maybe things were broken that we didn’t see. Either way, you and I are going to have to stick through this raw end of the deal. It’s our senior year, Hayd. Senior fucking year. I’m not going to let them ruin that for me.”
I move back into the garage and drop the ball at my feet, stopping its bounce with my foot and nudging it into the corner. I pick up my beer and hold it out to my brother on my way inside the house.
“You shouldn’t let any of this ruin your happiness either, man.” I take one more drink to toast my worthless wise words. Hayden’s eyes stay on me the entire time, full of skepticism. I turn my back and head toward the garage door into our mudroom. When I pull the door wide, Hayden hits me with one more of the thoughts he just can’t stop processing in his head. This one is super fucking unexpected.
“You’re cool with me and Abby, right?”
I grip the door knob hard enough that my veins define in my forearm and grind my back teeth together.
“Yeah. I mean, if you’re into her. Whatever, dude. Good for you, pff.” I speak over my shoulder so I only have to pretend with half my face.
He doesn’t respond, but I’m looking his way enough to catch the smile and nod. I leave it at that, letting the door fall shut behind me. I give June and Lucas a quick nod good-bye as they get ready to leave, and I keep my truth contained all the way upstairs, not letting it go until I step into the shower and practically drown myself in the spray of water falling from the nozzle. I let it fill my mouth over and over again, and I growl through it a few times while I know Hayden’s still outside. Eventually, his music kicks on in his room on the other side of our shared bathroom, so I keep my show of frustration to the quiet kind, resting my palms flat on the wall and bending my head down low enough that the water cascades around my neck and face, blurring away any expression that remotely resembles jealousy. It takes me forty minutes to wash my feelings down the drain, about how long as it takes to run this house out of hot water.
4
Abby
There are a lot of reasons why December is my least favorite month.
One: It’s my birthday month. The fifteenth. Right smack in the middle of the Christmas countdown, and usually in the middle of Hanukkah, which means I’ve never really had a birthday party with friends, and my presents from my relatives have become lump sums of cash that encompass both Christmas and birthday gifts in one.
Two: I hate being cold, and December in Indiana is gross. It’s also often wet. My hair takes work to turn haphazard corkscrews into soft waves. December makes it all a moot point. December is for ponytails and buns.
Three: December is when my dad left. He left my mom with a mountain of debt. He left like a coward in the middle of the night. He left without warning, after a lot of years of ugly fighting. He took off before I got my first big commercial deal and modeling contract. When I did, two years after being off the radar, minus divorce papers and a virtual court appearance, he showed up with flowers and balloons for my birthday. More like he showed up with bribes, thinking he could win me over and become my manager. It’s been one messy custody battle ever since. I’ve only had to visit him once in Miami, two years ago. In December.
Today marks the first day of the worst month on the calendar. December can suck a dick.
“Thanks for driving.” June picked me up for school today in her mom’s van. My car needs tires and my mom won’t let me drive until I get new ones. Dad won’t pay for them, which is part of their agreement, even though I have plenty of cash saved in my accounts.
“That’s not the point,” my mom keeps saying.
I don’t know, though. Kinda feels like the point is I need tires and have found a way to be self-sustaining. I’m almost eighteen, and I plan on calling my own financial shots soon.
“It’s nice getting to drive. I miss my car, though. The minivan doesn’t really scream cool,” June says as we pull into our usual spot at the