and scratched the back of his neck. “Um…I heard how much you like movies. I was wonderin’ if you would like to go with me to see Brando’s new—”
Before I knew it, I held the butcher knife in front of his face.
“Ai-yee!” he yelled. His hands went up in the air again, and he started to back away.
“What’s wrong with you, boy?”
“What the—?” Jock’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes got so wide I thought they would roll out of his head. I never expected somebody as tough as Jock to look as scared as he did at this moment. Especially with me.
He gasped and turned around so fast he fell. He left the house running at an incredible speed. My heart was beating and sweat appeared on my face within seconds. I started to cry. The thought of going out with a regular boy made me sick.
“That was real nice.” Mr. Boatwright entered the kitchen clapping his hands, his housecoat dragging the floor.
“I—I thought you were asleep.” I dropped the knife and folded my arms, then wiped my eyes and nose with the sleeve of my gown and took a deep breath. It had been over a month since my last sexual encounter with him. He had come to my room while I was still asleep that morning and was on top of me before I could wake up good enough to put up a fight.
“You thought wrong.” He walked over to me and ran his hand along the side of my face, then he kissed me on the lips.
CHAPTER 24
It had been an hour since I pulled a knife on Jock in the kitchen. I was still in a foul mood when Scary Mary barged in without knocking. With her was a tall, reddish brown–skinned girl with curly brown, shoulder-length hair, a crooked smile, and the strangest-looking eyes I’d ever seen. Her clothes were stylish and cute, but cheap. Scary Mary’s seventeen-year-old foster daughter couldn’t have arrived at a worse time.
“Y’all, this here is Florence Belle. My gal,” Scary Mary said proudly, brushing the girl’s hair off her face. “Florence, this here is Annette and Brother Boatwright. Now you better mind Brother Boatwright just like you would me. Don’t sass him, and do everythin’ he tell you to do. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl said in a low voice. I could tell from the look on her face, she didn’t like hearing that.
“Johnny just left my place. I told this girl here to call him Uncle Johnny like all the rest of the young’ns around here do,” Scary Mary said, looking at me. “It makes him feel good.”
Mr. Boatwright was on one end of the couch with a can of Strohs beer in his hand and a scowl on his face that had increasingly become the demeanor he presented. I was on the other end wringing my sweaty hands because I had just argued with him long and hard enough for him to lose interest in fucking me a second time that night.
“Hi,” I managed, barely opening my mouth. I was too flustered to offer the girl a smile. I noticed Scary Mary’s eyebrow rise, and she gave me an exasperated look.
“God sure is good,” Mr. Boatwright stated, bobbing his head, jumping up from the couch. He strolled over to the girl and hugged her so hard she frowned. I just sat there glaring at him. “You ’bout our gal’s age, ain’t you?!”
“I’ll be eighteen in November.” Florence smiled shyly. Then she looked at me just sitting there like I was paralyzed. “I hope we can be friends.”
“Me too,” I muttered, still unable to smile. My peculiar behavior puzzled Scary Mary.
“Annette, you all right? You constipated?” she asked with concern. She was looking at me so hard I could feel it.
“I’m gwine to spoon her a dose of castor oil before she go to bed,” Mr. Boatwright croaked. “I bet it’s all them crunch bars she gobble up that that busy Rhoda be cookin’ up all the time.”
“I am not constipated,” I insisted, rising. “I’m just a little tired.”
“If she spent less time runnin’ amok, she wouldn’t be so tired—”
“I don’t run amok, and you know it, Mr. Boatwright!” I snapped. I had never behaved so badly in front of a stranger before, and I was ashamed of myself. I gave Florence a pleading look, and she nodded knowingly.
“Now that’s the very thing I done just warned you about,” Scary Mary told Florence, shaking her finger