Stepmother's Promise / Chapter 3: A Family Rearranged
Stepmother's Promise

Stepmother's Promise

Author: Jacqueline Brooks

Chapter 3: A Family Rearranged

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I never understood why adults always told me to accept things, but never asked what I wanted.

It made me mad, the way grown-ups always talked about blessings. I wanted my old life, not someone else’s idea of “good for me.”

Just like my hair—because I couldn’t braid it, I never got to dance in the school Christmas pageant. And I never had a nice new dress, either. Every day, I wore my cousin’s hand-me-downs. I started to hate the way I looked.

I’d stand in front of the mirror, tugging at sleeves too short, wishing I could disappear. The Christmas show went on without me. I watched from the audience, feeling invisible.

"Is new always better? I only like the old me."

Staring at my fuzzy head in the mirror, I guessed it would look like a boy again soon.

I ran my hands over the prickly stubble, sighing. I missed the days when my mom would braid my hair, tying it with red ribbons. Now, those days felt like a dream.

"Lisa, thanks for coming today."

Right then, my stepmom Linda walked out.

She wore jeans and a faded t-shirt, her hair tied up. She smiled at Mrs. Martinez, but her eyes were on me. She reached out and gently pressed the clippers off.

"From now on, Jamie’s growing her hair. No need to trouble you anymore."

Her tone was polite but firm. She made it clear—she was taking over now.

"A girl should look like a girl."

Stepmom took a comb and fixed my hair, smoothing down the flyaways, tucking a loose piece behind my ear. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.

"When your hair grows long, I’ll buy you cute barrettes and braid it real nice, okay?"

Her promise hung in the air, soft as a lullaby. I wanted to believe her, but part of me stayed skeptical. Was this another trick?

Mrs. Martinez grinned, eyes crinkling.

"That’s wonderful."

When she left, she winked at me, as if to say, "See how nice your new mom is!"

I rolled my eyes, but inside, I felt a flutter of hope. Maybe things would get better. I touched my spared hair, and I had to admit—I was pretty happy inside.

I ran my fingers through the short strands, imagining them growing long, shining in the sun. It was a small thing, but it felt like a gift.

But if Linda thought she could win me over with a few little favors, she was underestimating me.

I set my jaw, determined not to give in. She’d have to do more than buy me barrettes to earn my trust. I thought, You’ll have to try a lot harder than that.

The days ahead were long. I wasn’t the type to forgive a beating just because of a treat. I kept score in my head, tallying every slight, every kindness. I wasn’t ready to let go of my grudge.

As Christmas lights twinkled in the windows, Linda had been here for ten months. After months of waiting, my hair finally grew long enough for braids.

The house smelled of pine needles and cinnamon. I watched my reflection as Linda gently braided my hair, her hands surprisingly skilled. It almost felt like family.

"Come on, Jamie, try this on."

Stepmom held up a red dress. I had to admit, it was beautiful. It shimmered in the light, soft and new. For a moment, I imagined myself twirling in it, the skirt flaring out like in the movies.

"Did you know? As soon as I got my Christmas bonus, I went out and bought you this. Didn’t even buy myself anything."

Her words were casual, but I could tell she meant it. She held the dress out, eyes hopeful.

Dad probably wanted me to feel her love, but to me, it meant something else. I saw him standing behind her, hands in his pockets, watching me carefully. It felt like a test, and I hated being tested.

"I don’t like red. I’m not wearing it."

I crossed my arms, voice flat. I wanted to hurt her, to push her away.

"Didn’t you love red when you were little? Jamie, after New Year, you’ll be twelve and starting middle school. Why are you still being so childish?"

Dad’s voice was tired, frustrated. He didn’t understand how hard it was to let someone new in.

Over the past year, Dad had gotten used to his new wife. But I still couldn’t accept her. I watched them laugh in the kitchen, share inside jokes. I felt like a guest in my own home.

"And you should start calling her Mom. Relatives are coming soon. If you don’t, we’ll be a laughingstock."

Dad’s words got heavier, not noticing my feelings. He didn’t see the way I flinched, the way my fists clenched. It was always about appearances, never about me.

"Whoever wants to wear it can wear it. Whoever wants to call her can call her. I won’t!"

I couldn’t stand how he always took her side. I grabbed the dress, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it. The fabric crumpled under my feet. I stared at them, daring them to stop me.

"Jamie, you must be itching for a spanking!"

During the holidays, Dad couldn’t take my tantrum anymore and lost his temper. His face turned red, voice booming. I braced myself, heart pounding in my chest.

"Go ahead, hit me! My mom left me, and now you’ve got a new wife—you don’t want me either..."

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