by Casie Bazay
Copyright © 2021 by Casie Bazay
Cover illustration copyright © 2021 by Monica Garwood
Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Running Press Teens
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10104
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@RP_Kids
First Edition: May 2021
Published by Running Press Teens, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Running Press Teens name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group.
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Print book cover and interior design by Marissa Raybuck.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBNs: 978-0-7624-7229-1 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-7228-4 (ebook)
E3-20210403-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: K. J.
Chapter 2: Becka
Chapter 3: Eli
Chapter 4: K. J.
Chapter 5: Becka
Chapter 6: K. J.
Chapter 7: Becka
Chapter 8: K. J.
Chapter 9: Eli
Chapter 10: Becka
Chapter 11: K. J.
Chapter 12: Becka
Chapter 13: K. J.
Chapter 14: Eli
Chapter 15: Becka
Chapter 16: K. J.
Chapter 17: Eli
Chapter 18: Becka
Chapter 19: K. J.
Chapter 20: Becka
Chapter 21: K. J.
Chapter 22: Eli
Chapter 23: Becka
Chapter 24: K. J.
Chapter 25: Becka
Chapter 26: K. J.
Chapter 27: Becka
Chapter 28: Eli
Chapter 29: K. J.
Chapter 30: Becka
Chapter 31: K. J.
Chapter 32: Becka
Chapter 33: Eli
Acknowledgments
For Summer,
Thank you for so many years of friendship
and for believing in me
CHAPTER 1
K. J.
WHERE DOES SOMEONE EVEN GET A BRIGHT GREEN casket like that?
The question hasn’t stopped rattling through my brain since Mom and I snuck into the chapel and slid into the very last pew. There are a lot more important things to be worried about at the moment, but all I can think is, What. The. Hell? Grandpa was a weird duck—everyone knew that—but I definitely never saw this coming. The wood creaks as Mom shifts in her seat and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear for the hundredth time. It’s a nervous tic of hers, but I get it. Being here is beyond awkward for both of us.
Two rows ahead, an old lady with painted-on eyebrows turns to squint at us. She’s probably trying to figure out why we’re sitting in the back of the chapel instead of up front with the rest of our family. Maybe she doesn’t know the story. Or maybe she does and thinks my grandpa’s death is reason enough to move past it, but fact is, the rift in my family has held strong for practically two decades now—since before my birth, anyway. Things won’t be changing anytime soon. I give her a “whatcha gonna do old lady” look, and she turns back around.
Another hymn begins, and along with it, a chorus of off-key voices. Mom and I keep our mouths clamped shut—not that we know the words anyway. I stare at my shoes, questioning if gray Converse and black jeans were the wrong choice for today. It’s not like I own anything nicer, and my closet has definitely never seen a dress.
Mom leans in close, her breath reeking of strong coffee. “As soon as they start lining up for the walk-by, we’re out of here.”
I give a subtle nod. I have no desire to see my grandpa inside that grasshopper-green death box. I’d rather remember him the way he was. Well, the way he was the last time I saw him, anyway. Was it really three years ago?
The music fades, soon replaced by the sounds of sniffling and Great Aunt Velda’s babbling. It’s really sad and all, but I have bigger worries at the moment. Right now, I just want to pay my respects and get out of here without my witchy Aunt RaeLynn or my equally horrid cousin Becka trying to start something with me and my mom. That’s about the only thing that would make today worse than it’s already been.
The reverend steps to the front again, and it takes everything I’ve got to pry my eyes away from the casket and focus on him.
“Elijah Walker was a unique man,” he says with the air of someone who knew my grandpa well. I doubt they ever met. He’s just repeating what someone else has told him. RaeLynn, if I had to guess. “He had a special appreciation for insects and spent countless hours on his collections. They were a sight to behold, from what I hear.”
Yep, that confirms my suspicion. If he’d met my grandpa, then he definitely would have seen the bug collections. The reverend continues, telling a story from Grandpa’s childhood. “Elijah got a pony for Christmas one year. He named her Penny, and she stayed at his grandparents’ farm. He rode Penny every time he went to visit his grandparents.”
I’ve never heard this story before, but then again, there’s probably a lot I don’t know about Grandpa. Of course, there’s no mention of his condition—the one that kept him homebound for the past thirty years. He rarely ever left his eleven-acre property.
I glance at Mom, who’s staring straight ahead, her poker face still on. There’s no telling what’s going through her brain right now. Maybe she’s thinking about all the holidays we didn’t spend with Grandpa. We should have gone around more. What happened with Mom and RaeLynn wasn’t his fault. He just got caught in the middle of it all.
The reverend leads us in prayer and a final hymn begins. Mom’s bony elbow pushes into my side. “Let’s go,” she whispers, and before I know it, she’s practically dragging me out of the chapel and into the brightly lit foyer. A lady in a black pantsuit gives us a sympathetic smile. She probably thinks things were getting too difficult to deal with in there. She’d be right, but it has nothing to do with my grandpa.
Mom and I bolt to the parking lot and both sigh with relief once we reach the car. “Thank god that’s over,” she says, voicing my exact thoughts.
We made it and we didn’t have to talk to a single person in there.
It’s early May but blazing hot inside Mom’s ’98 Cutlass Sierra. The heat always brings out the nasty smell in here, too. Like old bologna. Mom swears there must be a piece crammed into some crevice we’ve yet to find. She puts the key in the ignition and turns it, but the car only makes a pathetic whining sound.
“Damn it!” She pounds her palm on the top of the steering wheel and tries the engine again. It clicks this time. “Damn, damn, damn.” Her words match the beat of the annoying sound. “Why do you have to do this to me now?”
I don’t mention the fact that her car tends to crap out every other month or so. She needs a new batte
ry but won’t fork out the money for one. “Do you have the jumper cables?” I ask instead.
She grumbles under her breath and fixes me with an annoyed look. “Who are we gonna ask to jump it, huh? Our family hates us, and it’s not like we know any of these other people.”
I stare toward the chapel, a bead of sweat now trickling down one side of my face. The rotten bologna smell has settled inside my nostrils, more irritating than puke-worthy now. You can get used to anything if you’re around it long enough. “How’d Grandpa know all these people anyway? He never went anywhere.”
Mom grasps the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight ahead. “Who knows? I think some of them might be old coworkers or students from the university.” She shakes her head. “Maybe some other bug people, too.”
The heat is really getting to me now, so I reach for my handle and shove the door open before I suffocate. A few funeral-goers stand outside the double doors, their voices carrying on the light breeze. I swipe the sweat away from my cheek with the back of my hand. “What about Digger?” I nod toward the middle-aged bearded guy standing outside the chapel entrance, lighting up a cigarette.
Mom huffs and opens her own door. “Looks like he’s our only option.”
Ten minutes later, Digger’s white van is pulled up onto the grass beside us, and he’s hooking up the jumper cables.
“Surprised you two showed today,” he says in a husky voice.
Mom puts on a fake smile and gives an even faker laugh. “Oh, come on, Digger, it’s my dad. Why wouldn’t we come?”
Arms crossed, I keep my gaze focused on Digger. I’m afraid to look any other direction, lest someone make eye contact with me. His beer gut spills out from beneath the bottom of his gray T-shirt, but I try not to look at that part. Still leaning over the engine, he glances up at Mom. “You sure don’t seem too tore up about it.”
In a flash, her expression changes and she jabs a fist onto each hip. “Of course I’m upset.” But then her scowl softens as she seems to remember that he’s helping us in our time of crisis. “This is just… a little strange for us. I’m sure you understand. I’ve already done plenty of mourning in private.”
This is true. Mom bawled her eyes out on Wednesday, the day she found out Grandpa had died. The fact that she’d learned about his death on Facebook didn’t help matters. She’s been in a funk ever since.
Digger connects the cables. “All right, go give it a try.”
The starter clicks a few more times, then the engine rumbles to life. “Thanks, Digger,” I say.
He looks at me as if he’s just noticed I’ve been standing here the whole time. He coughs and spits into the grass. “So how old are you now?”
I push my hands into my pockets, self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “Uh, eighteen.” Since a few weeks ago, anyway.
He studies me for a moment and grunts. Maybe he’s just surprised I’ve managed to reach adulthood while being raised by my mom. I get it. It surprises me, too, sometimes.
I nod toward the cables. “I’ll take those back if you’re done.”
“Yep.” He unhooks them from the vehicles and hands them over.
“Thanks,” I repeat. What else is there to say? “See ya later.”
I hop in the car, tossing the cables onto the back seat. Semi-cool air blasts from the vents, and I adjust one to point right at my face. This car might be a piece of shit, but at least the air conditioner still works.
Mom waves at Digger as we back out of the parking spot. A line of cars moves up behind the hearse, preparing to take Grandpa to his final resting place, and a small stab of guilt pokes at my chest. I kind of hate that we’re going to miss the graveside service, but it’s not like going is really an option. No one wants us there.
As we drive toward the parking lot exit, I spot Aunt RaeLynn in her sleek black dress and three-inch heels. Standing beside a shiny red Jeep, she’s talking with my cousin, Becka, and another woman. She looks up as we pass, and her mouth pushes into a deep frown. My guilt transforms into bitterness, and I have to resist the urge to flip her off. Because that would be totally inappropriate, of course. Becka’s blond head whips around as she follows her mother’s disapproving gaze, and I can actually see her eye roll from here.
To hell with being appropriate. I roll down the window and give them the bird as we drive away. Beside me, Mom lets out a loud cackle.
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 student
s.” 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 lawyer.”