I give her a bewildered look and she hands me a brown paper bag. It looks like Arissa’s lunch bag yesterday, but this one has my name on it. I glance back at Rose.
“Lunch,” she says, still smiling.
I open up the bag. Egg salad sandwich, grapes, and carrot sticks. Tears well up and I hug Rose. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Arissa told me about your lunch yesterday. Did you eat breakfast?”
“Yes.”
Rose gently places her hand on my face and her expression turns serious. “Anytime you need something, ask me. Okay?”
I nod, swallowing the emotions stuck in my throat. “Okay.”
No one has been this nice to me. Ever.
“It’s going to be a fun year,” Jason says as he sits down next to me at lunch.
“Really? What’s going to make it fun?” I ask.
“I’m going to try out for the basketball team and you girls are going to come to all the games and cheer me on!”
“I think you’re counting your chickens before they’re hatched,” Arissa points out.
“Whatever do you mean, Jericho?” he asks with feigned naiveté.
“I mean, one, you have to make the team and two, you’ll have to bribe us to come to the games just to cheer you on.”
He clutches his chest, “Oh! You wound me.”
I laugh. “You asked.”
“So what form are the bribes to take?” he asks.
“We’ll let you know once you make the team,” Arissa replies with a wink.
Jason nudges me with his elbow. “What would it take to bribe you, Parker?”
“A good book,” I answer without thinking.
“What makes a good book?” he asks, shoveling some unidentified protein into his mouth.
“Any book that makes you escape reality.”
They raise their brows at me.
Crap. They make it so easy to drop my guard. Even if I just met Jason yesterday.
“I mean this world is full of terrorists, school shootings, and murders. It’s nice to read something that makes you forget about it.”
They look lost in thought as if it never occurred to them.
“Deep, Parker,” Jason says. “Very deep.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Father storms into the backyard from the house, his face red and scrunched up, interrupting my break. I scramble to stand before he reaches me. He snatches my upper arm and yanks me to my feet.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He drags me into the house and into his room, then throws me on the bed. My heart beats frantically against my ribs.
He takes some of his work shirts out of the closet. “You didn’t iron these!” he yells, throwing them on me. He takes out the rest of the shirts and throws them on top. “Iron them all!”
I don’t protest; it would only make it worse.
Since my lie about slipping in the tub passed without question, he stopped caring about whether my bruises were visible or not. Arguing with him means inciting a beating. A beating I prefer to avoid.
“Worthless!” he shouts, storming out of the room.
I push the shirts off me and onto the bed. I re-iron and hang them carefully to prevent wrinkling. Then, I finish the yard work.
Yelling overwhelms me when I open the sliding glass door and I hide. I don’t want to get caught up in their fight just for walking by.
“Give me your credit cards, Tibby!”
“Go to hell!” Mother screams.
“Give them to me!”
“No!”
Their faces are red as he lunges for her purse. She moves too slow and he jerks the purse out of her hands, thrusting his hand inside and digging out her wallet. She swipes at the wallet, but he holds her off with the other hand. He manages to unfasten the clasp and dig out the cards he demanded of her with one hand. He makes a beeline for the kitchen with her at his heels like a child trying to reclaim her confiscated candy. He cuts up the cards and she falls to the ground, gathering up the pieces as they drop.
“I don’t work all day for you to spend it all,” he snaps.
She stands, her chin jutting out, and spins in a huff. He follows her to the bar where she grabs a bottle of scotch and hurls it at him, still clutching the credit card snippets in the other hand. He steps to the side and barely misses getting hit. The bottle crashes into the kitchen wall, sending broken glass flying and amber liquid trickling down the wall. Father stares at it before turning back to Mother with his lips pressed tight and his fists clenched.