Stomping up the porch stairs, I rip open the front door to face Asher.
“What’s your problem, sis?”
I shove past him without answering.
“Holy hell, Bug, you smell terrible.” He laughs and leaves the house, his sneakers hammering on the wooden steps.
***
It takes me until after I’m done showering to figure out why I am so mad. I tug a comb through my thick hair and blame Hunter for leaving. He comes home for one weekend and just bosses me around.
There’s a soft knock, and I don’t say anything. I have brothers. They do what they want no matter what I say.
Hunter presses open the door and gives me a sheepish smile. I glare, but I can’t stop a small smirk from tugging at the corner of my mouth.
I wave him in, and he closes the door behind him. Lowering himself to the floor beside me, he nudges my shoulder with his.
“You mad at me, Bug?”
“I’m always mad at you. You’re my brother.” My smile widens as he takes the comb from my hand and starts to work it through my hair. He used to brush my hair when I was little because I didn’t have a mother to do it. Hunter takes care of people. He takes care of my dad, the farm, Emma, the twins...me. Then he leaves. He does everything for all of us then leaves.
Everyone leaves. That’s why I’m mad. It’s stupid, and I hate feeling this way, but I can’t shut it off. Hunter left.
A sob gets stuck in my throat, and I push it back down. I breath in the hurt. It’s not worth it. I have my memories. Plastered on my bedroom walls are photos, ribbons, medals, all the memories. All perfect. All mine.
“I know what you’re thinking, Gracie, and it’s not true.” Hunter’s eyes pull at everything inside me I try to hide. He knows what I feel before I do. He’s the only one.
That damn hippie girlfriend of his. No, it’s been like this forever.
“I don’t believe you,” I mumble, and he stops brushing my hair.
“I’m not leaving you. No one is leaving you. Mom didn’t leave you. She left us, Graceland. All of us. I would never leave you. Not like she did.”
I force back the tears that burn and again have to swallow the hurt. I nod, and Hunter pulls me in for a quick one-armed hug.
“The day will come when you have a chance to get off the farm. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take it. I know you’d be lying.” He nudges me again and winks.
He’s right. I would. I'm trying. Why else would I need my license so bad? I’ve already made the appointment to take the test, and I don’t even know how to drive yet.
“Fine,” I say through a smile.
Hunter pats my cheek and stands up, holding out his hand. I let him pull me up and into a hug.
“You’re the best mom a girl could hope for.” I laugh into his chest, and he shakes me.
“Thanks, kid.” He kisses the side of my head quickly and turns to leave, pausing at the door. “It’s noon. Do you really need to start getting ready now? It’s just the Kick-Off, and you’re gunna be gross by the end of it anyway....Oh, and Also, I might let the twins give you birthday bumps this year. Just a heads up.”
“I retract all former praise of your mothering,” I say, shaking my head. Plus the twins won’t dare, not with the dress I’ll be wearing.
Hunter laughs and shuts the door.
The Summer Kick-Off is like a big town barn dance. It happens every year around my birthday. Sometimes they’re the same day, but not this year though. This year they had to bump up the date because of some Rodeo thing, so technically I don’t turn sixteen for just under two weeks, but my family always celebrates my birthday on this night. It’s one of the best memories I have. When I was twelve, everyone in town sang for me, I danced with Dermott O’Hale, and he was a good dancer. He’s also a good kisser. He was my first kiss, and it was perfect.
CHAPTER 8
Bentley
I’m so sick of being perfect. No, not actually perfect but expected to be so. Bentley McKinna, the poster child. The heir to an empire, the next in line of fake royalty. I don’t want any of it. I toss my cell phone into the air a few more times before I read the text again. I’m over my initial shock that my mother has actually learned how to text, and now I’m just pissed. She hasn’t stopped sending me the same message repeatedly for days. I stab out her number and tap my foot on the porch railing. Leaning forward on one hand, I look out over the Holloway farm. It’s quiet. So quiet. All I hear is the ringing of the phone.
It clicks as she answers.
“So have you come to your senses yet, Benny?” My mother’s smooth high-pitched voice sounds. I can hear a faint tone of irritation, but she’s keeping it cool, which means there are people there. Faking it.
“Hi, Mom.” I turn quickly and lean against the porch railing. My voice is just as smooth as hers, as I have learned from the best.
“Well?” She breathes out loudly.
“Well, what?”
“Are you coming home, Bentley? Are you giving up on this hippie ‘finding yourself’ journey and ready to do what you’re obligated to do?”
I grit my teeth just as the screen door slams, and my head snaps up. Gracie stops to look at me with a scrunched up expression. She looks like I just caught her running away. I probably look guilty of something too, the way my eyebrows are raised and my mouth’s open to yell at my mother.
“Benny? Are you still there? Jesus, answer me. I don’t have all day.” My mother’s voice comes from the speaker, and I clear my throat.
“I, uh, can’t talk right now.” I tap the end button. My mom hangs up on me all the time, so I don’t feel even a little bit guilty. We only have to pretend when we’re in public.
“Where are you off to?” The way Gracie’s dark eyes widen and she swings her arms behind her, hiding the object in her hands, I know she wasn’t expecting me. She looks over her shoulder then back at me.
“Who were you talking to?” Her eyebrows come together. Smiling, I shake my head.
“I asked you first.” It’s amazing how difficult this girl is. Her over-confident smile and intense stare have given way to a surprised girl who’s hiding something, literally, and I intend to figure it out. Not that I need more hiding or more games in my life, but she’s proving to be irresistible. She pulls at me like no one ever has, and it’s getting harder to keep acting like I don’t notice her. Standing near her slows the spinning confusion in my head because I’m focused on her. That both scares me and makes me want to stand closer yet.
Gracie grabs my forearm, pulling me from my thoughts, and looks over her shoulder once more. I try to follow her eyes, but she takes off down the porch steps, pulling me with her. We round the corner of the huge house before she stops and presses her back against the wood paneling. Her chest rises and falls with fast breaths. She turns to me with this expression that makes me want wrap her up in me and never let her go. Her eyes gleam with pure trouble, reflecting mischief and adventure. Her lips pull into a genuine smile that would bring anyone to their knees. She digs her nails into the skin of my forearm just as the screen door slams. I look behind me then back to Gracie. I’m confused. She pulls her other hand out from behind her back, and puts her finger to her lips. She’s holding a small, leather bound book in her hand.
Moving forward again, she crouches to pass under the windows until we duck behind the house.
“Gracie? What’s going on?” Concern coats my voice, which is very strange for me. I’m usually good at locking that up.
“Can I trust you?” She leans into me, and I step back until my back hits the wall. God dammit. I feel like I’m 'the girl'. I even press my hands against the panel so I don’t touch her.
“Uh, yeah.” What am I supposed to say? I’m on her farm in the middle of an ocean of corn, soy, and hay, I’m not sure why I would be untrustworthy.
“Then chase me.”
She starts walking backwards, and my head is clogged with a giant cloud of confusion.
“Wha
t?” The word comes out crooked, if that’s even possible, but I have no idea what she’s doing. She keeps walking backwards, away from the house.
“You wanna know where I’m goin’, you’re gunna have to chase me.” That smile is back. The real one. The one that has trouble written all over it. The one that’s going to get me into trouble. That accent, pure and smooth but filled with twang. I’m beginning to think this is the girl she’s hiding from.
“Chase you? To where?”
“Well, if I told ya that, Bentley McKinna, it would ruin the chase.”
And with that, she turns and runs. My feet are stuck to the ground as I watch her. Her hair streaming out behind her, her long legs pushing forward.
Like something jumpstarts my brain, I snap out of it and take off after her. It doesn’t take much to catch up. I am what some might call a gym rat. Appearances, and all. Part of my job.
I’m soon keeping pace with her, but she knows the farm better. She doesn't lose speed as she crosses an open space between two huge tractors, but I have to slow down so I don’t break my leg. She makes a sharp left and skids around the corner of a small run down barn. My chest is heaving, but she stops and turns, her face as smooth and relaxed as if we were just standing around chatting. Her hands are on her hips and her shoulders hunched forward.
“What was that all about?” I point behind me then to her.
“This is my spot. No one knows about it.” She steps over to the old barn. It’s obviously not used anymore.
“It looks like it’s going to collapse.” I scan the warped boards with paint peeling and flaking onto the tall brown grass that is taking it over. The building has a severe lean that suggests it should be burnt to the ground.
Something flickers across Gracie’s face resembling sadness but is shoved back into wherever she stores her emotions.
“Eventually everything collapses. That doesn’t mean you just abandon it.”
She turns on her heel and moves to the far edge of the barn, leaving me dumbfounded. Somehow, I don’t think she’s talking about the barn. She kicks a large rock to the side and squats down on her heels. Pushing a big thick wooden board to the side, she gestures with her head to go in. I wonder why we don't just use a door, but a quick glance to the side reveals a thick chain and heavy padlock. I move to the opening and shove through the small space. Gracie’s almost as tall as me, but I’m twice as wide so she slides through with much more ease. The wood panel slams closed.
“Gracie, why are we here? I thought you needed all day to get ready for this dance thing?”
Gracie steps past me into a slit of soft sunlight that illuminates her face, and it distracts me. She’s absolutely stunning. Where I'm from, I see hot girls everywhere, but as I watch her smile at me, with not a stitch of makeup on, I realize I’ve never before seen a beautiful girl. Her dark eyes are endless, and the longer I look, the more I catch glimpses of what she’s hiding. After a few moments, she shifts her gaze to the dusty straw-covered floor and bites at her bottom lip. Her hair is twisted messily and pulled over her shoulder. Her worn sweatshirt is stretched and ratty and hangs off one shoulder. Her jeans are loose with one thumb hooked casually in the pockets, the mysterious leather book still clutched in the other hand. Right now, at this second, she looks real. Authentic. Like this is the girl hidden beneath the attitude, the manipulation, the forwardness. This uneasy girl who chews on her lip and avoids eye contact breathes a new life into me that I know won’t last. Because this isn’t the Gracie that the world sees. I was not supposed to be standing on that porch this afternoon. I’m not supposed to be here.
I shouldn’t want to be here. This is how it always starts with me.
A short laugh brings be back into focus.
“Oh, my brothers will believe anything. They think I take forever getting ready. It takes me ten minutes to put makeup on. It’s just easier to make them think I’m in my room getting ready because then they don’t bother me. Really I just come here. And, I have no idea why I just told you that, but here you are.”
She steps past me and to a ladder in the center of the room. It goes up to a loft. She scales the thing like a pro, and I fully enjoy watching.
She pokes her head over the side of the loft.
“Well, ya comin’?”
I laugh. Archer was right. It’s going to be tough to keep up. I pull myself up the rungs of the ladder and crawl across the wooden floor to a futon mattress that lays on the floor. I point at it.
“Don’t even ask. You don’t want to know. That’s why there’s three sheets on it.” Gracie laughs, and it’s full and real. I’ve heard her giggle, squeal, and flirt, but I haven’t heard this one before and it tugs at something in my chest. Genuine laughter. When was the last time I’d heard it?
Gracie flops down beside me and leans across my lap to push open a broken window. I’ve never really been a ‘hair’ guy, but as a few loose strands brush across my bare arms, I think I could convert. She looks at me as she leans back, that forced sexy look, then shifts backwards until she’s leaning against the decaying wooden panels. She flips open the leather book and pulls her knees up, setting the book on her lap.
“Is that a journal?” I ask, watching her eyes flick back and forth. She looks up at me and laughs a short curt laugh.
“I have three older brothers. Do you think I’d be dumb enough to keep a journal?”
I lay back on the old dusty mattress and put my hands behind my head. She looks down at me and her eyes travel me quickly before her bronze cheeks flush so slightly I would have missed it if I wasn’t so damn hyper aware of her.
“I’d never read my sister’s journal.”
“Well then, you’re a good brother. The twins wouldn’t just read it, they’d photocopy it and hand it out to their football team.”
I think back to my run in with Archer in the kitchen. I don’t think she realizes just how much her brothers would do for her. I think about arguing, but she’s not really the type to be argued with.
“So what is it then?”
She’s silent for a while, just watching me, thinking about something with zero emotion on her face. She’s almost as good as me.
“It’s my mom’s. She wrote poetry and songs. I keep it and come up here to read it.”
Now it’s my turn to be silent. I don’t really know what to say so I say this, “Do you write songs?”
She nods lightly. My body shifts on its own with discomfort. This is too familiar. Too much like all the others. I sit up, suddenly itching to run. It figures that I come this far from home and still I end up in the same place.
“Something wrong?” Her voice sounds uncharacteristically concerned, and I shake my head, struggling to keep my expression calm. Moments ago, I’d have spilled everything if she asked, but now this is the last place I want to be.
“I’m fine. But I’m gunna take off. Let you finish doing…whatever you’re doing.”
I don’t look at her as I move to the ladder and climb down. She doesn’t make any sounds. The air is suddenly sticky and hot. I need to take a shower.
Once outside, I do what I do best. I run.
CHAPTER 9
Graceland
I haven’t seen Bentley since he went all lockdown on me in the barn, but as I run my hands down the soft, silky, white fabric of my dress, I easily push him from my mind. I get a new dress every year but, Dad gave me extra money this year because of my 16th birthday. This dress is even better than the blue sundress. I fluff the thin material that reaches mid-thigh and know Dad’s going to give me the look. One of the benefits of not having a mom is that I get to buy what I want because Dad doesn’t want to check to see if it fits properly. I’ve been with Lacy as her mom pokes and prods her, tugging on everything to make sure it fits.
My brothers think everything looks ‘slutty’ on me, but they’re perfectly okay with the girls in their class showing it all.
“Yeah, but you’re a sister.” Archer would say. To which I’d
reply, “She’s a sister,” and get a smirk with the retort, “She ain’t my sister.”
Boys. Nothing but double standards.
There’s a knock at my door, and Asher sticks his head in not half a second later.
“Dammit, Ash. What if I was naked?”
He wrinkles his nose and looks me up and down.
“You practically are naked in that thing. Anyway. We’re going in ten minutes. Ten minutes, Bug. I don’t give a shit if it’s your birthday. Be ready.”
I flip him off, and he leaves.
Running my fingers through my hair once more, I let it fall down my back and head out the door. I pause and look back at mom’s journal. My birthdate.
When happy is sad/and fear swallows joy/when life is thrust upon us/the imperfect glares/it’s all around, all around/it never leaves, it’s always there/the only time it ever fades/is when I’m alone/with the air/under the dusty sky
She wrote it the day I was born. I move quickly to my bed and toss the book into my closet, slamming the door. Technically, it’s not my birthday yet, but I still shouldn’t be thinking about the poem.
“Graceland Marie!” Archer yells from downstairs, but I can’t stop staring at my closet door. I read that poem every year on my birthday. That poem is about me. About how she didn’t want me. How I’m her imperfect.
But it’s been another year. More changes. I’m not alone. I’m never alone. And everything is always perfect.
***
Dad glares at me as I try to climb into his huge truck with my dress. I glare right back at him. He looks different. His hair has a little bit of product in it and looks like the sandy version of Hunter’s short messy look.
“Graceland. What are you wearing?” His voice wobbles with the inexperience of being the stern parent.
“Daddy?” I scrunch my nose as I fully take in his new look. “What are you wearing?”
Dad’s face goes the entire color spectrum before he looks to the road and puts the truck into gear. The twins are snickering in the back. Hunter, Emma, and Bentley must be going in Hunter’s truck.
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