But I don’t have time to dwell on it, because as Will corners the curve before my house, we’re greeted with the flashing blue lights of a sheriff’s cruiser, parked right between our big maples.
Will slams on the brakes and slows to a crawl.
In the front yard, in fading daylight, a cop guides my sister into the backseat of his police car. It looks like Sammy’s already in there. Mama’s on the porch holding a crying Coby, his face bunched in a tight knot, talking to some lady with a clipboard and a skirt. Daddy’s not around.
Will stares at the crime scene in my front yard. “How about I let you out right here.”
“How about,” I say and step out onto the weed-choked lawn.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’ve got Coby in my lap, trying to get him to eat applesauce. He’s sensitive, always picking up on our feelings. It’s hard for anyone to stay calm with Mama pacing the kitchen.
Daddy shows up around six, coated with grime from his job fixing and checking the train tracks for CSX. The blonde must have been a late lunch break.
“Herman, did you not get my messages?” Mama’s holding back a shriek so the sound comes out funny, like a bleating calf. I watch, waiting for my daddy’s response. For the lie.
“Donna, don’t get your panties in a wad. Left my phone in the truck and the battery died. Nothing more than that.” Daddy heads straight for the jug of sweet tea in the fridge. I watch his face, looking for a tell, a tic in his cheek, anything that might indicate he held a sliver of guilt. But there’s nothing more than my normal daddy at the end of a long day of work.
“My panties are not in a wad, but our daughter is in jail.” Mama’s mottled red cheeks give away her anger.
Daddy’s hand stops mid-reach. Then he goes ahead and pulls out the glass jug, and gets a glass from the cupboard. I watch the amber liquid fall from one container to another. When he rights the jug, the painted lemons on the side of the glass look brighter.
He drains the glass in one long draw and sets it down on the counter. Mama taps her foot and waits.
Finally, he speaks. “Whitney’s in jail.”
He doesn’t even say it like a question. We’ve all pestered, lectured, and fussed, hoping Whitney would see what Sammy was doing to her, to us, to himself. But nothing’s changed. And this arrest? I suppose it’s the thing we’ve all been waiting for.
Mama spills over, talking so fast you’d think the devil was after her words. “The sheriff was here. Said they’d set up some sting operation, undercover or some such, and Sammy and Whitney are suspected of selling prescription medications. Not only that, Sheriff Cliff says he’s out to prove they’ve been breaking into houses to get the drugs. Possession, intent to distribute, breaking and entering. Good Lord, he was naming off charges so fast my head was spinning. They could get up to ten years in prison. And if that weren’t enough, some woman from Social Services shows up here in the midst of it all to see about Coby. Started talking some nonsense about taking him from the home when his grandparents and aunt are right here to take care of him just fine and . . .”
Daddy clears his throat. “You say someone from Social Services was here?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, but I gave her a earful and sent her packing. Poor Coby was in hysterics with all the goings-on. And the neighbors, Herman. All out in their yards, or driving by real slow. I imagine tongues are already wagging all over Sevenmile. I’m surprised Pastor Early hasn’t shown up on our doorstep already to see about us.”
Daddy walks to me and takes Coby, then settles in his recliner in the kitchen nook. “I don’t know what happened to your mama, little fellow. She was the prettiest girl.” Coby tries to grab the CSX pen from Daddy’s pocket, but Daddy takes it back and keeps talking. “Kept that honey hair of hers long to her waist. Boys flocked around my Whitney. She could have had her pick. And now . . .” His voice trails off as he stares out to the trailer at the back of the yard.
“Well, what are we going to do, Herman?” Mama is shrieking now.
“Call old Bud Phillips. Guess she’s gonna need a lawyer. He’ll help us figure out bail. I ain’t worried about Sammy. Let his own folks figure him out.”
I cook up some Hamburger Helper and mash some potatoes. There’s a little coleslaw left over in the fridge so I put that on the table, too. When I reach up to scratch my face, I catch the lingering smell of Will, pipe smoke, and the dirt scent of granite. Up there, the air felt clean. I felt free, like it didn’t matter who I was or what I did. I was like a current in the air, flying, swirling, traveling. From up there, this place looked beautiful, but from down here . . .
“Sugar, aren’t you sweet.” Mama steps through the doorway and kisses me on the cheek.
Daddy piles his plate high and leaves for the big television in the den. I watch him walk away, fighting the urge to run after him, punching. If I were him, I’d be out back loading Sammy’s crap into a pickup truck and driving it somewhere two or three states away. Instead, it’s like he lets Whitney get dragged down.
Mama sits down with a heavy sigh at the kitchen table and picks at her plate.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” And I mean it. Sorry I don’t have the guts to tell her what I know about Daddy, sorry that Whitney’s life is such a mess.
But I’m not sorry Sammy’s been arrested. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into him. Or better yet, maybe Whitney will divorce him.
Mama hugs me. “Lord, child, this ain’t your fault. Your big sister’s just looking for something in all the wrong places. She wanted to find herself but found Sammy instead. She’ll figure herself out. Jesus is going to help her.”
I wish I had Mama’s faith. It’s not that I’m a nonbeliever or even a doubter, but I like to put my hands on the steering wheel. Mama believes Jesus will take the wheel for us.
“Did Coby go to sleep?”
“Yes, the day wore him out. He’s up in your bed. Hope you don’t mind.”
I picture Coby, his golden curls, lighter than mine or Whitney’s, curled up in bed, his sweet-bread smell filling my room. “That’s fine.”
Mama eats another bite or two, then snaps her head up. “Oh, sugar, I am so sorry. In all this I’ve plumb forgotten to ask you how your first day of school went.”
Now there is a loaded question.
I could say, Fine, Mama. This boy I thought was a through-hiker is really a local. Which would be no big deal, except I acted kind of wild in front of him. Oh wait, maybe I am wild now? Because, after school, I had sex for the first time with Will McKinney—you know, Devon’s brother. But it’s not like he’s going to be my boyfriend or anything. He already has a girlfriend. Oh, and on that note, I also saw Daddy riding around town with some blonde in his lap. And I almost forgot, I got written up for swearing and have a day of in-school suspension. So all in all, I’d say it was a blue ribbon day.
Instead I smile and say, “Better than yours, Mama.”
She smiles a weak smile. “That’s good, sweetheart.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Devon.
—Is it true?
Shit. Is he talking about Whitney? Or Will? I don’t answer, and in a few seconds, Devon texts again.
—Is Whitney really in jail?
—What’s it to you? Plan on spreading it around?
So maybe I’m crazy pants for thinking he’d tell everything to Will. But Will and I had never hung out before without Devon, and hardly ever hung out when Devon was there. The worst part is, I can’t tell Devon what happened today. There’s no one I can talk to about it.
—???? What’s with the ’tude?
I text back.
—Look, never mind. It’s true about Whit. I’ve got to take care of Coby. TTYL
Around ten, I hear Daddy’s truck in the driveway. A little later on, Whitney comes into my room and crawls into bed with Coby and me. She smells like cigarettes and her hair looks lank and clumped, like she hasn’t washed it in days. But I don’t say anything, just scoot closer and wrap my arms around her while
Coby nestles between us.
“I love you, Whit.”
She doesn’t answer, but I can feel her tears as they hit my arm. I hope they’re going to lock her husband up for a good long time.
CHAPTER NINE
Turns out Whitney being arrested has given me a perfect cover for acting weird in front of Devon. Normally, he’d notice my silence and my nervous fingers and be all over me. “What’s wrong, something’s up, what are you not telling me?” But today, he just figures it’s because my sister got arrested.
When we walk into the commons, Will is laughing and talking with a cluster of the cool seniors. Amber-o-zia’s standing next to him, hand in his back pocket. Typically, Devon always acknowledges Will and vice versa. I wonder if today will be different.
Will’s playing it cool, though. “Greetings, earthlings,” he says, leaning over to us just as Devon and I walk past. He looks at me and I look at him, and if there’s anything different that passes between us, I sure don’t see it, so I doubt anyone else does either.
Is that how hooking up works? You just do it and then things go right back to the way they were before? I look around at the other girls in the commons. How many other not-special looks have been passed today?
I stand up as tall as I can and walk past him without shame. So I was definitely impulsive, maybe stupid, but I don’t have to fold in on myself.
I stop and turn and cock my hip. “Hey, Will?”
His shoulders stiffen, like he’s worried I’m about to blow his cover with Amber-o-zia. “Yeah?” His smile hovers, waiting.
“May the Force be with you.”
His smile cracks and he starts to laugh. “May the Force be with you, Amber Plain and Small.” Then he winks.
Now I can walk away and hold my head up. Because while he may have used me, maybe I used him, too.
“You are such a geek,” Devon says, grabbing my arm and hurrying me away toward our morning hangout down the hall.
“Whatever.” I’ve told Devon nearly everything for two years, and me and Will falls into the giant news category. Everything about not telling him feels wrong.
So when Kush comes walking up to us, I use it as an excuse to slip away.
“Hey, Devon.” I nudge him and point toward Kush. “I’ll see you later for that program?”
Every year, the first week of school, colleges come and set up tables for the juniors and seniors in the gym. It’s our first year to attend and I’m excited, not only to get a free tote bag and a water bottle, but to see for myself what opportunities are out there that I don’t know about.
Devon swallows and whispers, “Really, you don’t mind?”
“No. It’s cool. I’ll see if I can find C.A.” I push him toward Kush. “Talk to the boy.”
While I’m standing there watching Devon walk away with Kush, Sean walks up.
“Hi, Amber.” He’s wearing a guitar pick on a leather cord around his neck like a necklace.
“Hey, Sean.”
He nods in the direction of Devon. “You going to their game Thursday?”
“Yeah, probably. I try to go to all the home games. You?”
“Yeah. No choice. My aunt Aneeta said I have to stay, she’s going out shopping that afternoon.”
“You can’t go home on the bus?”
Sean looks away, then looks at the floor. “She doesn’t want us home alone unless someone else is there.”
I wait for him to say more. Like why his aunt won’t let them be at home alone. When he doesn’t, I start to head toward class.
He clears his throat. “So, um, maybe I could sit with you?”
“Oh, I have an assembly today, it messes up lunch schedule for juniors and seniors.”
“No. Not at lunch.” He scratches his head. One crazy sprig of hair flops over like a broken cornstalk. “I meant at the game.”
Behind me, I hear Will’s laugh. I want to turn around and find him, but I don’t.
Sean slips his hands into his jeans pockets waiting for my answer.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Sean’s smile is shy and sweet. “See you then.”
On the way to art, I hear a few snickers from a group of girls walking out of the girls’ bathroom. It’s Lila Cliff and her posse. Lila’s only a freshman, but she’s the sheriff’s daughter. She catches my eye and arches her brows. “Hey. Got any oxy?” Then she whispers to her friends and they break into peals of laughter.
This town is too damn small. Everyone thinks they know who you are now and who you’re going to be down the road. I don’t want any of these girls thinking they can get to me, but they do.
Just then, I feel a hand on my arm.
Cheerleader Amber. “Come on, biscuit. Don’t let the gossip girls get you down.”
“You’re a gossip girl,” I say, nudging her with my arm.
“Yes, but I’m one that’s made out of fairy dust and unicorn fur.”
When we step into the art room, the first thing I see is Kush at our table. In my chair.
“Who’s made out of unicorn fur?” Devon asks, lifting his head up.
C.A. twirls. “Why, me.” She puts her hand on her heart, then points to me. “And this Amber, she’s made out of sugar and spice and everything nice.”
“You’re in my chair,” I say to Kush. But Kush is slung back in my seat like he owns it.
Kush pushes the chair back on two legs, balancing against the wall behind him. “And?”
I stare at him, then at Devon. Devon swallows and looks away.
Ms. Thomas interrupts us. “Class, settle down. I need to take quick attendance, then we’re headed to the gym for College Access Day.”
I keep glaring at them, but slump into the chair next to C.A.
Ms. Thomas’s pencil bumps against air as she points, then marks in her book. I have to hand it to her, she’s nailed our names on the second day. When she’s done, she has us line up at the door like elementary school students.
“Really?” I turn to Devon ready to mock her, but he and Kush are talking about last year’s World Cup playoffs and line up like ducklings.
C.A. bounces from flip-flop to flip-flop. Her toenails sport hot pink polish with a Hello Kitty painted on each big toe. “College boys. I can’t wait to go to college.”
“Do you know where you want to go already?” I ask.
“Of course. East Carolina. Cheer squad and an hour from the beach. What could be better?”
I think about it. I’d like to study music. Maybe learn to play an instrument. But neither Mama nor Daddy went to college. I’ve never even been on a real college campus.
Ms. Thomas leads us down the hallway and into the gym. It’s a propaganda center for a bunch of local colleges and universities, from Chapel Hill to NC State, full of tables covered with pamphlets, peppermints, and free stuff that everyone’s scooping into recycled tote bags. It’s unlikely I’ll go anywhere other than the local community college, if that, but I’ll talk to them. Dreaming is free.
C.A. runs off to the ECU table and Kush drags Devon away to the table for a private liberal arts college that he claims has a top-rated soccer team. I wander around until I find a table for a nearby technical college that has vet tech information. I nab some brochures for Whitney. She’ll probably just throw them in the trash, but it’s worth a try.
Across the gym and the crowd of students, I see Will at the East Tennessee State table in animated conversation with a grizzled-looking guy who reminds me of Daddy’s second-favorite country singer, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash being the first. Amber-o-zia’s by his side, looking bored as she holds up strands of her hair and inspects the ends.
I feel a twinge of guilt. Amber-o-zia’s never done anything to me. I could have stopped things yesterday, but I didn’t. If I’m honest with myself, I’d sort of hoped hooking up with Will like that might have knocked Amber-o-zia out of the picture. But is that what Daddy’s blonde thinks about my mama? I put my hands over my eyes and press.
Just as I’m
about to sink, C.A. appears at my side. “Come on, I found the goods.”
She drags me to a booth manned by a blue-haired guy with a lip ring. Kush is standing with him, chatting like they’re old friends.
“Here.” C.A. winks at Blue Hair and scoops up a handful of drawing pencils, sliding them into my bag. “These are free, and this is Troy.”
Kush rolls his eyes at C.A.
“How do you two know each other?” I ask, tilting my head toward Troy and Kush.
Troy goes into sales mode, gathering school literature as he talks. “I used to intern for Kush’s dad when I was in high school. Before I started working for North Carolina School of the Arts.”
“Intern?” C.A. asks.
“Yep. Y’all didn’t know Kush’s dad is a famous potter? Eric Whitson?”
C.A. and I both shake our heads.
“Kush, my man.” Troy mock punches Kush’s shoulder. “You’ve been holding back key information from the ladies.”
“Troy, the stuff these ladies don’t know would fill a lecture hall at NCSA. I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Seems like you have as much time as the rest of us now.” I cross my arms over my chest, tired already of Kush’s digs.
Troy clears his throat.
C.A. grabs my hand. “Amber, you rocked at clay in Art I! Maybe Kush’s dad would let you intern for him.” She glares at Kush. “Then maybe she’d be at the front of a lecture hall at NCSA one day.”
I want to hug her.
Troy clears his throat and holds out canvas-covered sketchbooks for us. “Are either of you considering a future in the arts?”
C.A. immediately grabs the sketchbook. “Maybe.”
“She’s really talented,” I add.
“Are you seniors?” Troy asks.
“Juniors,” we say in unison.
“Well, here.” He digs under his table and pulls out a glossy folder filled with papers. “Do you know about NC-Arts, our feeder school?” He’s still awkwardly holding out my sketchbook.
We shake our heads.
“It’s a public school, just like this one, but focused on the arts. It’s in Winston-Salem.”
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