by Stacia Leigh
“Your dad helped me…clean. Well, that’s what he calls it, anyway. Don’t worry. I’m in the middle of organizing things, so ignore the mess for now.” She pressed on a smile and waved her hand, encompassing the room where a mound of cardboard boxes crawled up the wall, trying to find a way out. “But this is home.”
Home.
Suzy closed her mouth and tried to swallow past the dust clogging her throat.
“What’s changed?” She hugged herself. Mom plus change equaled…it didn’t compute. It was the same. It was worse.
“I…I want to…I’d like—” Her mom shook out her hands and growled with frustration. “I can’t even talk. Listen, I am making things better here. Trust me.” She rubbed the knuckle on her ring finger, like it had an ache.
Stuff was everywhere. Bins, tins, boxes, shelves…of books, snow globes, folded fabric, teapots, and frames.
Mugs, lampshades, and yarn.
Towels and stacks of magazines.
And that was just one wall.
The rest of the living room was a big mosh pit of creepy, glass-eyed dolls. Half-human-half-rabbit creatures with dainty bows, buckteeth, and tea-stained clothing. They were a band of slouching beanbag creatures with a beady eye count of nearly a hundred. All of them staring. Suzy shivered.
This would be the last room she walked through in the middle of the night.
“Well…” Her mom looked down at her open palms and slowly curled her fingers into determined fists. “I’ve been watching this show on TV about how to declutter and get organized.” She looked up and held Suzy’s gaze. “They have some really good pointers, like sorting the junk mail right into the trash outside. None of it comes into the house. It’s in the garbage can, so it stays out there, and I don’t have to think about it again.”
“I see. So…all this?” Suzy frowned at the precarious piles surrounding them. Wasn’t blocking the front door a fire hazard?
“It’s a process.” Her mom stood straighter. “I’m going through it, but it takes time. Things get messier before they get better. Like us, right?”
“Yeah, this is…” Suzy bit her lip, unfolding her arms. “This is a lot of stuff, Mom.” She studied the woman in front of her. On the surface, she was put together, bright, like any normal person. Put her in a gingham apron, and hands down, she’d win the mom-of-the-year award on looks alone. The smile, the friendly eyes, the polished haircut. But she wasn’t like everyone else; she was a selfish person who loved dolls more than her own kid. There was a reason Suzy had lived with her dad.
An old hurt flickered like a pilot light.
“I want you to stay with me. I want this.” Mom stroked a hand down the length of Suzy’s arm and squeezed. “Why do you think I let your dad come in here like a bulldozer and turn my house upside down?”
Dad had said he’d made a sizable dent, that he’d hauled truckloads away, and Mom had quietly endured it. He’d been so proud of her for letting things go. But it was still a pigsty. What had it been like before? All Suzy had to do was glance down the narrow hallway to hear the crash of scattering cookie tins from all those years ago. Dad had thundered, Keep it all! One day it’ll bury you alive, and guess what? No one will be around to care anymore! He’d stomped right out the front door; it had opened back then.
Suzy shook herself, and the scene dissipated.
“Dad’s only trying to help you.” Suzy pointed toward the fortified living room wall and scowled at the woman in front of her. “And you should be thankful because if he didn’t, what do you think would happen?”
“Suzette! I don’t appreciate your tone. I’m your mother—”
“How many times has Dad been here? Fixing, painting, hauling stuff away.” Suzy’s chest rattled like boiling water in a kettle. The whistle was quivering, ready to let out a steady scream.
“I…” Marsha shook her head and stepped back. “I don’t know about all that. I just wanted to have a nice evening with my daughter. Let’s not ruin it by talking about your dad and his…” She made air quotes with her fingers. “…expectations.” She wiped the thought away with the flat of her hand. “Let’s start over. How about dinner, then we paint our nails and watch a movie? There’s plenty of time for all that other stuff later. What do you say?” Her bright eyes pleaded, Accept me…accept this, as she searched Suzy’s face.
Suzy pressed cool fingers to her burning eyes. Like her mom said, there was plenty of time for all that later. Her mom had opened herself, first by letting Dad “clean,” and now, by making room for Suzy in her house. Her shoulders dropped, and her eyes wandered over to the boxed-in couch.
“Where would I sit, Mom?” A hill of clothes covered one end, and the other sank under the weight of a large, cast-iron pan. The ottoman coddled three flats of canned green beans, which left one cushion available to sit and watch TV.
“I’ll clear a few things, and we’ll be set. There’ll be room. Don’t worry,” Marsha said. “And, I’ve got the makings for tater tot casserole…comfort food.”
“Okay,” Suzy said slowly and nodded, locating the path toward the hall. “I think I’ll go check out my room.”
“That’s a good idea. You get settled. Your dad put your bed together and pushed things around, but you’ll want to make it your own.”
“He said…he said the bedroom and bathroom back there are mine. Just my stuff.”
“Yes, I know.” Mom turned to the kitchen. “Only you.”
Suzy squeezed around the swinging-arm lamp that highlighted the back of the dusty TV set. She couldn’t walk through the house without touching something: a heavy book, bags of doll hair and legs, beads lost in the carpet, a rocking chair.
If she even saw a cookie tin anywhere near her room, she might lose it.
Suzy stopped at the mouth of the hallway at the first shut door on the right, Dad’s old office from a long time ago. The Blue Room. It used to be the cleanest room in the house. She touched a high-security padlock that hung at eye level. Cold steel.
“What’s this for?” Suzy nudged the lock and glanced at her mom, who stood alert, watching and wringing out her fingers.
“That’s private. I don’t want anyone in there, moving things around.” Her mom turned and bumped into a wicker hamper before stepping from carpet to linoleum. She opened the fridge, but looked back over her shoulder at Suzy.
Stepping away, Suzy peeked into the next door, the bathroom. It was tidy; her dad had been here. Obviously. The cream towels hung on the rack evenly, and a box marked “bathroom” sat perfectly square in the green tub. The packaging tape had been slit and the flaps stood open to lure her into settling in. He liked things prepped, ready, and just so. Tears warmed the backs of her eyes.
Don’t think about Dad. Not yet.
She braced herself at the last closed door in the hallway. This was it until her dad stepped back onto American soil. This was her room, her home for the next fifteen months. She eased the door open and nearly crumpled with relief in the doorjamb.
Her very own cubbyhole.
Chapter 3: The Meadow
J.J. tossed a split log off the truck, carefully missing Will’s black leather boot. It skidded in the wet leaves and thunked loudly against another chunk of wood. J.J. grinned as Will danced a jig with jerky elbows and knees off to the side.
“Dude, watch it.” Will teetered back. He held out a brown bottle and wiped his other hand down the chest of his flannel jacket. “You made me spill my beer.”
Will looked like a mutt tonight in his farm boy flannel, badass biker boots, and skater-rock hair that hung like a shaggy mop in his face. His dark bangs were chin length, so he bobbed his head to swish them aside.
“Well then, get outta the way.” J.J. laughed and jumped off the tailgate. He slammed it shut, picked up a healthy stack of wood, and headed down the trail. “At least carry a log in each hand, you lazy gob.”
Without waiting for an answer, J.J. lumbered through the dark trees, which connected to a cozy meadow ou
tlined by tall Douglas firs. A bright fire popped and snapped as it rollicked in the bull’s eye of fellow partiers, a small mix of jocks, goths, emos, and geeks. It was March, early in the season yet, but a few diehards turned out to endure the chill.
It was a pretty tame event, except for Will. He was drunk again, his modus operandi for the past year. But the guy had big problems at home, so J.J. pretended to let him be while still keeping an eye out.
He squatted next to the fire and leaned chunks of wood onto the burning teepee. Thick, gray smoke unrolled into his face, and he stumbled back, wafting his hands violently through the air. He sputtered a few four-letter words before locating Gemma in a halo of flickering light. A rack of ski tags dangled from the zipper pull on her powder-blue jacket and swung side-to-side as she weaved through the crowd toward him.
Stars in the sky, a stoked up bonfire—the first after a long, cold winter—and Gemma. He studied her dark lined eyes set against soft, pale skin. The outline of her white-gold hair shimmered from the flames dancing behind her, and she looked like a gothic elfin princess. J.J.’s face broke into a smile. It was shaping up to be a hell-a-good night.
“It’s cold out here. Keep me warm.” Gemma sidled over to him and tucked her hand into his coat pocket.
“Warm like this?” He asked, folding her up into a tight hug and suddenly, the sizzling fire, the murmuring voices, and the bursts of laughter were a flight to the moon away.
He was more than ready for the make-out portion of the night. Magic floated up around him, and a memory train chugged luxuriously through his mind of Gemma last summer in a barely-there black bikini. Her clear skin had been oiled up with something sweet. He’d reached out and wiped a blob of warm sunscreen off her shoulder and—boom!—she had him in a lip-lock behind the Lemon Squeeze concession stand with her hands up in his hair. He’d staggered out of there dazed and tousled with sand stuck everywhere.
He leaned in with his lips and nibbled at her neck. Even though they stood next to the fire, it was the familiar magic that heated the moment. His hands roved around to her back, and she giggled.
“Remember the day at the beach?” He breathed into her ear.
“Would you guys get off each other?” Holly griped and hip-checked him, sending him back a step.
He ground his molars together and inhaled slowly. Man, she was a chronic burn. Holly, better known as The Mouth, may be a looker with those big brown eyes, but unfortunately, she was an unyielding yapper. She had a core of desperation that ran a mile wide. There was no mystery and no allure. Her taste for gossip made her slightly dangerous, but since Holly was part of Gemma’s friend circle, J.J. had to deal, and it was a delicate balance—
“What am I, the duff?” Holly suctioned herself onto his arm. “Come on, I’m cold, too.”
—because he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was centered in Holly’s crosshairs, and there would never be a him and a Holly, together…ever.
“So, J.J.” She batted her doe eyes up at him. “Who are you taking to prom?”
He frowned down at her.
Nope…never.
Besides, wasn’t it obvious? Gemma was his girlfriend. Who else would he take to prom?
“Prom? It’s not until next month, right?” He looked at Gemma for help, but she dropped her eyes and studied the trampled grass at her feet.
“Come on, J.J. Everyone’s talking about it,” Holly said, and shook her bobbed hair in amazement. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked your girl yet. Right, Gemma?”
Ask her? They were going out, so he assumed—
“I know who I’m going to ask.” Will dropped his flannel sleeve across J.J.’s shoulders. “Suzy,” he slurred. “The Professor.” He belched wetly into J.J.’s ear, earning him an elbow jab to the stomach. Will pulled away and leaned a little too heavily to the right.
“Man…” J.J. shook his head. “She’s not into you. You should ask that biker chick from last summer. What’s her name?”
“Zombie Lips, and I don’t talk about her. Turns out, she was only after my body.” Will scoffed, gazing without focus into the trees as if he were grappling with the wispy end of a bad memory.
Only after my body? Uh…that sounded like a dream come true except for the zombie lips part. J.J. quirked a brow. Why hadn’t he heard this story before? It looked like he needed to put the squeeze on Will when he sobered up.
“Look, man, I’m just saying you’d better have a solid second lined up, because you’ll get the curb stomp,” J.J. said.
“What do you mean? We joked around in class.” Will flapped his hand at the smoke.
“Trust me.” J.J. nodded. “I saw her earlier at her house.”
“You were at Suzy Blue’s house?” Gemma gaped, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Holly.
Will scratched his head. “You saw her…and?”
“Why the look?” J.J. asked Gemma. “She moved in with her mom, who happens to live right behind me. We’re neighbors, so we chatted. That’s it.”
“You chatted about me?” Will splayed his long fingers over his chest.
“Suzy moved in with her mom? Why?” Holly wrinkled her nose. “I heard her mom is poor trailer trash.”
“Who said that?” J.J. straightened. “Just because someone lives in a trailer doesn’t make them trash, you know.” He pinned her with a look. “Or poor.”
“Hey, lighten up.” Gemma touched his arm. “Everyone knows you live in a trailer, and no one thinks you’re trash.”
“Or poor.” He held up his finger. “We have a big family. We live within our means.” He’d heard his dad say that over and over to his three older sisters as they whined about hand-me-downs and tent camping. Thank God they were all out of the house. It made things a breeze for him and Oopsie, his little sister.
“Well, my grandma is poor trailer trash. She lives in number twenty-two,” Holly said.
“She’s your grandma?” J.J. shook his head, sadly. Well, that explained a lot. That lady spreads gossip around like peanut butter, thick and with a knife’s edge.
“She knows everyone in the trailer park, and she sees everything.” Holly was ready to gush. It was written all over her face. She wasn’t called The Mouth for nothing, and by the sounds of it, it was a family trait.
J.J. waved her on. Keep talking.
“She saw Suzy’s dad, Mr. Blue.” Holly lowered her voice. “He came by with this big truck, and I guess he loaded it with all kinds of crap.” Holly’s face twisted in disgust as she relived her version of the story. “All of it came out of Suzy’s mom’s trailer.” Her eyes bugged, and she loudly whispered, “It’s only a single wide.”
“What?” Will squinted at Holly, trying to read her lips. “Why’re you whispering? I thought we were talking about prom?”
“Shut up, Will. You’re drunk. No one wants to talk about that.” J.J. gave him a pointed look before turning to Gemma. Her lips were pressed together as she studied him. It showed a worrisome mix of thoughtfulness and disappointment. J.J. coughed. “I mean…do we?”
“Good one,” Will said with a sloppy grin. Thank God he wasn’t driving because his cheeks were flushed a bright pink. He swished his bangs aside. “She’s cute…right, dude?”
“Who? Suzy?” J.J. nodded. “Yeah, she’s alright.”
“Suzy’s alright?” Gemma cocked her head, then glanced at Holly again, who smirked, which set J.J.’s teeth on edge. What was it with all the looks?
“Back to prom…” Holly tapped her chin.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” J.J. said and rubbed rough hands down his face. Prom hadn’t even been on his radar, man. But easy fix. If Gemma wanted to dance the night away, he was her man. “You wanna go to prom, Gem?”
“That’s how you’re going to ask me?” Gemma flung her hands out. “Haven’t you ever heard of the prom-posal? You spell it out with cupcakes or with pepperonis on a pizza, and then deliver it, preferably in class.”
“It’s still four weeks out. There’s plen
ty of time.”
“That’s not really the issue. It’s that you never make the first move. I have to remind you, and then what do I get? A second-rate invite. For once, I wanna feel special…” Gemma’s voice quavered. “…like you care.”
“Of course I care, Gemma…” J.J. groaned and dropped his head back. Clear skies and twinkling stars up there. It was a beautiful night, yet his girlfriend was angling for drama. “Please don’t do this. I just want to have fun.”
“What is it that I do, exactly?” Gemma crossed her arms over her ski tags and cocked her hip out, ready for a showdown.
“You’re picking another fight where there isn’t one.” His voice came out a lot more terse than he’d intended.
“Dude’s pissed,” Will murmured.
“Wow, J.J.” Holly’s eyes gleamed. “Even I’m speechless.”
Oh, man. J.J. dropped his head, and the weight of it pulled at his neck. Did they have to do this in front of The Mouth? Because everything he said would be exaggerated by three and echoing back to him by the butt crack of dawn. He held up his hands in surrender.
“Just tell me what to say, here.”
“Let’s talk.” Gemma grabbed his elbow and slid her hand down into his as she guided him out of the roasting ring. He followed her through the wet grass to the tree line where light flickered against cold and darkness.
“Why are you doing this, Gem? Last week I spent too much time playing Goblin Strike online with Will. The week before that, I sat next to a girl in the cafeteria you didn’t approve of, and now you tell me I didn’t ask you to prom the way you wanted me to ask. What can I say?” J.J. rested his hands on his hips.
Her fingers traipsed up her nylon jacket and flicked at the corner of one ski tag. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Do you like Suzy?” she asked.
“What? Are you serious? She’s my neighbor, Gem.” J.J. chopped the air with his hand. “And that’s it.” He sighed with exasperation. “Come on. I gotta keep an eye on Will. He’s drinking way too much.” J.J. held his hand out to her, but she brushed it aside.