I lean the bike against the front post of the carport. “Just twisted my ankle a little.”
“Do you need help getting inside?”
“I’ve got it,” I repeat, an edge to my tone that I can’t stop.
Look, I’m not trying to be mean, but I’m tired, my shirt is clinging to my sweaty back and my thighs feel like they’re on fire. My shin is bleeding, my palm stings and both my wrist and my ankle hurt.
I’m not in the mood to be friendly.
Which, okay, is nothing new, but usually I can muster up a cool politeness.
But today, this is the best I can do.
“Oh,” Whitney says. Her accent is soft, her voice husky. “Are you busy tonight? Maybe you could come over? We could watch a movie?”
Whitney moved here from one of those down-South states that ends in a—Georgia or Alabama or Louisiana—two weeks ago. One week after school let out, so she hasn’t had a chance to meet anyone in town yet.
Other than me it seems.
And I am not welcome wagon material.
It’s that whole not-friendly thing.
But Whitney is friendly. Always waving and smiling and asking how I am whenever she sees me. Now she’s inviting me over so we can spend some good, old-fashioned quality teenaged-girl time together.
God, she must really be desperate.
Or lonely.
It’s that last thought, that she might be lonely, that has me thinking I should ask if she wants to spend the evening watching Taylor with me. I made pizza dough last night and she could eat with us. Maybe we could make some cookies later, too.
But what would be the point? It’s not like we’re going to be friends.
Something she’ll figure out soon enough.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m watching my niece.”
She keeps right on smiling because she is probably the kind of person that never gets down, disappointed or disheartened.
“Okay,” she says. “Maybe another time?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
She waves and heads back across the street and I turn and walk past the carport and around the back of the trailer. I doubt there’ll be another time. The only reason she even asked is because we live across the street from each other. I’m convenient.
She has all summer to meet people. She can join a club or get a job or just start hanging around the pool or the Tastee Freeze. I mean, I’m hardly well-versed in the art of friendship making but those seem like practical options.
And when school starts, she’ll have our entire senior class of two hundred and thirteen students to choose from. She’ll meet people who have more in common with her than living in the same trailer park.
Even if I was in the market for a new BFF, which I’m not, there’s no point in Whitney applying for the job. A year from now, we’ll graduate and then she’ll go her way—probably to a college in some city like Philadelphia or DC or where she used to live before—and I’ll go mine.
And by that, I mean I’ll stay here.
That’s how it is. Those who can get into and afford college or who are brave enough to join the military, they leave. And don’t come back.
The rest of us, the ones with below-average grades, below-average incomes and generations of stupid decisions?
We stay.
We have to. We don’t have anywhere else to go.
3
I climb onto the back deck, open the door and step into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I take off my boots and socks, then set them on the mat next to the door before crossing to the sink and wetting a paper towel. I wipe the blood from my leg, then carefully wash and dry my hands. The scrape isn’t as deep as I’d thought and my palms are only slightly abraded, so good news all around.
After tossing the dirty paper towels into the garbage, I go into the living room, which is separated from the kitchen by a short eating bar. Eggie (short for Egbert, our squat, muscular Rottie/boxer mix), is on his ratty blanket in the corner. He lifts his golden head, tail wagging, and I bend and give him some love before moving on to stand in front of the clanking AC unit in the window. Arms spread, eyes closed, I let the cool air wash over me.
Behind me, Zoe and Taylor are sound asleep on the grubby sofa, Zoe against the back of the couch, one arm wrapped around Taylor’s tiny middle to keep her from rolling off. Frozen is playing on the TV, the part where a sobbing Elsa hugs the iced-over Anna.
There’s nothing like the bond between sisters. Nothing.
God knows I’d be lost without mine.
Lost, in the foster care system and totally, completely alone.
I head down the short hall, the air getting thicker and hotter with each step. We had another AC window unit that we rotated each year between our bedrooms, but it broke two summers ago, and even with Dev picking up extra hours at the hotel, we can’t afford a new one because her ten-year-old Focus needs new brakes if it’s going to pass inspection in two months, and we’re still saving up to have the roof redone. So during summer this entire half of the trailer is like a sauna, my room at the end of the hall especially.
I set my backpack on my bed, take my hat off and toss it onto the dresser. I’d planned on showering before making dinner, but if I don’t get Taylor up now, she won’t sleep tonight. And as I’ll be the one watching her while Zoe tends bar at Changes Bar and Lounge (more bar than lounge), and Devyn works the front desk at the Red Dog Inn, I’d really like her to go to bed at a decent time so I can have a few hours to myself.
With my sisters both working two jobs and ever since Sam left town and our friend group—I mean…his friend group—decided they no longer want anything to do with me, I spend a lot of my time alone.
Not going to lie. It sucked at first, being a pathetic loser with no friends to sit with at lunch, no one to hang out with on the weekends, but I got used to it.
Now I like being alone.
I don’t have to worry about how long someone is going to want to be in my life. Knowing there’ll come a day when they decide they’re better off without me but not knowing, exactly when that day is.
I was too content before. Too trusting. I let myself get too comfortable being Sam’s friend, being a part of his group.
I was stupid, veering out of my lane. Believing things would be different with Sam. With the others. Forgetting all the lessons my life had taught me.
It’s better the way it is now. Easier.
Safer.
Back in the living room, the movie’s now at the part where Anna and Kristoff are in a serious lip-lock, because the only happy ending allowed is when boy and girl wind up together. Love conquers all.
Such a nice sentiment.
Such a nice, delusional sentiment.
I turn the TV off. They shouldn’t fill little kids’ heads with that crap. It just sets them up for disappointment when they’re older and realize that in real life royalty doesn’t fall for commoners.
Not even if that commoner is a cute Viking with wide shoulders, floppy blond hair and an adorable reindeer sidekick.
Kneeling next to the couch, I rub Taylor’s arm. “Hey, baby girl.”
She doesn’t wake, but Zoe does. “What time is it?” Zoe asks, her voice husky with sleep.
“Almost five.” I brush back Taylor’s pale hair. Even though the only thing she’s wearing is a diaper and the AC is on full blast, she’s sticky and sweaty, the curls at her temple damp. “Come on.” I lift her. “Time to wake up.”