, Tabitha."

"Good afternoon, Mrs Dominguez." The girl greeted.

"Oh no, Tabitha. Call me Aunt Liana." My mother smiled. "I really want you to meet my daughter. Catalina!"

I walked down the remaining steps and Tabitha smiled when she saw me.

"Hello." I greeted. Looking up to Jessica and then to Tabitha.

"Liana you never told me you had such a beautiful daughter!" Jessica gasped.

I frowned and narrowed my eyes. I hated it when adults did that. At 12, I had lanky arms that were too long for my body, a chubby face, bony knees and pink braces. My face was scattered with freckles and my dark hair was much thicker than anyone else's in my family and always wild as a bush when it was humid. My hazel eyes were greener when I was 12 though, which I didn't appreciate. As I got older, they browned.

Tabitha had light blonde hair that would eventually go darker and greyish blue eyes that would lose its blue as she got older. She wore a pink dress that day. I wished I had a dress like that.

She was flawless. Everything about Tabitha was pretty. Even the way she spoke. It was just that. Pretty.

"My mom and your mom were friends in university." Tabitha said while we sat on the swings at the park that afternoon, she was eating a chocolate fudge cone and I was eating a strawberry cone.

"Really?"

"Yeah." She grinned. "So I guess we'll get along too."

"I guess."

"How old are you?" Tabitha kicked her feet in the sand.

"I'm turning 13 next week." I said. "And you?"

"I'm turning 13 in November." Tabitha said. "So we're both going to grade 7?" I asked. She nodded.

"What school do you go to?" Tabitha asked.

"T.P Tomlinson Primary." I said. "And you?"

"St Claire's for girls." She said with a shrug.

"Do you stay in the hostel?" I asked.

She nodded. "I shared a room with 3 girls. I don't like them very much, can't wait to change roommates this year."

"Are you Catholic?" I asked.

She smiled. "Just because I go to a Catholic school?"

"I'm Catholic." I said. "That's why I asked."

"No, I'm not." Tabitha said. "I mean, my family is Catholic, my dad's side. My mom's side are Anglicans. But I don't...my mom and I...we don't really practice any religion."

"Oh."

"Like, we don't take it seriously and stuff. We respect it. But you know, we're not the best Christians around. And we don't want to be. There are so many religions out there. I don't like it when people push me to believe stuff, you know?"

At 12, this was all very deep and mystical and unknown to me. My grandmother is the biggest church lady in our neighbourhood. I was used to everyone acting righteous or spiritual around me. Some protestants even criticizing my beliefs. Tabitha had something in her that set her apart from the rest. She gave me a different aspect to the idea of theology at such a young age, and that's what drew me in. That unlike anyone else, she wasn't fake or putting on a front because of my Abuela. She was being honest and real. Which is all we can really expect from anyone, right?

"My mom sent me to St Claire's because it has great discipline. Plus she does want me to at least try to have some kind of religion." Tabitha said. "Its weird though. My friend Tess, she's Jewish. I went to her Bat Mitzvah and it was pretty cool. And my friend Kaami, she's Muslim. And now I have you. What is religion anyway? What if everyone's right in a way? Or what if everyone's wrong? I'm not saying you're wrong- its just...I'm not ready to stick to one thing."

I didn't argue I just listened and continued to eat. Tabitha ran her fingers through my hair and played with it.

"Such lovely hair." She smiled at me.

"Its thick and hard to manage."

"Its so soft and pretty." She said. "My hair is always split. Mom always chops the ends off. Its always so dry."

"But I like your hair." I said. It was a beautiful shade of light blonde and felt like cotton.

"And I like yours."

Just then a soccer ball hit Tabitha in the head and bounced right off back onto the ground, into the mud and rolling down the park's grass.

"Tabitha! Are you okay?" I asked, startled by the sudden attack.

She rubbed her head. "I'm okay." She laughed. Who laughs when they're in pain?

"Sorry!" A familiar voice made my head snap up.

"Xavier!" I moaned.

Ofcourse it was none other than the neighbourhood's notorious striker kid. Xavier Garcia.

Xavier was 10 years old, and only turned 10 a few months ago which made him 3 years my junior. He was the cockiest, most annoying little boy I've ever had to babysit.

He was in dirty jeans and a faded Barcelona T-shirt. He had very tanned olive skin and curly chestnut brown hair with brown eyes. Xavier is half Hispanic and half Italian. His father was good family friends with my mother.

"I said I was sorry, Kitty!" He claimed his ball from the mud. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Tabitha." Tabitha greeted, flashing a girly grin.

"What grade are you in? Do you go to school with Kitty?" Xavier asked nosily. Obnoxious 10 year old.

"I'm going to grade 7 like Kitty. And no. I go to St Claire's." Tabitha answered. "What about you?"

"I go to St Benedicts for boys." Xavier said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to grade 5."

"He stays in the hostel too." I said.

"Yeah." Xavier said. "I come home on the weekends though. I never do my homework, I'm always playing soccer. "

"Barca fan." Tabitha studied his shirt.

"Do you even know what that is?" Xavier started playing with the ball, Our eyes followed it as he kicked it around.

"I support Chelsea." Tabitha teased.

"Then what colour are they?"

"Blue." Tabitha said. "I play soccer too you know. I play midfielder. Its my winter sport."

"Oh."

"Yes." She got up and dribbled the ball away from Xavier. "I'm actually really good."

"For a girl." Xavier said.

"Sexist." I remarked.

"Its true though!" Xavier protested. "Girls aren't as good as boys in sport."

"Please." I said. "I bet Tabitha can score more goals than you."

"Its a challenge then." Xavier said. "You and Tabitha want to play with us, Kitty?"

"You're on." I said. Tabitha grinned at me before narrowing her grey-blue eyes at Xavier. She sized him up, he was a head shorter than her.

"What are you waiting for? Don't want to go past your bedtime, little boy."

After Tabitha and I played street soccer with Xavier's soccer buddies we were inseperable. Tabitha came over the next day, and slept over. School was starting up soon but neither of us wanted to go. We spoke about everything. Our friends, our interests, our opinions. We would do each other's hair, paint nails and watch Channing Tatum movies. By the time it was time to go our separate ways, Tabitha and I were close. Just like that.

Grade 7 was unbearable, I kept mostly to myself at school. With one or two friends. Friends I sat with at breaks and next to in class, but they weren't in anyway close to me. Not the way Tabitha and I were. Sometimes it was lonely. And I had my fair share of sucky days. But it was all better when I got a phone call from Tabitha. She'd gab on and on and one about her new crush, normally a St Benedict's boy or a totally bitchy girl in her dorm. And I'd listen, like I always do and smirk through the phone when I spoke. Because I knew Tabitha trusted me with everything.

"Can't wait to see you again, Kitty." Tabitha would sigh.

"Me neither. When are you coming down, again?" I'd flop onto my bed and look up to the ceiling.

When Tabitha came home for the long weekends and holidays no force could tear the adhesion between us. My best friend was in town and that would mean that everything else and everyone else would come second. Tabitha and I would go to the cinema, go shopping, giggle about cute guys the way thirteen year old girls do and even go for a morning jog together.

Tabitha and I had a song we'd always sing. 3 by Britney Spears. It was our song. It was "outdated" but it was our song. We'd jam to it whenever we were together.

In June holidays, Tabitha was back for 3 whole weeks. It was the middle of the winter and I was ecstatic. Something about Tabitha was different though.

"At least this holiday we don't have to see each other ALL the time." I said to her on the phone. "Your parents probably miss you so much, and I always steal you way from them on long weekends and stuff. This is a long holiday so you'll get to see them more." "Oh, yeah." Tabitha said.

"Tee, are you okay?" I asked with concern.

"I am. Its just, I don't get along with my folks that much...especially my dad sometimes." She sighed. "But none of us do, right?"

Right. My father and I aren't close at all. I have two older siblings, who see him more often than I do. But I don't ever see him. He left us when I was three. I don't know him, who he is, what it was like when he was married to my mother. I don't want to know. He's quite wealthy, lives in an exclusive town. He's French. And white. His family are racist, and never supported his marriage to my mother because she's Hispanic. They're not my family. They'll never be. My brother and sister are more tolerant of them, but as far as I'm concerned. I don't know my father.

"And my brother, Ethan. He is such a pain."

Ethan is 3 years older than us, he's 16 years old. He failed though, so he's only in Grade 9.

"You'll get through it." I said. "Besides you'll have me."

She chuckled. "I love you, Kitty."

"Love you too."

It happened in the second week of the June holiday. It was early in the morning, freezing out. I stepped out onto the frosty lawn at 7 in the morning with coffee and croissants. I wanted to surprise Tabitha with a breakfast. She lived a couple of blocks away from me, and had a one-story house so it was easy to get into her home through the window.

When I arrived at The Mayfield's household I snuck around the back to where Tabitha's window was. Her window was always unlocked. I was about to open the window when I looked in. The blinds were open.

What I saw. It defined everything that I thought I knew about Tabitha's family. It defined my relationship with Tabitha. It changed my perspective completely. Made me realise why she doesn't look forward to going home.

It was Tabitha's brother, Ethan. He was beating her with a belt. And she was crying.