by Stacia Leigh
Friday
J.J. turned in his desk to find Gemma peering at him from under the edge of her heavy, cut bangs. Her eyes flicked away, and she forced out a laugh like her group had morphed into a gaggle of comedians. Highly unlikely.
His group? Most definitely.
“You might find this hard to believe,” Blue said. “But I do want a good grade on this assignment. I should be sitting with my peeps.” She nodded to the middle of the room where Charlie Russo sat with his plaid collar resting against his Adam’s apple.
“Clue to the Blue.” Will knocked on Blue’s desk. “You’re touching greatness. Without us, you’d be diddling chess pieces with Up Chuck over there.”
“I like him. He’s nice. Not to mention he’s hot in a rumpled sort of way. And that deep voice reminds me of a rock star.” Blue studied Charlie across the room.
“Hardly.” J.J. snorted…so absurd. “Rock stars don’t wear plaid shirts—”
“Grunge,” Blue said.
“—buttoned up to their chins.”
“Nerdcore.” Will nodded.
“He has to hide his manly chest hair and a tattoo. It’s a rook.” She widened her blue eyes. “You do know what a rook is, don’t you?”
“How do you know he’s got a tattoo on his chest?” J.J. narrowed his gaze and smirked. She was full of it, all prim and proper with a tight bun on her head. Her and Up Chuck? No way. What she needed was the extroverted adventurer type to help her let that hair down a bit.
Blue shrugged and traced the strands of her upswept hair. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Okay, class…” Mrs. Norton held up her hands and raised her voice above the babble. “Good discussion on personality types. If you didn’t finish the Myers-Briggs test, take it home and bring it back on Monday with—”
The bell rang loudly and everyone arced out of their seats. Mrs. Norton’s words melted into the din of scraping chairs, booming voices, and zip-zipping backpacks.
“Where’s the kegger tonight?” Will tossed a blank notebook into his cavernous bag. The thing was near empty and for appearances only because Will “Lazy Ass” Sullivan didn’t carry anything heavier than a ham sandwich.
“I’m grounded, man.” J.J. jerked the zipper around his own backpack and hefted it onto his shoulder. “What about you?”
“My dad’s already forgotten about the ticket. See ya, Blue.” Will turned and headed for the door, drawling his usual send off. “Later, dude.”
“So you’re grounded on a Friday night. That’s some tough love.” Blue stood and tugged the hem of her purple t-shirt down, which inadvertently stretched across her chest. J.J.’s brows shot up, and he blinked before tearing his eyes away. Gemma, Gemma, Gemma.
He glanced across the room, but Gemma was gone.
Figures. She didn’t waste any time. How long had she and Ron been sniffing around each other anyway? Only a week? Or was it longer? She always accused him of looking at other girls, and if he did, it certainly wasn’t because he wanted anyone else. He never cheated on her…ever! If she thought he would, she didn’t know him very well at all.
J.J. turned back to Blue as she pulled on a turquoise fleece jacket, which, of course, she zipped straight up to her chin.
He frowned, taking in Blue’s high collar and restrained red hair. Even her backpack was cinched on. She was tucked and tidy and prissy as hell, but she had stunning blue eyes and a dry sense of humor. She was funny without half-trying, and somehow, it made her seem easygoing. There was something about her.
He watched her walk out of the room.
Yeah…something all right.
Chapter 6: The Deal
Suzy trudged up the stairs to the backdoor of the trailer, mentally gearing up for another empty and cramped weekend. The only relief on the schedule consisted of six glorious hours of slinging mochas at The Butterhorn Bakery on Sunday afternoon. She officially had a job as a barista-in-training, and it was a great excuse to get out of the house, make a buck, and hang out with friends. The thought of fresh-baked snickerdoodles, jelly-filled butter cookies, and warm chocolate croissants brightened her spirits like nothing else could. It was heaven à la mode.
She pushed her way through the mudroom into the kitchen, and while shrugging out of her backpack, she scanned the labyrinth of stuff. It seemed like things moved around or crept inside during odd hours, so she turned it into a game, Spot the Difference, an exercise in observation. What was different today?
The piles of clothes tossed on the couch were the same. The storage bins lining the wall were still there. The broken vacuum cleaner leaning against the fridge and the fifty-million bug-eyed dolls staring her down…same and same. Best Bet Grocery bags blocking prime counter space…bingo!
That was different.
“What is all this stuff?” Suzy muttered.
She pulled down the edge of one bag, then two, then three. All macaroni and cheese. What was there, a ten-for-one sale? Every bag had at least a dozen boxes. She had to give it to Mom, she liked variety: nuclear orange, white cheddar, elbow, shell, whole-grain, and extra-cheese-a-rific. She must have cleared out the store’s entire aisle; there had to be forty to fifty boxes here, a yearlong supply. Sure, Suzy enjoyed a little mac once in the while, but after five days of eating it, she could say with confidence, she’d had her fill. Seriously, she couldn’t take another bite.
Where did her mom plan to store it all?
Obviously, she’d gone grocery shopping, so Suzy envisioned her favorite, which was breakfast for dinner. Her stomach growled. Pancakes and eggs, bacon and fresh strawberries. Her mouth watered. At this point, she’d even gnaw on a celery stick—she opened the refrigerator door and peered inside—if there was one.
But alas, it was not meant to be. The refrigerator glowed coldly, offering up crumbs, a jug of soy sauce, a liter of diet cola, and limp carrots. There was nothing to nibble on except canned food and cracking open a thing of green beans seemed a little uncivilized for an after-school snack. What was the plan for meals exactly?
“Mom?”
“In here, Suzette!”
Suzy retraced her steps and passed the mudroom to the opposite end of the trailer where the master bedroom door stood oddly ajar. She raised her hand to knock but let it drop. She’d been here nearly a week and hadn’t seen her mom’s room before. From the look of things, this was where the real crazy took place. A single path carved through the clutter from the doorway to an enormous mountain of laundry, presumably the bed. Wedged in the corner sat Mom, hunched beside a sewing machine, which sat on top of a dark wood cabinet. With a pin in her mouth, she threw down a line of stitching with skillful ease.
Mom sat up to her armpits in doll stuff, porcelain appendages, glossy baubles, and folds of calico fabric. Dolls, dolls, and more dolls! Why didn’t she have a ton of kids like Mrs. Radborne, J.J.’s mom? Or adopt a real, live rabbit or a hamster or some other pet, instead of making fake ones?
“Hi, Mom.” Suzy rapped her knuckles against the door and stepped into the room. “So you went to Best Bet…did you go to work today?”
“Yes, but I left early for a dental appointment.” Mom set her pins aside, and her face lit up. “While I was stuck, sitting in that chair, listening to the hygienist talk about molars and canines…I had the craziest idea about teeth. Their roots.” She laughed. “Little critters with roots, like a plant. I couldn’t wait to get home to dig through my supplies while the image was still bouncing around in my mind. Roots.” She shook her head. “Crazy, I know.”
“Are these your drawings?” Suzy stepped over a shoe box to the heavily draped window beside the sewing cabinet. Small pencil sketches held with straight pins dotted the green velour curtains. “These are your critters? They’re really cute, Mom.”
The spectrum of gray shading and various textures in the thumbnails showed such care and dedication. The oversized eyes, so deep and real, were set in little monster faces. They were odd, cute, and weird all at the same
time. Who was this woman who lived in a dump yet produced these clean, beautiful drawings with such artistry?
“Yes.” Mom’s cheeks tinged pink. “I name them, too. The one with the long ears is Biancazza.” She stood and pointed to the images proudly. “This is Rubichrys with all the dots, baby Goshogo, and Hanaban. She’s holding an acorn. All the others are just seed ideas at this point. But this little root…” She picked up the project she’d been working on, a floppy pocket with bicuspid-like legs. “I named it after you. Instead of Suzette, it’s Zettesue.”
“Zettesue…I like it. I can’t wait to see it finished with the eyes and all that. Do you ever think about selling them? The drawings or the critters? They’re collectibles, one of a kind.”
“No, no. I don’t think I could. They’re my babies.” She tugged at the tiny seam and pressed it with her fingernail. She turned away, back to her sewing machine. “It must be getting close to dinner time. Are you hungry?”
The emotional part of Suzy’s brain, some lobe they discussed in class, and one she’d already forgotten, the part that stored the years of hurt, wanted to yell, Hello? I’m your baby! Not that stupid doll you’re making. But it was ridiculous to be jealous of a toy, even her namesake.
So the logical part of Suzy’s brain stepped back to find some distance. She tucked her heart behind a shield of rawhide and assessed Marsha with one word: vulnerable. Look at her. Sitting in the corner, coddling a piece of fabric.
Suzy hugged herself. The room looked like it had been blended by a turbofan. Did Marsha ever pick up anything? Could she not see the house needed scrubbing with industrial-strength power tools? Dad only worried about the junk seeping outside for all the snoopy neighbors to see. What would he do with her if she got kicked out? Dad was gone, and Mom couldn’t or wouldn’t look after herself. Was Suzy supposed to take care of her now? To pick up where Dad left off? No way. Who’s supposed to take care of me?
“I could make us some macaroni and cheese.” Mom gently placed the remnants of Zettesue on the desktop and stretched. “I need to take a break anyway.”
“I’m sick of…” Suzy sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “I’m tired of mac and cheese, Mom, and there’s nothing else to eat in this house.”
“Oh.” Marsha frowned. “I thought it was your favorite. It was on sale, so I hit all three Best Bet’s and cleared the shelves.” She chuckled like wasting all that time, gas, and money was no big deal.
“Donate it to the food bank, then.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. I bought it for you. It’ll get eaten, eventually. Go ahead and make a list with whatever you want. I’ll buy groceries tomorrow. For now, mac and cheese with hotdogs. I have some in the freezer.”
Grody.
“Just mac and cheese is fine.” Suzy turned and almost tripped over the box of thread in the middle of the path. Heavy-duty milk crates, all empty, sat stacked behind the door. “Can I have one of those to organize my things?”
“A crate? Uh…I guess, if you need it.” Marsha murmured and waited while Suzy pulled a crate off the top. Then, they shuffled single file toward the kitchen.
Mom cobbled together a meal of boxed pasta, cheese powder, mayonnaise, and powdered milk with water. They sipped flat diet cola while sitting in pained silence. At least Mom had the good sense to laugh and declare this the worst meal she’d ever made. The amazing weight balancing on Suzy’s shoulders tipped off, and she sat up with a grin even while poking at the nasty, orange pile on her plate.
After an hour, the noodle and blob jokes were exhausted, and Suzy couldn’t decide if it was the best meal they’d shared together or the worst. Food-wise it was obviously the latter, but she hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.
“That was fun, considering.” Mom sighed and pushed away from the table. “Can you believe it’s almost seven o’clock? You don’t want to watch a movie, do you?” She wrinkled her nose while shaking her head.
“I don’t know. Do you?” Suzy shrugged.
Mom glanced toward her bedroom with longing, and apparently, she was distracted by the root creature. The rare light mood sifted away, and the dark room crept up Suzy’s back. She’d been replaced by a doll again.
“You know what? That’s okay.” Suzy cleared her dishes from the table. “I’m going to read for a while.”
“That sounds like a really good idea.” Mom eagerly picked up her sketch pad and drifted to the back of the house while Suzy went in the opposite direction with her new milk crate in hand.
In the hall, she stopped and touched the solid lock on Dad’s Blue Room. She hadn’t heard from him yet. In fact, she didn’t really know where he was, except somewhere in the eastern region of Afghanistan. She jerked her hand back and glared at the heavy steel shackle. What was behind the door? More of what she saw in her mom’s room? Piles of crap? New stuff stacked on top of old stuff on top of junk on top of garbage?
Suzy closed her eyes against the thought.
When they snapped open, she had herself a plan. When all was dark and quiet, she’d jump out her window again for a Friday night adventure. No worries. She could easily get back in, using her new crate for a step.
Her phone beeped from under a pile on her desk with a text message or three.
TESSA: Sigma Chi party tonight! Wish you were here.
TESSA: Guy to girl ratio in our favor. One more year, girl!
TESSA: Visit me this summer! I’ll give you the tour…campus, downtown, Hyalite Canyon. Tons to do! XOXO
Suzy smiled wistfully. Her best friend graduated last year and was having the time of her life in Bozeman…ten, long hours away. Apparently college was the place to be. Soon enough. Like Tessa said, only one more year.
SUZY: A whole year…ugh! Seems like 4ever.
SUZY: Sorry I missed u. Chat later?
Suzy set her phone down and arranged the box of panel nails, hanging wire, and her girly hammer, the one with the pink handle, off to the side. She’d hung some of her pictures earlier to warm up the place, to settle in. In the newly cleared space, she flipped open an old magazine, one she’d lifted earlier from a pile in the living room. With nimble fingers, she ripped out pages—Pffft!—and then shredded them into smaller strips. Whole sheets reduced to pieces. Rip. Pffft! Tear. Pffft! Destroy. Pffft!
She popped the top on some gel medium and with a stiff bristled brush, she randomly pasted the strips down onto a cardboard canvas, turning the torn pieces back into a whole. It was collage therapy to make order out of chaos. She held up the wet canvas and studied the rough textures, the mish-mash of words and pictures, the streaks of glue, and the bubbled up paper.
Beautiful.
She’d give it time to dry before sponging on paint and building another layer. Where her mom drew big eyes, Suzy would paint small. Where Mom focused on crooked teeth, Suzy’s would be straight. Mom’s stained sepia was the opposite of Suzy’s crisp white. Sad turned into happy and freaky to normal.
Rap, rap, rap.
Suzy froze. Someone knocked on her window. Her blinds were open, so whoever was out there could see her. The hair on her arms flared up, and she set the canvas down slowly.
Rap, rap.
She saw the fist that time. She bit her lip and quietly slid the chair back away from her desk. On tiptoes, she leaned forward, but there was nothing discernible—
A hand poked out of the darkness and waved.
She jerked back. Oh my God. Who’s out there?
“Blue,” a voice said, muffled through the glass. J.J.?
Suzy crawled across her covers and opened the window with no barrier to the outside since the screen was still stowed under her bed.
“Uh, hello?” she said. “What the heck are you—”
“Hey. Remember when you said Gemma would care if my hands were on your butt?” J.J. asked.
“Whoa! That sounds like all kinds of wrong.”
“What are you doing?” He smiled up at her with his green eyes, a picture of innocence
. But she knew better.
“I hope you’re not spreading rumors about me.” Suzy rubbed her temple. “Ugh. I have enough trouble as it is.”
“Don’t worry about it. I only mentioned it to Holly.” He joked drily.
“And didn’t I overhear you calling her The Mouth? That’s just great.”
“I’m kidding. Come out and play.”
“I don’t think so,” Suzy said, looking down at him. She was a lone wolf. Her plans were solo. “Besides, I thought you were grounded.”
“You remind me of Rapunzel up there, you know? Why don’t you let your hair down?” He set his hands on his hips. “What happened to sneaking out your window? Bock, bock.” He clucked like a chicken and flapped his elbows, taunting her. “I should bring my little sister over here, show her the princess stuck in the tower. She loves a good Disney story.”
“Rapunzel, my butt.” Suzy scooted across her quilt and grabbed the handy milk crate off the floor. Back at the window, she dropped it down to J.J., who sat it bottoms-up near his feet.
“Grab a coat, and let’s go,” J.J. said, stepping back to make room for her.
“Go where?” Suzy snagged the fleece jacket off her bed, then pushed her legs out the window. She took J.J.’s offered hand, and when he squeezed, her pulse quickened. She inched out, jumped, and nearly toppled off the crate.
“Watch it, or you’ll twist your ankle.” J.J. braced her hand and hauled her up next to him. “Got it?”
“Yes,” she breathed, looking into his face. No doubt about it, with those dark lashes and moss-green eyes, he was good lookin’. Get a grip, Suz. It’s just little J.J. Radborne. She giggled.
“What’s so funny?” He grinned and popped the tops on a couple brown bottles. He handed her the cold glass and kept one for himself.
“I was just remembering,” Suzy said, accepting the beer, “when I used to live here, when my parents were still together. You didn’t have any front teeth, and you used to call me Thuthy.”
“Shut it.” J.J. growled good-naturedly.