She heads to the cooler. Comes back with a Dr. Pepper. Snickers bar. Sets them on the counter in front of me. “Please don’t say anything.”
“About what?” I ask.
“About me going off my diet. I’m sick of boring food.”
“Why would I say something? You’re perfect.” I can’t believe I just said that. Grandma snorts next to me.
Melody smiles. “Well, thank you, Logan. That’s sweet of you to say.”
My cheeks heat up. “So, um, where’s Hannah today?”
“With Mom. I needed a break.” She gets a panicked look on her face. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good baby. I love her to death. I just—”
“I get it. No need to explain.” I finish ringing her order. “Three twenty-four.”
She hands me a five-dollar bill. “Seth called last night.”
“Yeah, he texted me about an hour ago. Seems like he’s having a good time.”
“I hope not too good.” She winks.
My heart flips. I hand her the bag.
“Well, see you later,” she says.
“Yeah. See ya.” I stare at her as she leaves. Get a blast of courage. Know I’d better act on it before I change my mind. “Grandma, do you mind—”
“Go ahead,” she says with a smile.
I run after Melody. Catch up to her on the other side of the pumps.
“Hey, Melody?”
She stops walking. “Shoot, did I forget something? I’m always leaving things behind.”
“No. I just wanted to … I wanted to ask if you want to hang out sometime.”
“Hang out?” She narrows her eyes.
“Maybe go for drive. Dinner. Something.”
“You mean like a date?”
I’m too embarrassed to answer.
“You’re only eighteen.”
“So?”
“And you’re Seth’s best friend. You’ve been hanging around the house since you were five. You’re like my brother. My kid brother.”
I feel like she just slugged me and patted my head at the same time. Even so, I don’t want to give up. “I’d look after you. You and Hannah. I wouldn’t leave you. I’m not like Josh Becker.”
She reaches out and touches my arm. Her eyes are full of pity. “That’s sweet of you, Logan. Really. But I’m okay. I don’t need looking after.” She glances toward the road. “I’d better go.”
I watch her for a moment. Then head back to the store.
CHAPTER 18
The last hour of my shift drags. I find myself glancing up at the mirror a lot. Looking for shoplifters, I guess. Every time I look, I catch sight of myself. I’m always frowning. Like that guy at the T-Rex station. I wonder if I’m growing frown lines already.
Bev and Alex finally replace us.
I drive Dad home. Pull into the driveway.
“It’s Friday,” he says. “Are you going out?”
I look at him, surprised he remembers what day it is. “No.”
“When I was your age, I was out every Friday and Saturday. Your mom liked to dance. I was always driving us up to Tucson. El Paso. Las Cruces.”
“Really?” I had no idea. He never talks about his past with Mom.
He opens his door. “Great times.”
Maybe his meds are kicking in.
I watch him. Make sure he gets into the house okay. Then I grab the mail from the box. Give Jethro water and food. Go in through the back door. Dad’s at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.
“What do you want for dinner?” I ask.
“Aren’t we going next door?”
“I don’t know. Are we?”
“They invited us. Dad’s trying out his new grill.”
“Are you sure? You know how he is. It takes him forever to get the coals started. We won’t be eating until midnight.”
“It’s a gas grill. I want to go.”
“Well … okay. Want a snack?”
“Not now. I’ll get something if I need it.”
I go to my bedroom. Sit on the edge of my bed. Get out my phone. There’s no one to call. I don’t want to text Seth again. He’s got better things to do. I think about Melody. I was such an idiot, imagining she’d ever be interested in me. I hope she doesn’t tell Seth. I’m ashamed enough as it is.
I look through the mail. Bills. Ads. Nothing from Mom.
Something Brooke said pops into my head. She’d asked if I’d ever gotten Mom’s side of the story. Did I know for a fact she didn’t care.
Of course she didn’t care. A caring mom would never leave us. I’ve never doubted that. Not for a second. That’s why I haven’t opened her letters. Because no matter what she’s written in them. No matter what excuses she’s given. I won’t believe her. And I’ll never forgive her.
It’s also a fact I’ve never thrown a single one of her letters away. Why? That makes no sense. It’s stupid.
I open the drawer. Grab the envelopes. There must be thirty cards and letters. I carry them outside. Take the lid off the trashcan. Dump them inside. Slam the lid back on.
I’m quiet at Grandma and Grandpa’s that night. They ask for details about my “vacation.” I tell them a partial truth. That I drove to Oklahoma City.
“Oklahoma City?” Grandpa says. “Why on earth did you go there?”
I shrug. “Never been there before. Wanted to see it.”
He shakes his head.
We finish eating. “Logan,” he says. “Will you come help me clean up?”
I follow him to his new grill. He starts scraping off burger gunk. “Isn’t she a beauty?” he says.
“It’s nice.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, ever since graduation. It’s about the store. We want you to be a part owner.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Then when we die you’ll own it outright. Not that we plan on doing that anytime soon.”
I hate thinking about anything happening to them. “What about Dad?” I ask.
“We’ve set up a trust fund for him.” He glances at me. “This is only if you’re interested. Running that place is a lot of work. A big responsibility. You’re tied to it day and night. Every day of the year.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” He sighs. “You have options, Logan. Don’t agree to this because you think you have to. You know I keep bugging you about seeing your mom.”
I roll my eyes.
“There are colleges in Tucson. Opportunities. People your own age. Ferris has never been a big place. But when I was young, it at least had a little more to offer.”
I shake my head.
“Just think about it.” He points at some dishes. “Take those dirty things into the kitchen, will you?”
I sleep like crap that night. Watch Dad closely Saturday morning at breakfast. He still seems pretty good. “Did you take your meds?” I ask.
“Yeah, I took them.”
I tap my spoon against the edge of my cereal bowl.
“Something on your mind?” he asks.
“I was thinking about going for a drive today.”
“You just got back from a drive.”
“I know. I’ll be here tonight before bedtime. I promise.”
I call Grandma and Grandpa. Tell them the same thing.
“Where you going?” Grandpa asks.
“Out.”
He hesitates. “Okay. Have fun.”
I don’t plan on it.
Jethro whines at me through the fence.
“Not this time, doggie. Sorry.”
I get on I-10. Head west.
CHAPTER 19
I memorized Mom’s address a long time ago. It’s on all of those envelopes I just threw out. I know exactly where she lives too. I found her house the first time I drove to Tucson by myself. Now, every time I’m here I drive by her place.
The small yard is full of cactus. Even a twenty-foot saguaro. I’ve wondered if that’s why she chose this place. She remembered taking me to that par
k. How much I loved the cactus people.
Sometimes I just drive by. Other times I park across the street. I don’t stay long. Don’t want to see her or her to see me. I’m not sure why I come. Maybe I want to imagine what her life is like. Grandpa says she hasn’t remarried. She works at an elementary school.
Right now there’s a car in the driveway. A small white one. A ding in the back fender. I’m guessing it’s hers.
I sit in the pickup. And sit. Ten minutes. Fifteen. It’s so hot. I’ve got the air on. I need to make a decision soon. I think about what I might say to her. The hundreds of questions I need to ask. No, just one question.
Why?
I shake my head. No. No way. I can’t do this. I reach for the ignition.
A movement catches my eye. Someone’s walking out of the house. She stands on the porch. Hands at her sides. Staring back at me.
It’s her. It’s her. She looks the same. Exactly the same.
My eyes fill with tears. Damn it. Where did they come from? I quickly wipe them away. She looks. Waits. Waits for me to make a decision.
Oh God.
I open the door. Get out and cross the street.
I start at the community college in two weeks. I’m nervous about it. Brooke crossed my mind when I had to declare a major on the enrollment form. She’d said I like to take care of people. I guess I do. So I chose psychology. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll change to business. Take Grandpa up on his offer. Run the store some day. If nothing else, the college is swarming with people my age. Including girls. Lots of girls. It gives me hope I’ll find someone.
It was a rough couple of days with Mom. Me shouting. Both of us crying. Even if I don’t agree with what she did, I think I at least understand. She and Dad hadn’t been getting along. She wanted to move out of Ferris. Get a good job. Get me in a better school. They fought about it all the time.
Then the accident happened. She felt guilty. Thought it was her fault. Said she felt like she was about to explode. Thought I’d be better off with my grandparents instead of her.
“I was a mess,” she said. “Not fit to be your mom or your dad’s caretaker. It took me a couple of years to straighten myself out. By then you were too angry to let me back into your life.” She took a deep breath. “I never stopped loving you, Logan. And I never meant for you to take care of your dad. I thought your grandparents would do that.”
I had to admit, that’s what Grandma and Grandpa had expected too. I just stepped up. Took it all on myself. Thought that was my job. Or maybe I was just angry with Mom and that was my stubborn way of showing it.
Once I got the anger out of my system, Mom asked if I wanted to stay for a while. See if we could get to know each other again. I agreed and worked it out with Dad and my grandparents.
Now I split my time between Tucson and Ferris—three days with Mom, four with Dad, working at the store. When school starts, I’ll work and stay with Dad on the weekends. He’s doing pretty good. Getting used to the change in routine. I think he’s better off without me hovering so much. Has to do more on his own, including feeding Jethro. I’ve had to learn to let go of my old routine too.
It’s early morning. I’m in the pickup driving east on I-10, heading for Ferris. The Geronimo’s Last Stand billboards start showing up. Yeah, they’re lame, but they make me smile.
I pull off at the exit for the store and park in the back. My phone dings. It’s a text. And a photo.
The photo is of Brooke, a smirking smile on her face. She’s wearing a blue cap. The one I gave her from the store with Geronimo on the front. The text reads, “Greetings from treatment in Oklahoma City. It sucks but I’m ok. One of these days I’ll thank you for real.”
I laugh. Text back, “Glad you’re ok. You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 1
Convoy’s house reeks. I could get high just standing in his living room. I look around while he’s filling my order. Hundreds of plants on makeshift sawhorse tables. Grow lights. Fans. Classic hard rock thumping in the background.
I’ve been here a few times. It’s still impressive. He’s got an outside grow too, hidden under the redwood trees. Or so he tells me. The location is secret. He doesn’t want people ripping him off.
“Here you go.” Convoy emerges from a bedroom. He hands me a paper sack. With his long beard, fat belly, and overalls, he looks like Santa Claus. Or maybe Santa Claus’s grungy brother.
“Thanks.” I take it from him.
“Almost trimming season,” he says. “Want a job?”
“Maybe.” My friend Eric told me trimming pays good, but it’s tedious. And I’m always worried about getting busted. There’s a California medical certificate tacked to Convoy’s living room wall. This is clearly more than what’s legal. I’m nervous. “So, see ya,” I say. Then I head to the door.
“Hey, Diego,” he says. “Got a minute?”
“Not really.”
“Come on. I want to show you something. You’ll appreciate this.”
I take a breath. I want to leave. But I’m curious enough to say, “Okay. A minute.”
I follow Convoy’s wide butt down a long hallway. Turn to the right. He stops in a small room pasted on the back of the house. That’s typical for the old houses around here. Lots of add-ons. What’s not so typical is what’s in the room. Beakers. Bunsen burners. Scales. Chemicals. I glue myself in the doorway. Don’t want to get any closer.
“What is it?” I ask, although I have a good idea.
“Meth.” Convoy grins. “I’m branching out.”
“Is it safe?” The lab looks sloppy to me. Like it could blow up any second.
He shrugs. “It’s safe if you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t you make enough money with weed?”
“There’s never enough, son. I’m supporting an ex-wife and four kids. Anyway, how much more trouble can I get into?”
He has a point. But now I’m even more nervous. “I have to go.”
“I’ve got some ready,” he says. “Nice quality.” He pulls two tiny bags from his pocket. White powder sparkles inside. “Try it. Give one away. Let me know what you think about it.”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure? It will sell itself.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just … I’m not into it,” I say.
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
I’m out of there. Convoy’s pit bull and Rottweiler follow me down the front steps. I forget their names. I’d pet them, but I haven’t figure out if they’re friendly or just pretending. I shove the bag of weed into my backpack. Ride my bike down Convoy’s gravel driveway to the dirt road.
It rained this morning. The road is muddy and slick. Redwood trees tower over me, filtering out the sunlight. It takes all of my focus not to slide and take a header.
A mile later I reach the paved highway. The emerald forest turns into pastures. I ride past dairy farms. Sheep farms. Goat farms. The cheese factory where my aunt works. Into the town of Seton, where cows, sheep, and goats way outnumber people.
I park my bike next to our duplex. Lock it to the gas meter. I want to keep the bike in my room, but my aunt births a cow (heh) when I get mud in the house.
I head straight to my room. Rummage in the corner of my closet. Toss shoes and my soccer ball off the old wooden toy box. Slide it across the floor. Pull the sandwich bags and scale out from under a stuffed tiger and an old Xbox. Convoy bought the scale for me. After I explained my aunt and dad would not understand why a seventeen-year-old needed a scale.
I set a clean sheet of drawing paper on the floor. Carefully measure out several one-ounce bags. I like this part. It’s like a meditation. Weigh weed. Seal weed in sandwich bags. Layer bags in toy box. It gives me time to think. Not always a good thing. But I do it anyway.
I think about Convoy and his new meth lab. Seems like a risk, but what do I know? He’s right. He’s already in major trouble if he gets busted. He’s also right about meth selling itself. Lots of kids at school us
e it. Adults too. People who buy my weed often ask if I can get meth for them.
But no. No way. I’m afraid I’d like it. Get hooked. Anyway, I don’t need a lot of money. Just enough to support my weed habit. Buy a few art supplies. Save for tuition to art school.
My phone dings. It’s a text from Tanya. “U home? I’m alone XOXO <3”
I text back, “Cool. See u in a few”
My task done, I set aside two bags. One for me, one for Tanya. I put the remaining weed and scale in the bottom of the toy box. Put the toys back inside. And return the box to the closet. Layer the shoes and ball on top. Close the door. Shake the scraps of weed from the drawing paper onto joint paper. Add more from my baggie. Roll it. Stick it in my pocket.
I walk down the block to Tanya’s apartment. Give her a freebie bag. Sit on her bed. Smoke the joint. Get blissfully high. Listen to a new song she downloaded. Talk about stuff. Laugh. Eat pork rinds, the only snack food in her family’s kitchen.
I sketch Tanya’s portrait on the inside cover of her notebook. I love how her dark brown hair curves in this perfect arc around her cheek and under her chin. And she gets this pouty look that’s sexy and evil and innocent, all at the same time. I hold the drawing up for her when I’m finished. “What do you think?”
She stares at it. “You made me into a cartoon.”
“Well, yeah, what else? But it’s a good cartoon, right?”
She takes the notebook from me. Studies it. Slowly smiles. “It’s awesome. I look like Cat Woman. Or Batgirl. I’m fierce!”
Fierce. That’s it. I lean my head against the wall. Take a deep breath. Life is good.
Then I make the mistake of telling her about Convoy’s meth lab. Her eyes grow wide. “He’ll start you off for free,” she says. “Can you get me some?”
Then we argue. And life isn’t so good.
I walk home, my high wearing off.
About the Author
M.G. Higgins writes fiction and nonfiction for children and young adults.
Her novel Bi-Normal won the 2013 Independent Publisher (IPPY) silver medal for Young Adult Fiction. Her novel Falling Out of Place was a 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Awards finalist and a 2014 Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA) Quick Pick nominee. Her novel I’m Just Me won the 2014 IPPY silver medal for Multicultural Fiction—Juvenile/Young Adult. It was also a YALSA Quick Pick nominee.
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