flowery house-coat, fluffy pink slippers on her feet like it’s the dead of winter, flipping through her magazine, sighing.
She talks about how my daddy left her high and dry and tries to act all chummy with me, like we’re in the same boat. But I tell you, this boat here is a yacht compared to her dinghy. We ain’t the same at all. Jackson loves me, and he is coming back. Sometimes I wish Dog was home more in the evenings instead of being out with his friends. At least when he’s here we just focus on the TV without all the chitchat.
“Stef ’s mom called today. Said Stef and Joie are planning to go to the county fair tomorra,” Mama says. And I know she must know that I declined their invitation, so I don’t say nothing. “Sure sounds like fun.”
I try to act like I’m focusing real hard on the TV, though I haven’t a clue what this show is about. It’s one of them summer pilots of a new series, but I haven’t paid a lick of attention all night.
“All them rides, corn dogs, cotton candy . . . Savannah!” She sits up. “I’m talking to you.”
“I ain’t interested in the fair,” I say to settle her down, but I keep my eyes on the screen.
“Since when?” she shoots back at me.
It’s true. Generally speaking, I’m a pure T sucker for the fair. But this year I just don’t feel like it. I shrug. “Prob’ly won’t be good for my asthma. All them critters and whatnot.”
“That one’s gonn’ come back to bite you on your butt,” she warns.
“You best hope Jackson don’t invite you out to a farm or a rodeo, ’cause you sure ain’t going.”
We sit quiet for a minute, her staring at me, me staring at the TV. “Come on, Vannah,” she says. “It’ll do you good.”
“Why don’t you go?” I snap. “Maybe it’ll do you good!”
“Now that’s enough,” she says.
“How long you been sitting on this couch?”
I can see I done crossed a line by the pulsing of the vein in her temple. She’s going to blow. We square off. I try to look tough and contrite at the same time, which is near about impossible. I reckon I hit a raw nerve.
“Don’t you disrespect me,” she says, looking like I might have chosen the wrong moment to do so. “Maybe you’d like to be on punishment, Miss Sassy. I suggest you go to your room and you can forget about going to the fair or anywhere else or talking to Jackson for the next two days. How’s that?”
Her voice sounds sort of shrill. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when to cut bait. I head to my room, not caring about any of it, except not talking to Jackson. But lately our phone conversations seem awful dry anyhow. Maybe it’ll be good for us to miss each other for a little while.
I take out my journal and doodle images of Jackson. It’s his eyes I fix on, the eyes that draw me in. Can’t hardly find the way to show that special look in them, that look I first saw out at the beach when he smiled at me.
Dog comes busting into the room, just back from his evening out. “Mama’s taking me and Dave to the fair. Too bad for you. I hear you’re on punishment.”
Jackass. I stick my tongue out at him. Very mature, I know, but it seems to suit the moment.
“Mama!” he cries like a two-year-old, “Vannah stuck her tongue out at me.” Then he smiles, all evil.
“Good Lord!” Mama calls.
I put on my headphones, crank up my music, and pull out my current romance, Bedazzled by the Butler . For now, that’s the only escape I got.
14
W alking down the beach, I watch the waves roll in and back out, just like they did the day me and Jackson had our surfing lesson. But today, the waves seem too loud, the warm sand under my feet too hot.
Mama, Dog, and Dave ran into Stef and Joie at the fair yesterday. I reckon I’m an idiot for turning them down in the first place. All this sadness over missing Jackson just makes me grumpy. Don’t nothing seem to catch my interest lately. Mama was so sick of me hanging around the house all gloomy,
She talks about how my daddy left her high and dry and tries to act all chummy with me, like we’re in the same boat. But I tell you, this boat here is a yacht compared to her dinghy. We ain’t the same at all. Jackson loves me, and he is coming back. Sometimes I wish Dog was home more in the evenings instead of being out with his friends. At least when he’s here we just focus on the TV without all the chitchat.
“Stef ’s mom called today. Said Stef and Joie are planning to go to the county fair tomorra,” Mama says. And I know she must know that I declined their invitation, so I don’t say nothing. “Sure sounds like fun.”
I try to act like I’m focusing real hard on the TV, though I haven’t a clue what this show is about. It’s one of them summer pilots of a new series, but I haven’t paid a lick of attention all night.
“All them rides, corn dogs, cotton candy . . . Savannah!” She sits up. “I’m talking to you.”
“I ain’t interested in the fair,” I say to settle her down, but I keep my eyes on the screen.
“Since when?” she shoots back at me.
It’s true. Generally speaking, I’m a pure T sucker for the fair. But this year I just don’t feel like it. I shrug. “Prob’ly won’t be good for my asthma. All them critters and whatnot.”
“That one’s gonn’ come back to bite you on your butt,” she warns.
“You best hope Jackson don’t invite you out to a farm or a rodeo, ’cause you sure ain’t going.”
We sit quiet for a minute, her staring at me, me staring at the TV. “Come on, Vannah,” she says. “It’ll do you good.”
“Why don’t you go?” I snap. “Maybe it’ll do you good!”
“Now that’s enough,” she says.
“How long you been sitting on this couch?”
I can see I done crossed a line by the pulsing of the vein in her temple. She’s going to blow. We square off. I try to look tough and contrite at the same time, which is near about impossible. I reckon I hit a raw nerve.
“Don’t you disrespect me,” she says, looking like I might have chosen the wrong moment to do so. “Maybe you’d like to be on punishment, Miss Sassy. I suggest you go to your room and you can forget about going to the fair or anywhere else or talking to Jackson for the next two days. How’s that?”
Her voice sounds sort of shrill. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when to cut bait. I head to my room, not caring about any of it, except not talking to Jackson. But lately our phone conversations seem awful dry anyhow. Maybe it’ll be good for us to miss each other for a little while.
I take out my journal and doodle images of Jackson. It’s his eyes I fix on, the eyes that draw me in. Can’t hardly find the way to show that special look in them, that look I first saw out at the beach when he smiled at me.
Dog comes busting into the room, just back from his evening out. “Mama’s taking me and Dave to the fair. Too bad for you. I hear you’re on punishment.”
Jackass. I stick my tongue out at him. Very mature, I know, but it seems to suit the moment.
“Mama!” he cries like a two-year-old, “Vannah stuck her tongue out at me.” Then he smiles, all evil.
“Good Lord!” Mama calls.
I put on my headphones, crank up my music, and pull out my current romance, Bedazzled by the Butler . For now, that’s the only escape I got.
14
W alking down the beach, I watch the waves roll in and back out, just like they did the day me and Jackson had our surfing lesson. But today, the waves seem too loud, the warm sand under my feet too hot.
Mama, Dog, and Dave ran into Stef and Joie at the fair yesterday. I reckon I’m an idiot for turning them down in the first place. All this sadness over missing Jackson just makes me grumpy. Don’t nothing seem to catch my interest lately. Mama was so sick of me hanging around the house all gloomy,
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