Basic Read online

  Lindsey was the one who’d posed the question. She was wearing dark shades and an oversized flannel top over a pair of boyfriend jeans. Even in such a simple -and honestly kind of rough outfit- she looked gorgeous. Likewise, Kimberly and Jen were pretty as ever and they smelled like the expensive perfumes my mom always wore on her nights out.

  My self-assurance took a slight nosedive and I silently told myself to stop being silly. These girls were my friends and so was Jonathan. It didn’t matter what I looked like compared to them, this wasn’t an episode of The Bachelor- Sunnyville High Version.

  Besides, Jonathan probably didn’t even see me that way. A few minutes ago, when I’d nearly blurted out how hot I thought he was, he hadn’t seemed pleased, he’d just frowned at me like I’d suddenly sprouted a third arm and told him I was Princess of a Jupiterian moon.

  So, I think that revealed just how solidly I landed in Jonathan’s friend zone.

  The three girls plopped down at our table, their perfume wafting our way.

  I wondered if Jonathan liked the way they smelled.

  I glanced at him and he was looking down at his sandwich, a shy expression on his face.

  My heart sank.

  Yeah, he liked their perfume, and he liked them.

  “We were talking about something Mr. Pruitt said in Humanities this morning,” I said.

  “Oh!” Kimberly said as she retrieved a plastic bag from her jacket pocket. It contained exactly six celery sticks. “You mean when he said the kidnapped black woman’s story didn’t get any airtime on the news?”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said. All three of the girls turned their attention to him and he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he continued, “He was pointing out how racist Sunnyville is, and I agree. When someone goes missing, one of the best ways to get them back is to air a story about them on the news. But when you go missing in Sunnyville, you only make the news if you’re rich and white.”

  “Well, I hope I never go missing,” Jen said with a smirk. She’d chosen the seat right next to Jonathan and as she spoke, she locked gazes with him and made eye contact so intense I was surprised her head didn’t explode.

  I tensed and looked away from the teenage mating ritual.

  Lindsey leaned towards Kimberly and swiped a celery stick from her baggie. Both girls crunched loudly on their veggie snacks and I tried not to be annoyed by the crunching or by the fact that Jen was eye-shagging my unicorn.

  “I think you’d be okay if you went missing,” Jonathan said with a smile. He froze and then blushed as he said, “Not that I’d want you to go missing. That would be terrible. I’m just saying, you fit the description of the kind of girl Sunnyville authorities would break their necks to rescue.”

  Jen licked her lips (which was 100% unnecessary, by the way. I mean, it wasn’t like she’d just eaten a beignet with extra powdered sugar) and kept her eyes locked on to Jonathan’s as she said, “You think I’m rich, don’t you?”

  “Well I- uh…” Jonathan’s voice trailed off and he turned the exact color of a stop sign.

  I shoved the rest of my waffle fries into my mouth and tried to focus on how good they tasted.

  “Lots of people do,” Jen said with a smile. She touched Jonathan’s arm with her recently licked fingers, probably giving him all kinds of germs. “But I forgive you.”

  Apparently rendered speechless, Jonathan just grinned stupidly.

  She delicately rested her chin in the palms of her hands and tilted her head as she said, “I just have great taste in fashion and an after-school job at a consignment store where I get a discount. Top that with the fact that I happen to look a like a ginger Gigi Hadid, and that equals to people just assuming I come from money. But they couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “She lives in a trailer,” I blurted. A half-chewed fry fell out of my mouth as I spoke and everyone turned to look at me. I shoved an unused packet of sauce over the spit-coated fry, hoping to cover it. But as I glanced around the table, I could see that everyone was looking at the fry. I gulped and said, “And her mom eats spam like it’s going out of style. Probably because no restaurants will deliver to their trailer park. Like, last night, we ordered a pizza and it never showed. I’m guessing that’s because the delivery guy didn’t want to get shot.”

  The table went silent and so did my brain.

  Panic flooded my mind and I clamped my mouth shut thirty seconds too late.

  Why couldn’t I have realized the need to shut up before I said all of that?

  My cheeks burning with shame, I lowered my gaze to my untouched salad and tried to think of something -anything- to say that would make up for the ballistic missiles that had just launched themselves from my mouth.

  Jen chuckled and I looked up in disbelief.

  I watched her tilt her head back and laugh without a care in the world. Tossing her long red hair off her shoulders, she turned to Jonathan and said, “See? If I went missing, no one would care.” She touched his forearm again, but this time she let her hand rest there as she continued, “So, if you ever need a buddy to run away with, I’m your girl. And I can bring lots of spam. So, we’ll have food.”

  Everyone laughed uncomfortably.

  Everyone except me.

  I’d never been so embarrassed.

  Jonathan’s facial expression was shy, but his voice was bold as he looked Jen in the eye and said, “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I want to leave town.”

  “You should,” she said in a sultry voice.

  “And if I can eat this,” Jonathan pointed to his sandwich. “I’m sure I can handle spam.”

  Jen slowly ran her hand up and down Jonathan’s forearm as she arched an eyebrow at him and quietly said, “Oh, I bet you can handle a lot.”

  Tearing my eyes away from them, I removed the plastic lid from my side salad, grabbed my fork, and tucked into the lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. Without tasting a single bite, I shoved forkful after forkful into my mouth, forcing myself to tune out their conversation and focus on keeping tears out of my eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  All afternoon, I both dreaded and looked forward to the bus ride home.

  It wasn’t that I had a ‘thing’ for riding the bus, it was more like I had a ‘thing’ for the boy who rode my bus- Jonathan.

  I’d liked my fair share of guys; wherever we’ve moved, I’ve had crushes- but the feelings Jonathan inspired were more intense than usual. And, unfortunately, those ultra-intense feelings had also been the source of my psychotic behavior during lunch.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d said such terrible things about Jen.

  I’ve always prided myself on my discretion. Like, I know, probably better than most people, how to keep a secret. And one of the ways I’ve managed to become such a steel trap of secrets is that I’ve always thought before I’ve spoken

  But that day, at lunch, as soon as I saw Jen touch Jonathan’s arm with her nasty spit-coated fingers- it was like a bunch of synaptic screws in my brain went loose, causing all sorts of misfires, and suddenly I was opening my mouth and revealing my every hidden thought about Jen.

  And to be honest, by some Themysciran miracle, I’d said things that even I didn’t realize I felt.

  Like, I had no idea that I’d actually looked down on Jen’s financial situation until my mouth had opened without my consent and started spewing off a crap stream of hate for her mobile home.

  So, as much as I wanted to see Jonathan and apologize, I also wanted to dig the world’s largest hole and crawl into it, never to be seen again- especially not by Jonathan.

  After the last bell of the day rang and Sunnyville’s students flooded out of the building, headed to their cars and buses, I followed the crowd to the parking lot and spotted my bus.

  My stomach flip-flopping, I took a deep breath and slowed in stride as a I made my way towards the large yellow vehicle, all the while telling myself that I had to suck up my embarrassment, and just apologize to Jonathan for my be
havior. It was the right thing to do.

  But as I stepped onto the school bus and looked at the seat Jonathan and I had shared yesterday, I saw it was empty.

  Five minutes later, as the bus driver closed the doors and pulled away from Sunnyville High’s curb, I was still the only one occupying our seat.

  Partially relieved and yet upset, I turned to the window and watched the other vehicles exit the school parking lot.

  Just as I was settling into my hodgepodge of conflicted emotions, I spotted Jen opening the driver’s side door of a half-rusted two-thousand and forever ago Toyota Corolla. And she wasn’t alone. She smiled and laughed as she spoke to the boy opening the passenger side door- Jonathan.

  I watched them, horrified.

  As we pulled away, the sight of Jonathan and Jen grinning at each other as they prepared to ride home together glued itself to the foremost of my thoughts like a terrible mental image I couldn’t erase. And the horror I’d felt upon seeing them remained deep in my gut, just sitting there like bad food that wasn’t sure which exit to take, making me nauseous and even a little dizzy.

  I took five or six deep breaths and told myself not to cry.

  And somehow, I didn’t. For the entire bus ride home, while all the kids laughed and talked around me, I sat stone-still, looked straight ahead, and focused on keeping my eyes dry.

  After all, it would’ve been stupid to cry over a boy.

  If I’d learned anything at all from my mother, it was that Hollister women didn’t cry over men. Instead, we left them crying over us.

  ***

  I opened the back door to our house and the sound of the television wafted my way.

  I paused in the doorway and frowned. Mom didn’t typically get home until after midnight, especially during our first couple of weeks of arriving at a new place. That was when she doubled-down and scoped out the area for the perfect target. And she liked to work quickly. The faster she found a man to bait and hook, the faster we’d get paid.

  And 3:30 in the afternoon was nowhere near closing time, so why was she home?

  “Mom?” I shouted, hoping a burglar with a penchant for watching television hadn’t broken into our brand new house.

  “Hey, Manda,” she called. I relaxed at the sound of her voice, but rolled my eyes as she said my real name. I really hate my name. Nothing sounds more stiff and old-fashioned than ‘Amanda’ and when you shorten it to ‘Manda,’ I sound like a sausage company.

  “I’m in the den,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  I closed the back door behind me and traipsed into the den.

  Mom was sitting on the floor, her back against the couch with an opened extra-large bag of Cheetos Puffs in her lap. She wore an old dress I hadn’t seen in years- a black, knee-length muumuu that was nearly sheer except for the small pink flowers that had been strategically embroidered onto the material. It was her sole “I’m-Not-Stepping-Foot-Outside-Of-This-House” outfit.

  I’d only seen it three times in my entire life. First, the day I came down with chicken pox and had to stay home for school. That was back when she had a regular job at a bank or something. To be honest, I’m not even sure where she worked. I was so little, only seven years old, that I didn’t pay much attention to stuff like that. I just knew that mom and dad both worked a lot. After that initial day of chicken pox, my dad stayed with me. And, despite the fact that I itched like crazy, I thought I was the luckiest kid in the world.

  I used to love spending time with him. Back then, I had no idea what he was really like. But the truth always comes out...

  Between him and mom, he was the real con artist. He even fooled his own kid into thinking he wasn’t an abusive scumbag.

  Anyway, the second time I saw the black muumuu was the day after Dad left us. I actually saw it two days in a row. By then, I was thirteen.

  Now, I paused at the sight of the muumuu and glanced at the television.

  She was watching a daytime soap.

  I wondered if I’d stepped into an alternate universe.

  “You took the day off?” I asked.

  She smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. The New Orleans job gave us plenty of wiggle-room and to be honest, I’m a little tired. I figured I’d chill for a minute and then jump back into the game.”

  I watched her grab a handful of Cheetos Puffs and stuff them into her mouth.

  She somehow managed to do this without getting any of the orange stuff around her mouth; a talent if there ever was one.

  She waved me over, “Don’t just stand there. Come watch some trash with me. Have you ever seen one of these shows? Please tell me you haven’t. Because if I raised a child who watched this garbage, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “No.” I smiled and shrugged off my backpack as I walked over and made myself comfortable on the floor beside her. “But remember when I was little and you used to get your hair done at that place, Minnie’s Beauty Salon, every Tuesday afternoon?”

  Mom nodded, her pretty eyes sparkling as she chuckled. “That’s right. That gross little rinky-dink shop back in Jackson, Mississippi. Those little old ladies loved to watch ‘their stories’ while they gossiped about everyone in town and did hair. That was forever ago. I’m so glad I never have to see that dump again.”

  She handed the bag to me and I hesitated.

  Was this a test? Did she want to see if an excess of Cheeto Puffs was the reason for my sudden weight gain?

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

  She grinned and patted my shoulder, leaving an orange handprint on my black blouse. “Good for you, Manda.”

  Even as a surge of pride welled up in the forefront of my brain, something in my heart tipped over and fell into my stomach. While it was nice to pass one of Mom’s unexpected little tests, I wished she wouldn’t treat me like one of the men she preyed on. As if I were just some stranger to be tested instead of a daughter she could chill with.

  I pushed my feelings aside and rested my head against her shoulder.

  It was bony and uncomfortable, but it would do.

  “You don’t even miss Jackson a little?” I quietly asked.

  “Are you kidding?” she snorted. “Of course not.”

  She crunched away on her Cheetos and my mouth watered at the sound. I wished I could have just one.

  She stopped crunching and turned to me. “Do you?”

  I took a beat to think about how honest I should be.

  I hated my dad, which meant I hated memories of living in Jackson. But I also missed him and I missed our old life in Jackson. I knew that made me a terrible person, especially considering everything he’d put Mom through.

  Well… to be fair, I’d never actually seen him hit her or even so much as yell at her. But after he left us, Mom told me what used to happen behind closed doors. Apparently, every little push, shove, and slap had culminated to the day he’d lost it and beat her until she’d passed out.

  I knew this.

  And yet, I still missed the feeling of knowing someone would be home for me to talk to after school. Most days, that person had been Dad. And when I was with him there were no ‘tests,’ no criticism of my weight, or my choice of friends or my choices in general. There was just the two of us talking about random things and cooking together – back then the kitchen in our house was for more than just aesthetics. It was a part of our home that had meaning.

  “No,” I lied. With this, I lowered my gaze to the beige carpet Mom hated and said she would have ripped out and replaced if this house had been a place we intended to inhabit longer than six months.

  Mom laughed. “Manda, I know when you’re not telling the truth. Remember how I’m pretty much a human lie detector?”

  “Okay, okay. Fine,” I grinned. “Maybe I do miss it a little.”

  “Well, sugar plum, you shouldn’t.” Mom gave the top of my head a kiss. “Never look back, keep moving forward. That’s our motto, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mom returned to crunchin
g on her Cheetos and I watched as an anchor with thick, black hair that looked suspiciously like a toupee introduced the 4:00 evening news.

  “Look at that guy’s hair,” Mom said with a laugh. “Holy cow! Why’d they let him on television looking like that?”

  I started to laugh too, but all of a sudden the image on the screen and the words of the toupee-wearing anchor caught my attention and chased my laugh out of existence.

  The little yellow house that Kimberly and I went to after the fire was on screen. It looked even shabbier than I remembered, its paint peeling like it had the world’s worst case of sunburn and the screen on its front door practically falling off its hinges.

  I bit down on my bottom lip and listened hard as the anchor said, “Also coming up in this hour of news, a local charity receives an incredible donation from an anonymous angel.”

  The image of the shabby house was replaced by a close-up of a smiling woman who wore a bright yellow shirt that said, “Angel’s Den.” The woman was ecstatic as she looked into the camera and exclaimed, “Whoever donated this money is a real angel. They’re going to allow us to help countless women and children who don’t have anywhere else to turn. If you’re watching, thank you!”

  The clip of the woman faded as the anchor moved on to a tease about the upcoming weather forecast.

  But I hadn’t moved on. In my head, I could still see the woman’s bright smile and hear her saying, “If you’re watching, thank you!”

  My heart was pounding and I felt almost light-headed.

  The woman’s thank you was meant for us- for me and Kimberly.

  As guilty as I still felt about what we’d done to Chickens, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the surge of pride that rolled through my veins like some kind of drug.

  “Local news is so boring,” Mom said, picking up the remote and aiming it at the television.

  I put my hand on top of hers. “Wait. Can we watch it?”

  She looked at me with an arched eyebrow. “Since when do you watch news?”

  I thought quickly.

  “I want to see toupee guy so we can make fun of him,” I said with a grin that I hoped was convincing.