Infuriating - Onley James
About the Author
“What do you mean you don’t get it? Sound it out.”
Dayton stared at the letters until they swam, his brow wrinkled and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. She always acted like it was so simple. Maybe it was. Maybe he really was just stupid. “Cuh-T-uh.”
“Cuh-T-uh?” she mocked. “That sound like any word you ever heard of, Dayton? Use your fucking brain. If you even have one. C-A-T. Cat. Cat. How fucking hard is that?”
Day’s heart shriveled in his chest, and he bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood. If he cried it would only get worse. She got real mean when he cried. “Men don’t cry,” she’d said. Babies cried. Was he a baby? “Sowwy,” he managed, wincing.
His head shot forward as his grandma’s hand connected with the back of his head. “Sah-REE. Not sowwy. Christ. What am I gonna do with you? You’re as stupid as your fucking mama was, but unlike her, you can’t make a living shaking your ass for money, so you better figure it out.”
At least she got away. Day hoped she did anyway. Nobody deserved to be trapped in this stupid, gross house with its icky stained walls and dirty floors and poop everywhere from Grandma’s two yappy dogs that bit his ankles and snapped at his face. He hated it there. He didn’t know why he even had to be there. He had to have a dad somewhere, right? Sarah had a dad. Xander had a dad. Joel had two moms, but they were nice. Why hadn’t his mom at least left Day with him?
Day stared down at his homework, relief flooding his system as he heard the screen door open and shut, his grandma muttering under her breath as she walked away. She was going next door to Jack’s place. She’d be there for a long time. Sometimes, she stayed all night. Day hated being by himself but he loved when she stayed away. He couldn’t use the stove yet, but he had taught himself to use the microwave. But he didn’t have to do that today.
Today was fried chicken day.
Day grabbed his book and flew out the door, running the four houses down to Sarah’s house. He skipped knocking on the door. Sarah wouldn’t be there. She was in the fort. Sarah’s dad was the coolest. He built her a fort at the top of the big tree in her backyard. Sarah’s mama also owned a restaurant in town, and they always had the best food at home.
Day let himself into the backyard, tucking his workbook into his jeans before climbing up the steps nailed to the big tree in the backyard, tapping out their secret knock before flinging open the door. Sarah lay in the corner, putting together a puzzle, her feet swaying as she worked, her black hair plaited along her shoulders in two braids. The tubes that helped her breathe stuck into her nostrils, a small green tank beside her. Sarah was the smartest person Day knew. She was a year older than him but she was two years ahead in school. She looked up as Day came in and slammed the door a little too hard.
One look at Day’s face and she forgot her puzzle. She sat crisscross applesauce in her overalls and a pink t-shirt that matched her favorite pink sequined Skechers. She handed him a plastic container, and Day’s stomach growled. He attacked the fried chicken and mac and cheese with his fingers, ignoring the fork that sat just to his left. Fried chicken day at the restaurant was Day’s favorite, so Sarah’s mama always made extra just for him.
While Day shoveled food into his mouth, Sarah took his notebook and carefully finished his homework, doing her best to make their handwriting match. Sarah thought of everything. Day knew it was cheating and that it was wrong, but the last time the teacher had called Day’s grandma, she’d beat him with a switch from the tree out back. The teacher said he had a learning problem. That things were mixed up in his brain and that there were programs to help. His grandma had beat him for embarrassing her. He always embarrassed her. It was bad enough he talked funny, now he couldn’t read. She’d called him the R word. The one the teacher said they weren’t allowed to say.
When his homework was done and his belly was full, they lay on the floor of Sarah’s fort, staring up past