worn my favorite teal crushed-velvet Doc Martens. Did I mention that it’s only the third week of April and already sweltering? This weather is really not speaking to my footwear choices, but I spend so much energy making sure I don’t stand out that I like to take advantage of wearing a few of my favorite pieces when I’m going places where I won’t see anyone from school.
When I got home that afternoon, Mom was already busy making dinner, and she was in a great mood. I don’t know why and it honestly doesn’t matter, but when Mom is in a good mood, you’re either with her or against her. Which is why she did not take kindly to me attempting to pick a fight with Clem the moment we sat down for dinner.
“How’s my old friend Paulina out in Georgia doing?” I asked.
Clem crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, if you’re ready to talk about this, let’s get it out of the way.”
“I don’t think there’s much to talk about, Clem. We made plans and you changed them.”
She handed me the plates while she put out the forks and knives. “It’s not that simple.”
“Seems like it was pretty simple when you told Mom and Dad and Grammy.”
“And Hannah, too,” she added quietly.
“Oh, so Hannah knows too?” I wasn’t surprised, but I was hurt.
“She’s my girlfriend, Waylon.”
“Yeah, and I’m your twin brother.”
“Did you ever think that maybe there was a reas—” She threw her arms up and shook her head. “You know what? You’re petty.”
“Petty? I’m petty for caring that my sister went behind my back—”
“Enough,” snapped Mom. “I’m not dealing with this tonight. You two have to sort this out.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
“You.” Mom pointed to me. “I’m putting this in a container and you’re taking it to your father.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “After dinner.”
“Nope.” She ducked down to rummage around in her cabinet of mismatched plastic containers. “You eat with your father. Clem and I will eat here.”
My stomach grumbled then at the absolutely perfect moment, but if she could hear, she showed no pity on me.
At Dad’s work site, a few of his employees wave at me as I soldier on to where Dad’s truck is parked with all of his equipment. There are two kinds of trucks: there’s my truck, a truck you can put stuff in and sometimes off-road in, and there’s Dad’s truck, the kind of truck that’s made to survive the apocalypse and roads like this one. Which is why I had to leave my truck with all the other employees’ cars and hoof it up the hill like a peasant. Of course, Mom piled me high with various containers so that the food wouldn’t intermingle until mealtime, so I look like a wayward delivery driver with excellent taste in shoes.
A little farther up the hill, I see Dad hop behind the wheel of some heavy machinery. I balance the food in one arm and wave frantically before he gets busy doing whatever he’s about to do and I get stuck waiting in the on-site office for hours. Not to mention that walking across a work site with him is like trying to get a bride across a reception hall without saying hi to anyone. (I was my cousin Claire’s best boy/too-old ring bearer in eighth grade, and the sheer amount of people who wanted to talk to her made me so tired I could have slept under a banquet table. Also, my aunt Louisa made me wear dress shorts and knee-high socks like a sad British boy-child.)
“Dad!” I call as I step on a rock the size of a fist and lose my balance and all of Mom’s carefully packed food. My feet are sliding and before I know it, my ass hits the ground, which is soft and sharp, and my head is pounding. I’m in the precarious position of my head being downhill and my feet pointing uphill, all the blood rushing to my brain. At least I’ve got a good view of my shoes, which—ugh—are covered in mud.
“Great. Just great.”
Rocks tumble down the hill as someone races over to me. “Are you okay?” the voice calls, and before I know it, Tucker Watson’s head is blocking out the sun above me.
What kind of fresh hell is this?
“Do I look okay?”
He squats down, removing a yellow hard hat and placing it on the ground, before scooping his hand under the back of my head. He hisses a little. “That was a