We Don't Have Weekends

[Grand Moff Hissa]

"I

"don't

"want to."

Betty Black's voice was shrill, piercing. It peaked on the word "want," became a sustained, rippling cry. It was the sort of shriek that shattered windowpanes and made margarita glasses explode in people's hands in the cartoons she still occasionally watched, and she wanted, needed, yearned for that same power, that destructive ripple of pure unbridled fury that would externalize the inner anguish and blast everyone with the physical reality of her emotions, but her parents didn't even flinch.

Her father had meetings with the mayor sometimes, as he liked to remind her. He had business associates all over the planet, people who were fabulously powerful, people who shaped the world. Her mother had raised her for the past thirteen years and was used to her. Betty was four feet and nine inches of boiling, seething rage, and in moments like this that just wasn't enough. She was leaning forward just a hair, and her eyes were so wide they almost hurt. Her fists were so tight she felt her nails pressing into her palms, and her hands were themselves pressing into her legs through the sides of her skirt, and she stared, lungs heaving with how very mad she was, pleading with her parents to react, but all her mother did was look at her and then drop the edges of her lips into a frown.

Betty spun and tore out of the dining room, her footsteps light as her stockinged feet skipped across hardwood halls and up thickly carpeted stairs. She wished she could thunder like a rhinoceros, that she could shake the walls and foundations of the house and bring it all crashing down around her, but she knew from experience all that would happen if she threw her weight into every step was she'd hurt her ankles and make a pathetic little clunk.

She could, however, slam the door to her room, and she did so. It rattled in its frame, announcing her location and mood to everyone, warning the help and her siblings away and telling her parents that there was no need to chase her down and banish her to confinement. She was already there, of her own volition. She would stay here, and they could try to pry her out if they really wanted, or they could accept the draw and give her this Pyrrhic victory, let her be miserable here instead of somewhere else.

It took five steps for Betty to cross from door to bed, because she was taking big ones at a run, and she threw herself onto the mattress, grabbing her knees and holding them to her chest and rocking back and forth, crumpling the pale pink sheets and disrupting the perfectly tidy arrangement. Her breath was still deep and harried, and after a few moments her eyes snapped back open and her hands shot out, grabbing the pillow with its soft rose-colored case with the lace fringe. She slammed it over her head, almost like she was stifling herself, but it was really just to shut out the world.

It was dark under the pillow. It was hard to inhale, but when she did it smelled like perfume and shampoo, a dense, heavy quality to the air that almost immediately began the process of lowering her heart rate. The pillow was normal. Her bed was normal. She just lay there in the dark for a while, existing in the warmth and fragrance and slight damp from where the fabric wicked up her tears.

Finally, it became too much and she pulled it away. There were dark pink blotches to match the positions of her eyes, and her nose felt stuffy, and her hands hurt. When she looked at them, she saw four deep divots in each of her palms, a perfect match for her nails. She curled her fingers and let them resume their spots, but gently this time. There wasn't any blood. In ten minutes all would fade.

It just wasn't fair.

She'd had plans for tonight. This week had been tough and she'd had an argument with this girl at lunch over clothes and she wanted to kick the weekend off on a good note before she got stuck trying to do pre-algebra for hours tomorrow, and she'd just wanted to spend some time talking to the other Bettys online and maybe get their advice because there was this cute boy who'd just transferred in, and instead her parents expected her to come along to yet another of her stupid brother's stupid lacrosse games, and they were going to get there super early so he could get warmed up and she was just going to sit bored the entire time. Betty didn't even like lacrosse. She didn't care one teeny tiny bit. They were winning a lot she guessed, and people were kind of impressed that she was Archie's sister which was nice, but she needed space too and she didn't want to be Archie's sister to people; she wanted him to be her brother.

This was making her throat hurt and her head pound and her nails were pressing hard again, so with a big choking sob she pulled the pillow over her face once more.

[Grand Moff Hissa]

It took three times for Betty to become certain that the knock on her door was really there and not just her imagination. She pulled the pillow from where it was lying loosely on her face, wiped her eyes on it, then stuck it back where it belonged, wet side down. Then she arranged herself on the edge of the bed, knees together, like she'd been sitting calmly the whole time, though the sheets told a different story.

"What?" she yelled, all ready to go again. Usually, when she retreated to her room, her parents didn't bother to follow. They knew she fought from a corner here, with little left to lose.

"Betty?" It wasn't her parents, though. It was Archie. "Can I come in?"

Betty thought about it. If she said no, he would leave. It was why she didn't.

"Okay." She sniffled, licked her lips, and pushed her hair out of her face.

The door opened smoothly, gliding over the carpet. Archie's steps were barely heavier as he crossed to her and sat down on the bed. His curly black hair bounced, and she could tell he was trying not to smile but still couldn't keep the corners of his lips flat. In the hall beyond, his bulky bag of gear lay, stick resting on top of it. It felt like she'd been in here for hours and hours but the digital clock on her bedside table said she'd slammed the door a mere five minutes ago.

"You doing okay?" Archie asked. He reached an arm out and let it hover over her shoulder in invitation. Betty considered rebuffing him, but his tone was calm, genuine, so she tucked herself into place.

"I'm okay," she said.

"Mom said you were upset." Archie gave her a small squeeze. "I heard the door."

"Yeah." Betty sniffed. Her brother was a whole lot bigger than her, but that was everyone in the family. Even Veronica was already five six. Betty felt how solid he was, but she didn't let herself look at him. Instead, she stared at her closet, where a pleated blue skirt lay in a heap on the otherwise-immaculate floor.

"About the game," Archie prompted, "right?"

Betty started to press her fingers into her palms again, but another squeeze to her shoulder stopped her and her hands went flat.

"Yeah," she said.

"You don't want to go."

"Yeah."

Archie chuckled. It got Betty's attention, and when she turned her head up and to the left she saw that he wasn't looking at her, but rather the ceiling. The smile on his face was warm.

"Thought so," he said, and he turned to look at her and she looked at the floor again right away.

"I don't hate them," Betty said. "I just, I don't always... I'm tired and I just want to relax and talk to my friends."

Archie nodded and she pressed against his side harder, leaning her cheek and ear against him.

"It's a big game," he said, absently like it didn't really matter. "We're doing well, and this could really make or break the season. Mom and Dad are just stressed because of that. But I'm not worried."

"You're not?" Betty pulled away again and looked at his face, her eyebrows pulling together.

"Nah." Archie flashed his absolute most charming grin, the one that made all of Betty's classmates whisper and giggle to each other. "We're gonna kick their asses. Then all that's left is to walk it in."

He gave her one more squeeze, then gently tilted her off of him and stood up.

"I'll tell Mom and Dad not to sweat it, okay? You relax and don't worry. Tell the girls I say hi, alright?"

Betty looked at him and nodded, and he made the grin again and then in a flash he was gone, bag scooped up, stick slung over his shoulder, and faint footsteps descending the stairs the only sign of his passage.

[Grand Moff Hissa]

"It's not about her coming or not," Andrew Black said to his son, exasperation masked just as carefully as his deception. The truth was, Betty's presence or absence did matter to him, quite a bit. "She needs to express herself better. She's too old for tantrums, and I don't want to reward them."

"It's not rewarding tantrums, Dad." Archie had this way of saying things with such confidence that it was easy to overlook the fact that they were abject bullshit. It would take him far in business someday, and made Andrew very proud. "She had a long day at school and just needs to rest."

"I had a long day at school," Veronica chimed in from the door, where she was tugging on her boots, "but I'm not making a big deal. This is Riverside. Grudge match."

"It is," Archie said. "That's why I don't want to have to worry about my family bickering, you know? I love it when Betty comes along, but if she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to."

For a moment, Andrew considered pushing the point further. That same confident tone that made him so proud did from time to time make him nervous too; it was important to be able to back it up, vital not to have a glass jaw. Periodic challenge was key to real finesse.

But it didn't have to be right now, today. At this moment, what he wanted most was for his son to have his mind on the game, to play well and make something of this moment.

"Alright." He nodded. "I'll go and tell—"

And then he paused.

There in the archway to the kitchen, Betty stood. She'd changed into Archie's school colors, had her shoes already laced up, wore a baseball cap and the biggest smile she'd had all week. The tear tracks were almost completely wiped away.

She made eye contact with him, and nodded, and gave a thumbs-up. From the corner of his eye, Andrew could see Archie, and he just knew the boy was smirking.

"I'm ready," Betty said. "Let's go."