Reclaim - Aly Martinez Page 0,5
when my Neanderthal cousins had come to our house for a weekend. Coincidentally, the very same fight I’d lost.
Yet, I was the one who’d gotten sent to my grandparents' house for the summer in what had to have been the family equivalent of boot camp. Yeah. Made perfect sense.
“Camden!” Grandpa roared again.
I didn’t let it slow me. He was going to be mad no matter what I did. At least this way I could get some space to clear my head before listening to an hour-long lecture on what a screw-up I was.
When I’d finally made it through the grass, the toe of my sneaker caught on the pavement. The height of my athleticism was my ability to sometimes remain upright. If I’d really thought about it, that was possibly my biggest problem of all. My dad, a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound former college athlete who had worked at the papermill since he was old enough to sign the back of a paycheck, was not the type of M-A-N who had a kid who tripped. It didn’t matter if the sidewalk was broken, cracked, and a total safety hazard. I was Camden Donald Cole’s son; I should have been born with hair on my chest and a football in my hands.
Instead, I liked books, science, and taking apart old electronics just to see how they worked. That last one would have been great if I liked putting them back together. Fixing shit, as he called it, would have been a worthy hobby for his son. But the tedious process of finding parts and making repairs wasn’t nearly as interesting to me. I did it sometimes though because I could sell whatever clock, radio, or DVD player I’d been working on to make enough to buy more books, supplies for my science experiments, or more junk to pry apart.
Mom used to help me sneak stuff into our garage when Dad wasn’t looking. She wasn’t all too thrilled about having a scrawny klutz for a son, either, but she was much more tolerant than my dad, so we got along okay.
Grandpa continued to yell from the porch, but I kept going. The destination didn’t matter as much as getting the heck out of there, but when a brightly lit sign from the grocery store appeared at the end of the road, it felt like a beacon guiding me home.
Grandma had made liver and onions for dinner. It was exactly as disgusting as it sounded, but I’d managed to hide the majority of it under my rice and green beans. With my worm money burning a hole in my pocket, I headed inside for a Coke and a candy bar. My parents would have shit a living, breathing turkey if they knew I was eating junk while I was gone. But, hey, that knowledge would only make the Snickers that much sweeter.
I was still perusing the drink cooler, debating between Coca-Cola Classic and Dr. Pepper, when I heard her voice. It was quiet and shy, not at all that of the rude girl from the creek.
“Oh, um… I thought it was going to be three ninety,” she said.
Leaning to the side, I peeked around the cooler. Long, brown hair, tie-dyed tank top, and muddy white canvas shoes.
Nora Stewart in the flesh.
And wasn’t that just fan-freaking-tastic.
Groaning, I sulked back behind the cooler with hopes that she wouldn’t notice me. She was already checking out, so with some luck, I could avoid her completely.
“You gotta account for tax, honey. It’s four seventeen,” the clerk replied.
“Dang it.” She sighed. “I always forget about tax. I, um, well… I only have four dollars.”
My eyebrows shot up. That was impossible. She should have turned a crazy profit for the day. I’d dumped almost ten bucks in worms at her feet before I’d stormed off.
Which, by the way, was not my smartest financial move. But, fine, I wasn’t great under pressure. She was bratty—albeit cute—and had gotten me all flustered asking questions and I hadn’t known what else to do. I’d regretted it pretty much immediately, but I’d been too proud to go back. Especially after I’d almost busted my butt on an old stump in the ground.
Curiosity killed the cat, and I once again leaned around the corner.
“Can I put something back?” She crinkled her freckled nose as she took inventory of her purchases: a loaf of bread, the tiniest pack of ham I’d ever seen, a bag of chips, and pack of watermelon gum.
I twisted my lips. My parents