way that was all too familiar. “Your father’s back gets worse all the time; you know he can’t find work. Without my pissy paycheck, we barely get through the month. Instead of his parents renting out the extra house, we’ll move in and be caretakers in exchange for no rent. All’s we have to do is maintain their property. Look, Emma, it’ll get us by and you’ll get a fresh start. You can leave those mean motherfuckers and screw-ups behind.”
“They’re not!”
“Don’t sass me. It’s not like we got a choice. Stop acting like it’s all about you. Quit your sad ass whining.”
“I’ve worked my sad ass off—”
“Hawking balloons at the mall?” She looked at the ceiling.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m stupid? I’m not the one got fired for stuffing Darby’s backpack—”
She raised her open hand. “Iris!” Dad caught her by the wrist.
I marched across the street. It wasn’t about the job, and I was far from stupid. Only my decent grades kept me from expulsion for chronic truancy. It also wasn’t a battle I could ever, ever, ever win. “It’s practically in Arkansas,” I wailed on Alexandra’s kitchen stoop.
“Bummer.” She passed me her joint.
While I argued and moped and plotted, my parents packed our crappy belongings, rounded up Darby and Genevieve, and left. I moved in where my toothbrushes had been since the ninth grade. Unfortunately Mrs Campbell was no longer spending every breathing moment with her French chiropractor. To say the least, her youngest and I were a handful. Three weeks later she put her foot down. I couldn’t stay.
Two weeks before school started, I traded a childhood of roach infested city dwellings for Animal Cracker Park, wrangling my fury and impotence into determination.
Chapter Two
I would be the new ‘it’ girl, fashionable, just this side of bitchy. I’d find the most popular, successful, decorated athlete and make him mine. This wasn’t middle school. I’d fit in or quit, maybe head to Cousin Neil’s in or San Francisco.
We lived eight miles outside Brucknerfield. Eight miles along Route 30 rising to Main. No Saks anchored the mall of my dreams. In zigzag order working farms gave way to a chain grocery store, the bank, Motorland Auto Parts, and Quality Bail Bonds, Inc. The movie theatre faced The Beehive Fashions and
Accessories, then Bush’s Restaurant, the liquor store, plus Dairy Queen at the last corner. Two steepled churched bookended empty storefronts, the post office, and Rusty’s Bar and Grille, along the cross street.
Out the other side, Route 30 divided Gerty’s-on-Thirty
Tavern and Motel from Al’s Bowling Alley and Pinball Hall (boarded up). The combined fire and police station shared a parking lot with Town Hall. After a few acres lined in cattle corn, Bruckerfield High School perched on a rise next to the town cemetery.
Boys tooled around in pick-up trucks with shotgun racks; girls, out of style by ten years, formed small hovering swarms around town like yellow jackets over spilled Dr Pepper. Hillbilly Heaven.
I had my learner’s permit by then and a few nights before school started Dad loaned me his ’78 red Nova for a run to the DQ. I primped and arrived, all Princess Di hair, padded shoulders and ruffled rah-rah skirt. I sat in the parking lot scoping out those who looked old enough to be my schoolmates. A few cars packed with girls or couples parked long enough to get orders. I finally dodged a red, stuttering pickup on its second run through the parking lot, and headed for the counter.
As I turned from the order window with my Blizzard, a girl with Aqua Net hair gestured with her chocolate cone. “I’ve seen you before. You must be from the big city. You look different.”
God, I hoped so. “Yep. Just moved down.”
“What class?”
I was tempted to reply, “Lower Working,” but she didn’t look like she’d have a clue what I meant. “I’ll be senior.”
“Woo. That’ll be tough. Brucknerfield’s not real accepting of new kids.” She licked her ice cream. “Just so you know.”
I could feel a hated flush crawl into my jaw. “Fine with me. I’ll be outta here in eight months.”
“You pregnant?” she whispered.
“Shit no. I meant I’ll graduate and get the hell out of this sorry, sad ass town. My dad’s cousin’s a high-end antiques dealer in San Fran,” came right off the top of my head.
She gave me quizzical look.
“San Francisco,” I added.
“Oh, duh. Right. I’ve been thinking about Reno or Houston.” Another lick. “I’m Missy. California’s rad. I’d go with you but I’m only going to be a junior.” That was a relief.
“Plus my parents would have a cow if he’s a dealer.”
“If who’s a dealer?”
“The cousin you’re gonna live with.”
“Not drugs. Antique dealer. Fancy furniture.” I pushed my spoon through my Blizzard to keep from laughing. “I’m Emma. And since I’m not pregnant, who’s top of the list around here?”
“You mean like the main guy? Probably Ethan Paige. Hot. He drives that red truck that just cruised through.”
It didn’t have to be a Mercedes SL but what had possessed me to think anybody within spitting distance of Animal Cracker Park had the money to drive something decent? “The hottest guy in town drives that hunk-a-junk, rusted hulk held together with gum and duct tape?”
“You’re funny, you know that?”
“Yeah, life’s a laugh fest.” A car pulled up with a bunch of dorks shouting “Miss eeeee—”
“See you around.” She gave me another once over, climbed into the back seat and left me in rising dust.
