Whatever Life Throws at You by Julie Cross

own spotlight. I can’t remember much from when I was really little, but I remember Dad taking me to school on my first day of kindergarten.” And I remember the teacher going all wide-eyed at my mismatched clothes and messy hair. My mom never has a hair out of place. “She wasn’t around then. He’d just tell me she was working. I figured it out eventually.”
    “But you had Grams?” He idly flips through the pages of my book again.
    “We moved from Texas to Arizona right before middle school so Grams could live with us. She was already having problems, early Alzheimer’s, and my mom’s brother, my uncle, wanted to put her in one of those homes run by the state, but Dad wouldn’t let him.”
    I miss those days when Grams was lucid more than not. Now it’s like she sleeps too much, and she doesn’t ever have a grasp on reality. I don’t tell Brody this, but I really want a few hours with the real Grams. Even though I’m happy Mom’s out of the picture, I want to ask Grams about her before she started running from us. Like when she was my age. What was she like? I could have asked Mom on her last visit, but she’s not a reliable source. And I’d ask Dad, but I’m a little bit afraid that she was a better person back then and if he remembers that, he’ll never be able to let go.
    “Grams is your mom’s mom?” Brody’s face fills with surprise. “She’s not related to Jim?”
    “Correct.” I pick at the fuzzy material of my comforter, keeping my eyes down again. “He still loves her. I don’t get it. It’s like he thinks he can’t do better. Sometimes I think he wants to stop having those feelings, but then she shows up again.”
    His brows rise. “So they’re like, together when she visits…?”
    “Oh yeah,” I say. “And then when she leaves, he’s a mess.”
    “That’s fucked up. Especially with his leg and everything. I can’t believe she screws around with him like that.”
    I nod my agreement. “Literally and emotionally.”
    “Sorry,” he says quickly and returns to picking at the book again. “It’s none of my business.”
    Truth is, I don’t mind telling him these things. A few weeks ago, I would have been annoyed, considering how we loathed each other, but I know he’s just curious and he’s not going to judge Dad. Besides, it feels good to talk about it, especially because lately so many things that confused me about my life and my parents are starting to make sense.
    Brody pulls himself upright and leans his head against the headboard. “Okay, ask me something and I’ll answer it, it’s only fair.”
    We both know what I want to ask him— ex-convict, ex-convict, ex-convict —but I chicken out and go for an easier question. “Are you Italian?”
    He laughs and shakes his head. “Why would you think that?”
    “You’re dark,” I say.
    “My mom’s Hispanic and my dad…” He pauses, biting his lower lip and glancing over at me. “Well, I’ve never met him but my guess is he’s as white as you are.”
    “Do you think he knows that you’re playing baseball?” And yes, I’m dying to ask if he’s in jail, but ever since that night when we dangled our feet in the London’s pool and I offhandedly asked him if his family had come to the game, I’ve wanted to find out those details even more than the indiscretions. Okay, maybe not more, but equally.
    “No idea.”
    “What about your mom?”
    “I don’t think she knows either. She gave up on me when I was sixteen.”
    My eyes widen. “She gave up on you? Were you like homeless or what?”
    “Let’s just say, I caused her a lot of problems. She probably did the best she could.” He shakes his head, like he doesn’t know what to believe. “I wasn’t homeless. I got a job, dropped out of school, and crashed at friends’ places.” He picks up a strand of my hair and twirls it around his finger. I can’t feel his touch but just this small gesture makes me realize how much I’d like for his hand to