I have to laugh, too. “Man, that felt good.”
As soon as we pull onto the roadway, Mom’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt. When I look over, tears are once again spilling down her cheeks. “I hate this,” she mutters. “I hate the way she makes me feel. Like she has a right to everything, and I don’t.”
A lump starts to form in my throat, but I force it back down. “She’s a bitch, Mom. Just like you’ve always said. Hopefully, we’ll never have to see them again.” My words were intended to be reassuring, but Mom starts full-on bawling now. “Pull over. Let me drive.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve crossed the Arkansas–Oklahoma border, and Mom’s tears have dried, but now she looks like a half-crazed raccoon with black mascara smudged beneath her eyes and her face all splotchy and red. At least she held it together during the service. It would have only humiliated her more to let her sister see her like this.
I pull into Maple Village Mobile Home Park, stopping in front of the fourth trailer on the right. Home sweet home. Mom hurries inside before any of the neighbors can see her. I, however, still haven’t shed a single tear. If I wore makeup, it would still be perfectly in place. Sitting on the top front porch step, I pull the pack of cigarettes from my hidey hole beneath the ceramic frog planter. I light up a cig, and after a couple long drags, the nicotine starts to work its magic. The funeral and my god-awful relatives fade from my mind. Signs of spring are everywhere—Grandpa’s favorite season. It’s when the bugs come out to play, he once told me. Grandpa and his bugs. Not sure I’ll ever understand the fascination.
A bang comes from the trailer next door, and I nearly drop my cigarette. Someone yells, “Shut up!” and Carter comes busting out onto the back deck, cheeks flushed, and a scowl etched across his face. He stomps around for a few seconds before noticing me sitting here.
He freezes in place and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look chill. “Oh, hey, K. J.”
“You okay?”
Carter doesn’t answer; he just comes to sit beside me. I hold out the pack of cigarettes and my lighter, which he takes. “It’s my freakin’ mom.” He lights up, sucking in a drag. “I swear, sometimes I want to strangle her.”
I can’t help but smirk. I know the feeling, though my anger turns to pity when it comes to my mom most of the time. Life hasn’t been kind to her.
“She’s giving me three weeks after graduation to get moved out.” Carter turns to face me. “Can you believe that crap?” His deep green eyes are distracting, but that long, stringy, ash-blond hair has always been the deal breaker for me. Plus, he’s practically like a brother. We’ve been neighbors and friends for ten years now. He shakes his head. “What the hell am I gonna do?”
I rub my chin, pretending to think about this for a second. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you should quit playing Call of Duty and get a job.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” He smiles and takes another drag, turning to stare off into the distance. The two new kids from across the street hop on their bikes and take off racing along the gravel road. Carter and I used to do that, too, when we were younger. It’s a ten-minute ride around the entire park. If you make the loop twice, it’s almost enough time to settle the sting after the kids on the school bus call you a white trash dyke. “What about you?” Carter asks. “What are your plans after graduation?”
I shrug. “Don’t really have any.”
He pushes his shoulder into mine. “You should. You’re smart. You should go to college or something.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t think many colleges are dying to snatch up C students.” I don’t add that I’ve also got two Ds right now.
“That’s because you never do your homework. You’d have straight As if you did.”
It’s probably true. I can ace most tests without trying, and despite what many people think, I actually do listen to my teachers. I just do it while I’m doodling in my notebook most the time. After one last drag, I toss my cigarette onto the step below and squish it with the toe of my shoe.
“Mom can’t afford to pay for college anyway. She can barely keep up with bills half the time.”
Carter glances toward my front door, then back at me. He lowers his voice. “If she’d quit going to the casino, she might be able to afford it.”
Something prickles at the base of my skull. “Shut up, Carter.”
His brows pinch together like I’ve actually hurt his feelings. “It’s just…”
I hold up a hand, quickly cutting him off. “You know how I feel about other people bad-mouthing my mom. That’s my job.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. Don’t be pissed at me, okay? I can’t handle it right now.”
I snort and give in to a smile. “Whatever.”
“Hey, I’ve got to run to the store for some toilet paper.” He nods toward the faded black Ford Ranger in his drive. “Wanna come with?”
“Tempting, but no thanks.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Just as Carter’s standing to leave, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. “Talk to you later, Cart,” I say with a wave.
I don’t recognize the number on my caller ID but answer anyway.
“Is this Katherine Walker?” The man’s voice is deep and unfamiliar.
I almost hang up, figuring it’s a telemarketer or someone wanting donations, but I’m feeling testy today. Maybe I’ll give this guy a run for his money.
“Yep, it’s me. What do you want?”
“Miss Walker, I’m sorry to bother you right now, but your mother hasn’t answered my calls.”
“Did she miss a payment or something? What do you want me to do about it?”
“No, no, this isn’t about a bill, Miss Walker. My name is Jeffrey Sisco. I’m your grandfather’s
