Shift

by Ginger Scott

  I swallow and relax my shoulders, letting my hands release their grip on my shirt as I slide back in the chair. Once I say what I am about to, I’m going to need to leave. It’s what will be best for both me and my dad.

  “Unfortunately, I do know what you mean,” I say. My father lets out a breathy laugh, and I can tell he feels smug, maybe a little relieved. He’s not going to like the rest of what I have to say, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need to hear it.

  “You mean because I’m a girl, I can’t do the same things Tommy does. You mean you don’t trust me to make my own choices for who to love, or who to believe in. And you mean Tommy can still be friends with Dustin, but I can’t, because somehow . . . now . . . that’s different. Basically, Dustin’s never been family to you at all, which makes you kind of a liar.”

  I push away from the table as my dad’s jaw shifts and his head tilts. I grab my bag and make my way to the door, ignoring his grumbling as well as my brother’s amused smile. I caught enough of that while I was making my speech.

  I’ve never actually said the exact thing I wanted to say when the moment called for it, and my chest feels full and my body teems with an almost prideful energy. I guess my parents can ground me if they want, though Tommy and I have never been grounded once in our entire lives. I’d point out all of the times my brother’s gotten away with things far worse than driving down to the Valley on a school night.

  “We’re not done with this conversation, Hannah.”

  That’s the last of what I hear, though I’m sure my father had more to say. I wouldn’t say I slammed the door shut behind me, but I definitely made sure it closed. I get to my car and turn my music up loud enough to drown out the sound of my phone, and shoot my brother a quick text so he knows I’m picking Dustin up this morning and he’s taking Bailey to school.

  As I pull away, I’m hit with a wave of sorrow. Maybe even a sense of mourning. If I knew the last time my brother and father and Dustin and I were all together was going to be the last, I would have appreciated it more.

  Dustin is sitting on the back of his car, his hair wet, when I pull up. He hates showering at his parents’ house, but I guess he’s forcing himself to get used to it since the welcome mat to my place has been taken away.

  The sight of him eases the ache that was beginning to fill my stomach and chest. One crooked grin as he shakes his head, flipping his hair from his eyes, and everything I said this morning and all of the battles that lie ahead become worth it.

  Nobody will ever make my heart pound with love the way this boy can.

  I turn so the passenger side is closest to him and roll down my window.

  “Hey, goin’ my way?” I say, squinting against the sun.

  Dustin’s mouth ticks up as he slides from the back of his car and picks up the backpack between his feet. He walks toward the open window in this slow, sexy way, then leans forward, resting his arm on the windowsill.

  “Ma’am, I don’t care where you take me as long as I get to be next to you.” He winks to layer on the cheese, and while I laugh and call him stupid, I swoon a little too.

  I pull onto the main road as Dustin buckles in. I don’t know what he’s going to do about his tires, but I don’t want to bring it up because he still seems so calm and happy. I know how important that car is to him, though. It’s more than just his way around. It’s his life’s work and a means to bigger ends. If Dustin can’t race, he can’t grow and get into the circuit.

  “Have you checked to see if the scrap yard has hours again?” I ask. He doesn’t answer right away, and I mash my lips together, admonishing myself for bringing it up.

  “They might have a weekend or two, yeah. I’ll ask,” he sighs out.

  I glance his way with a smile, and I’m relieved when his is still in place. It’s not as relaxed as before, though. I added kindling for his anxiety, and now all I can think about is whether or not to apologize for it. I decide against it because it will only prolong the topic, so instead, I switch gears to something I have been dying to talk about.

  “I’m going dress shopping with Bailey today after school,” I say. I glance at him again and laugh when I’m met with his wide eyes and exaggerated smile. I smack his thigh and he grabs my hand in both of his, pulling it to his chest and kissing my knuckles.

  “I’m just kidding. I’m looking forward to prom. Truly. I cannot wait to see how hot you’re going to look.” His eyebrow flicks up and down with his words and I jerk my hand away.

  “One track mind with you, Dustin,” I tease. My thighs tingle at the thought of his hand creeping up my leg in a short mini dress, though, so I decide that I’m definitely buying something short.

  “Your parents still going to let you go with me?” he asks.

  I bite my bottom lip and suck it in. Dustin shifts in his seat so he’s facing me more.

  “Hannah? Your parents know I’m taking you to prom, right? Like, I can show up and pick you up and give you flowers and all that shit?”

  My chest tightens.

  “Uh huh?” I mutter. “I mean, yeah. Sure! Of course!” I smile through my bullshit, but it’s useless; Dustin sees right through my sad attempt.

  “Hannah. Your parents have to be okay with this. I’m not sneaking you out for prom. Your dad would hunt me down and take me to one of those places in the middle of nowhere he likes to hike.” He twists back in his seat and runs both his hands over his face then through his hair, his thumbs pausing at his temples to rub small circles.

  “I will tell them. We are going . . . together. And my mom will want pictures, even if my dad shakes your hand with a death grip. Prom is a non-negotiable.”

  Dustin lets out a short laugh and shakes his head as I pull into the student parking lot.

  “Okay, Banana. Whatever you say,” he jokes, getting out of the car and rounding to my side to wait for me.

  I purse my lips at him when I get out. I can’t count the number of times he’s uttered that phrase to me over the years, and he always says it when he doesn’t fully believe me. I forgive him a little, though, when he slings his arm over my shoulders and pulls me in tight. And when his mouth covers mine—a display put on for every girl our age in Camp Verde—I forget his teasing doubt. One more kiss like that and I’ll completely let him off the hook for prom.

  20

  Hannah’s parents forbidding her from prom wouldn’t be the end of the world. All I could think about after she mentioned the dress shopping was the money it was going to cost me to go. Money I don’t have.

  Money I have no way to get now that my car is down two tires.

  I hate that money is a barrier. As much as I don’t want my life to be about money, it seems I’m always desperate for it. Two hundred bucks from last night’s race isn’t going to stretch far, and I have a lot of bases to cover. Tux rental, prom tickets, dinner somewhere fancy, pictures, flowers. Hannah would pay for it all, but she shouldn’t. I don’t want her to. But damn, at this point, I can’t even pick her up in my own car.

  Hannah will be out with Bailey most of the afternoon. She might be a tough girl who likes dirt tracks, but she’s also a sucker for all things pink and frilly. She could honestly show up in a sack for a dress and she’d be the most beautiful girl at the prom. In the town. Fuck, in Arizona. But she wants this to be a dream kind of prom, and though her parents won’t be on board at all—despite what she says—I’m going to do my damnedest to make her night perfection.

  Tommy pulls up to my house, shifting into park a couple trailers away from mine. He’s done this enough times to know the drill. If Colt’s around, it’s better that he doesn’t hear a car pull up. He likes to mess with Tommy, probably because he gets off on making my friend nervous.

  “I’ll be in and out,” I say, patting the windowsill twice before walking toward the quiet trailer at the end.

  The normal flash of the television isn’t shining through the crack in the blinds, which means my mother is either asleep or not at home. If she i
sn’t home, it’s possible she was able to get herself to work. It’s a miracle she hasn’t been fired from the job at the gas station. I think they’re so hard up for people that whenever someone who isn’t the owners can come in, they jump on it.

  I fish my keys out of my pocket and use my hip to crack the door open completely. The lock doesn’t line up right ever since Colt kicked the door open one night and I had to replace it. There’s a small light on in the corner of the living room, but other than that, the place seems dark and empty. I push the door shut behind me and quietly move into the center of the room.

  “Mom?” My voice is even. Not loud, but quiet enough not to stir her if she is asleep. The ashtray on the coffee table is overfilled, so I carry it to the kitchen and dump the debris into an old coffee can. Mom set fire to the garbage once, and since then, we’re careful with her ashes.

  The place smells like cat piss, which probably means she’s taken in a stray again. I search the corners of the kitchen and the back bathroom to see if there are any traces of an animal. I find a fairly full litter box, so I nudge it with my foot, shaking fresh litter to the top.

  I leave the bathroom door open behind me in case the cat is hiding somewhere. I don’t want to get in the way of a cat and its shitter. My eyes scan the counters, table, and sofa as I work my way to the back rooms, looking for anything out of place. Nothing seems off, though, so I let my guard down a touch as I enter the hallway. Mom’s bedroom door is open, and the oscillating fan hums inside her room. I dip my head in for a quick peek, relieved when I find her sheets twisted on top of her empty mattress, a few dresses laid out on her floor. I stare at the pale yellow one for a beat, the floral pattern scratching at old memories. My mom took me to church once and she wore that dress. I was maybe three or four, but I can pull the visual of her long, blonde hair and the way the skirt of that dress blew in the wind as she stood on the church steps with me in front of her. The material flapped around me as I hugged her knees. The dress looks more like a rag now.

  I blink a few times and leave her open door behind before slipping into the room that’s technically mine. There aren’t many things worth much in this room, but I grab the few items I can sell from the top drawer of my dresser, like the Oakleys I haven’t worn in a year and the platinum money clip the Judges bought me for Christmas. I let the weight of those things sit in my palm as I hold my breath and make the slow turn toward the closet, pausing at the door to allow a few more seconds to pass to ensure I’m here alone.

  Eyes squeezed shut, I press my empty palm to the door and slide it over, delivering a silent prayer that the money I saw in here last time hasn’t been taken. When I spot the wrapped bundle, I let out an actual giggle, quickly shoving my knuckled fist in my teeth between my grin.

  My heart is pounding and as I lift my free hand to pull the money bundle down, my fingers tremble. I squeeze then flex them to calm myself enough to get through this next part. I thought about this all night long. It’s the solution to everything, and it’s also just and right. I’m only taking the money that’s rightfully mine—the money Colt stole from me. Two grand, and we’ll call it even.

  I kneel down, setting my sellable items on the floor so I can unwrap the money bundle carefully. I pick at the plastic seam with my thumbnail and peel it back, flipping the brick over four times until bills are exposed. My breath hitches at how accessible the answer to all my problems suddenly is.

  Temptation sits in my throat, burning like a swallow of wasabi. Is two thousand so different from three? I could run up to Vegas and get a race this weekend maybe, turn that cash into six and put it back before Colt ever notices.

  A sudden thud behind me rocks me back on my ass and I clutch my chest, expecting a blow to my head. When it doesn’t come, I twist my neck to find the source of the noise, relieved to find the heavy book flat on the ground behind me. Stretching along the floor to reach it, I glance to the space underneath the dresser and am met with a pair of glowing eyes. I abandon the aging copy of fairytales nobody ever read to me and turn my focus on the tiny kitten quaking under the bottom drawer.

  “Hey, little guy,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together softly in an attempt to draw the animal out. He purrs after a few seconds and eventually slinks his way from under the furniture until he’s rubbing along my leg, looping under my knee and crawling on top of my thigh.

  “Yeah, I see how you suckered my mom into keeping you,” I say through a crooked smile. I rub his head with my thumb a few times, my soul quenched by the welcome affection.

  “You deserve better, buddy,” I say, pulling him to my face and touching his cold, tiny nose to mine.

  A faint meow slips out so I set him back on the floor between my legs where he continues to curl into a tighter and tighter bundle until he’s coiled and satisfied enough to shut his eyes. Why couldn’t my mom have rescued something like this when I was a kid? I would have loved to not be so alone in this house. A pet like this would have saved me.

  I indulge in nearly a full minute of kitten cuddling then cut myself off, deciding it’s best I don’t push my luck with the cash. I slip out two thousand bucks in hundreds and rewrap the bundle, slipping the bills in my pocket before sliding the brick of money back in its place. I close the closet, grab my glasses and money clip, and scratch the kitten on top of the head one last time before leaving my room and this hellhole of a home.

  I’m careful to leave everything as I found it, shutting the door quietly and locking it before sliding the planter back to the right to block the door from swinging open. Both Colt and my mom think having an object in the way of the door will deter people from trying to get in. I have my doubts that the kind of people Colt is worried about are deterred by a dead aloe vera plant and some dry-ass dirt in a clay pot, but what do I know?

  Tommy seems anxious by the time I get back to the car, so I stave off the attempt to mess with him and tell him Colt was inside. I don’t mention the cash until we’re on the highway, halfway back to his place.

  “Mind following me to Earl’s so I can drop off the Supra?” My question catches Tommy off-guard and it takes him a minute to realize what I’m implying.

  “You found your money?” he responds, genuinely relieved and happy for me.

  “Well, there was money there, and he took mine, so—” I leave out the important details, like the money I found was wrapped up, ready for a deal exchange.

  “Hey, his fault for not hiding that shit better after stealing it from you, bro. Yeah, let’s go get some tires.” Tommy holds his fist out for me to bump. I do, but an uneasy feeling washes over my insides. Instead of letting it bring me down from this high, though, I block it from my mind and imagine how gorgeous Hannah is going to look in whatever dress she picks out today.

  21

  “Do I get to see your dresses?” my mom asks as Bailey and I clamber into the house with bags on our arms.

  It’s a family dinner night, though I feel nothing like sitting down for one. I’m not much in a position to refuse family time, though, since mom gave me the credit card without lecturing me about my choice of prom date.

  “I suppose so,” I say. Everything about my tone is fake, and my mom can see right through it. Our eyes meet and her brow draws in with apology. If she were truly sorry, she would admit she and my dad were wrong to react the way they did in the first place.

  “I know you’ll be shocked to see this, but . . . I went with pink,” I say, revealing my dress with a flourish as I pull it from the bag.

  “Oh, that’s . . .” My mom trails off, wiping her hands clean on a towel so she can touch the delicate skirt fabric.

  “I know, it’s short. But I swear it covers everything,” I say before she can ask.

  She flits her gaze to me and plasters on her fake, I’m-a-cool-parent grin.

  “I wasn’t going to say that.” Her sing-songy tone says otherwise. “I was going to say beautiful fabric.”

  She runs her hand through the draped skir
ting again, and her smile softens. This is supposed to be one of those cherished moments between mother and daughter. I won’t ruin it if she won’t.

  “I really love the color,” I say, holding the dress to my body and stretching out the side. It’s an empire waist cocktail style dress made of a gauzy champagne pink silk accented with delicate beadwork near the bodice. Thin straps crisscross along the open back, and Bailey managed to find me strappy heels that match it perfectly.

  “Show her yours, Bailey,” I say, wanting to put mine away before Dad walks in and says something to ruin this moment.

  I leave Bailey in the kitchen with my mom and head up to my room to stash my dress deep in my closet. It’s not that I’m hiding it, but I don’t want there to be an accidental viewing by my brother or Dustin, assuming he enters this house again anytime soon.

  As if the universe is spying on my thoughts, though, the familiar growl of Dustin’s car fills my driveway. I rush to my window and push open my shutters, shocked to see the Supra roaring up behind Tommy’s car. With two new tires. Maybe we’ll get to hit the Straights tomorrow night after all.

  I skip down the stairs and pass my mom and Bailey on my way outside, practically leaping across the driveway and into Dustin’s arms as he steps out of his car, a confident grin on his face. He holds me about a foot in the air, then lets me slide down the length of his chest and into his embrace, rocking me side to side as he plants a kiss on top of my head.

  “Well, that’s a pretty great greeting. Not sure what I did to deserve this.” He laughs.

  “Never going to get used to that,” Tommy says, holding up a palm to block his view of us as he walks by. He’s teasing, and it warms my heart to see my brother coming around to the idea of Dustin and me as a couple.

  “Are you staying for dinner?” I say, leaning back in Dustin’s arms.