her bottom lip before approaching us, her eyes slashing through my father. “And he keeps it all inside—just like you. No emotion. No conversation. Constantly living a half-life because both of you are afraid to feel.”
Her words strike deep. Too deep. So deep, the need for crazy emerges like a shark circling its bleeding prey. “Sounds like I inherited the worst of both of you and I got the bonus of a jacked-up pancreas to boot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find out if I fucked up my kidneys.”
I push past Dad, my shoulder hitting his and when I get a few steps away, he calls out my name, but I keep walking.
Abby
Rule number four: there’s no such thing as downtime—just another opportunity to make money.
Dad was pretty adamant about that one. Said it several times. He also used to tell me that the best thing about parties was the people watching. Second-best—is having fun while working overtime.
Dad had fun at these things. I used to, but I can’t find much joy in it tonight. Especially since the reason I’m here is because I’ve been summoned by Ricky.
In a motion so slick because I did memorize it, I meet Evie’s palm, accept her money and replace it with a joint. Places and people like this prefer premade to baggies. I don’t make as much money per person as I’m not selling in bulk, but I do nicely with how many people think they need what I have to offer and the markup I add for rolling.
I only do neighborhood parties, only sell to those I know. As always, I’m picky about who I sell to, but most everyone here has more to lose by getting busted than I do.
“Thanks, Abby,” Evie says, and I only nod in response. She disappears into the shadows of the thick crowd. Evie’s an honor student and not from this neighborhood. She was there today, at school, interviewing with colleges. Can’t help but wonder why she chooses here as her place to blow off steam.
The abandoned lot behind the strip mall and to the right of the Section 8 apartments is alive tonight. Someone even went fancy and strung up Christmas lights from metal poles crushed into the gravel. Music pounds from the open doors of a loaded-down-with-speakers Ford Explorer.
A long time ago, my father used to bring me here. I’d peruse the crowd, no fear of anyone hurting me, in search of someone else my age. I was Mozart’s daughter and no one touched me.
When I found another kid, we’d run and run...playing tag, playing hide-and-go-seek, and once I met Isaiah, he became my partner in crime.
I kick the heels of my feet against the crumbling concrete half-wall trying desperately to not miss Isaiah. Missing him is a cold feeling. Hollow. Doesn’t ache as much as losing Logan, but still, it’s not an emotion I like.
My cell pings and my soul twists at the sight of Rachel’s name: Physical therapy sucked today. My legs hurt and the therapist accused me of pushing myself too hard.
I shouldn’t have texted Rachel back. Shouldn’t have given her the opening, but I was one of the few people she’d admit her pain to after the accident. Might be the only person she admitted her pain to at all. It’s because I told her one night when she was in the hospital when it was just the two of us that my mother was a heroin addict and that the thought of her sometimes hurts me physically. From Logan’s reaction, she never told anyone. Not that I expected Rachel to spread gossip about me. Rachel is the secret-keeping-forever type of friend.
Me: I miss you, but this is how it has to be. Don’t text me again and don’t push yourself too hard. You have time.
I don’t have time. The boys won’t bring me to you because they have all inherited the crazy gene and I need to get behind a wheel of a car so I can find you and make you see how stupid you’re acting. You need us now more than ever.
Rachel definitely owns a pair. Very few people have ever dared speak to me the way she just did and it’s reasons like this why I decided she would be my best friend. I frown and my stomach twists along with it. I’ve lost my best