shook his head and reached for the pile of dishes. "Girls."
Henry, frustrated, silent, went out the front door to the porch and plunked down into his mother's rocking chair. In the distance the mist was thick. And beyond it was Amy. He wondered if she'd come to see him again, after the way he'd explained everything. She probably thought he was some kind of ghost, some kind of liar.
Thinking about Amy, Henry wondered about the future, something he'd never al owed himself to do. It felt selfish. And it felt good. But merely for a moment, and then the familiar ache returned.
Henry rocked in the chair, missing his brother, and missing the person his mother used to be, back before everything had worn her down.
He felt the burden of days heavier than ever. What would have happened to his family if he hadn't intervened that night? What would happen if time moved forward and he went away to war, only to face a fate similar to his brother's? Those fearsome thoughts had tempered everything since the endless summer began. But he'd held them off, storing them in the very back of his mind in favor of keeping everything the same as it was—as safe as it was.
The breeze started up, tickling the leaves on the trees and rustling through the laundry on the line. The now-familiar news report for this day drifted out from Mother's radio as his afternoon began unfolding in perfect synchronicity. Sighing, Henry forced himself back inside the house. Back inside the only life he knew.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It's a party for the football team. Matt and I push through all the streamers and make our way to the kitchen. We're drinking from red plastic cups.
Loud, loud music shakes the house. But then, things go crazy. Cop sirens wail. Kids run and suddenly, the basement seems to be the only safe place.
Matt and I smush into a closet with a bunch of other people. The hiding place reeks of beer breath and sweat and cologne. It's packed in there and Matt faces me. While we wait in the dark for the sirens to end and the noise upstairs to stop, Matt puts his hands on my stomach. In the sliver of light coming from the crack of the door, I can see Matt glance down at where he's touching me.
I start to say something, but Matt covers my mouth with one of his hands. "Shhh," he says, hushing me because of the cops, I guess. But then his other hand moves lower and I start to get nervous. I reach down and try to push it away, try to move back, but Matt holds me where I am.
Matt's hand stays there, too. He's moving his fingers, trying to touch me through my jeans.
Someone behind us giggles like they know. I feel my cheeks get hot and scratchy. Matt keeps touching me. The cops are still upstairs, and I don't want to scream. I don't dare bite Matt's fingers over my mouth. I'm embarrassed. I start to breathe through my nose, sure I will pass out any second.
***
"Amy? Wake up, sweetie."
My eyes adjusted to the darkness of my room. The familiar smel of the trailer greeted me, the cracked-open window letting in damp air and blue-black night. I felt sticky, sweaty, and my heart was pounding.
Aunt Mae sat down next to me on the bed. She patted my clammy hand. "Nightmare. Katie woke me up whining to tel me about you."
I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my T-shirt and sat up against the pil ows. "I was dreaming."
"You were crying out in your sleep," Mae said. She switched on the lamp next to my bed.
I took a deep breath. "Bad dream about before," I said. "About Matt."
"Bound to be some of those left in you. Let's go have a cup of tea."
"No, it's cool. I don't need anything," I said, hugging a pil ow to my chest. I just wanted to go back to sleep, forget the dream, forget the parts of it that were true, the parts that made me feel used and dirty.
"My house, my rules," Mae said sternly.
Wiping my wet cheeks, I got up and fol owed her down the hal to the kitchen, knowing ful wel that tea wouldn't cure anything.
"I'l make us some chamomile," Mae said.
I sat down
Henry, frustrated, silent, went out the front door to the porch and plunked down into his mother's rocking chair. In the distance the mist was thick. And beyond it was Amy. He wondered if she'd come to see him again, after the way he'd explained everything. She probably thought he was some kind of ghost, some kind of liar.
Thinking about Amy, Henry wondered about the future, something he'd never al owed himself to do. It felt selfish. And it felt good. But merely for a moment, and then the familiar ache returned.
Henry rocked in the chair, missing his brother, and missing the person his mother used to be, back before everything had worn her down.
He felt the burden of days heavier than ever. What would have happened to his family if he hadn't intervened that night? What would happen if time moved forward and he went away to war, only to face a fate similar to his brother's? Those fearsome thoughts had tempered everything since the endless summer began. But he'd held them off, storing them in the very back of his mind in favor of keeping everything the same as it was—as safe as it was.
The breeze started up, tickling the leaves on the trees and rustling through the laundry on the line. The now-familiar news report for this day drifted out from Mother's radio as his afternoon began unfolding in perfect synchronicity. Sighing, Henry forced himself back inside the house. Back inside the only life he knew.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It's a party for the football team. Matt and I push through all the streamers and make our way to the kitchen. We're drinking from red plastic cups.
Loud, loud music shakes the house. But then, things go crazy. Cop sirens wail. Kids run and suddenly, the basement seems to be the only safe place.
Matt and I smush into a closet with a bunch of other people. The hiding place reeks of beer breath and sweat and cologne. It's packed in there and Matt faces me. While we wait in the dark for the sirens to end and the noise upstairs to stop, Matt puts his hands on my stomach. In the sliver of light coming from the crack of the door, I can see Matt glance down at where he's touching me.
I start to say something, but Matt covers my mouth with one of his hands. "Shhh," he says, hushing me because of the cops, I guess. But then his other hand moves lower and I start to get nervous. I reach down and try to push it away, try to move back, but Matt holds me where I am.
Matt's hand stays there, too. He's moving his fingers, trying to touch me through my jeans.
Someone behind us giggles like they know. I feel my cheeks get hot and scratchy. Matt keeps touching me. The cops are still upstairs, and I don't want to scream. I don't dare bite Matt's fingers over my mouth. I'm embarrassed. I start to breathe through my nose, sure I will pass out any second.
***
"Amy? Wake up, sweetie."
My eyes adjusted to the darkness of my room. The familiar smel of the trailer greeted me, the cracked-open window letting in damp air and blue-black night. I felt sticky, sweaty, and my heart was pounding.
Aunt Mae sat down next to me on the bed. She patted my clammy hand. "Nightmare. Katie woke me up whining to tel me about you."
I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my T-shirt and sat up against the pil ows. "I was dreaming."
"You were crying out in your sleep," Mae said. She switched on the lamp next to my bed.
I took a deep breath. "Bad dream about before," I said. "About Matt."
"Bound to be some of those left in you. Let's go have a cup of tea."
"No, it's cool. I don't need anything," I said, hugging a pil ow to my chest. I just wanted to go back to sleep, forget the dream, forget the parts of it that were true, the parts that made me feel used and dirty.
"My house, my rules," Mae said sternly.
Wiping my wet cheeks, I got up and fol owed her down the hal to the kitchen, knowing ful wel that tea wouldn't cure anything.
"I'l make us some chamomile," Mae said.
I sat down
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