One day I was watching Berk playing with her friends and not waiting for Bart when Carlene came out of her trailer in flip-flops and her purse she got from Santa’s secret shop at school one year, which I helped pick out, and I thought maybe she was going to the pharmacy to buy a People magazine but instead she walked on over to me.

Like it was normal.

Like she used to do all the time.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I said. Keeping it cool. “You want to sit down?”

She came up. Sat on the railing next to me.

“What ya doin’?” she asked.

I don’t know why I was so nervous because who cares. But I kept shaking and my hands were sweating.

“Nothing,” I said.

She nodded. “Me either. I’m so bored.”

“Yeah,” I said back.

Then she said, “Guess what?”

“What?”

“My dad got in the Monster Jam up at West Jordan.”

I gasped. Her dad, Chip, has a really nice truck that he’s been working on for forever and my dad helped him all the time and even ended up doing the paint job, and he did a good job, I think. It’s got green slime coming out of a leopard’s mouth and says Mama’s Nightmare on the side.

“He got in?” I really felt so excited.

She smiled. “It happened last night. He qualified and he did better than he’s ever done.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said, laughing. “That’s so cool.”

It felt normal to be talking like this. Like everything was normal. I couldn’t count the hours we sat around watching our dads work on that thing.

A car came by and it was Paul the MMA fighter who I still hadn’t asked for martial arts moves and I said, “Watch out for cars,” to Berk and them because Paul is a bad driver.

Then I said to Carlene, “Is he going to win?”

She picked at her fingernails, which were bright pink with snowflakes.

“Probably. And if he does, we’re all going to Vegas. Even Lala.”

Lala was Carlene’s cousin who lived with her sometimes and sometimes didn’t live with her. She has good hair.

I said, “Wow.”

Carlene said, “I could maybe take you.”

I almost choked on nothing. “Really?” I said, trying to keep my voice regular.

She shrugged. “Probably. My dad said it would be a huge party and we could invite anyone.”

“Even me?” I said.

“Sure,” she said.

I hoped she was serious. I hope hope hoped she was serious. I wondered if Tandi would say it was okay. Or if Mom would.

It used to be that sometimes I went with Carlene and her family places, before everything happened with Dad.

Chip could be nice. He always has sunflower seeds and he and my dad would go fishing. Or go to demolition derbys or work on their cars.

He did yell a lot, though.

And her stepmom, Tandi, used to be Mom’s best friend. They both worked at Merry Maids and they would help each other finish jobs. She came over all the time and sat on our counter and drank Diet Coke with Mom and on the weekends they’d color everyone’s hair. Once Tandi did mine blond and Dad, when he got home that night, he said I looked like a siren.

I laughed when he said that. “Like a siren?” I didn’t even know what that was and I told him that.

“It’s somebody who traps boys,” Dad said. “Isn’t that right, LeAnn?”

Mom didn’t say anything but it seemed like maybe this was from another fight. Sometimes they had fights that lasted weeks and weeks.

“LeAnn,” Dad said, “isn’t that right?”

She brought over the Hot Pockets and Berk came and sat down and he said, “Did you hear me?” And Mom, she said, “I heard you.”

And he said, “So why don’t you answer me?”

She shook her head. “Can we just eat?”

Dad stared at her and we all sat there and he said, “Your mom’s just mad because she couldn’t trap anyone even if she wanted to.”

Mom didn’t look at him and I didn’t either and Berkeley was too little.

Finally, he picked up a Hot Pocket and took a big old bite, so then we could eat, too.

No one talked the rest of the night and the next day she and Tandi dyed my hair back to brown and Tandi kept saying things to Mom like, “He’s a jerk. You know that, right? You don’t have to put up with it,” and Mom kept saying, “Shhhhusssh.” And I know it was because I was right there.

So anyway, our families were close. We sometimes, all of us, including Mom and Dad and Berk, would go camping up Rock Canyon or at the reservoir. And sometimes just I would go with Carlene’s family on trips. We once even stayed in Carlene’s grandma’s RV for a week and went to Lagoon and I went on the Colossal roller coaster thirty-six times and Carlene and I slept on the bunk above the driver and ate Skittles all night long.

~

Then everything changed.

~

They always change.

Except right then, Carlene was saying maybe I could come to Las Vegas.

I took a breath, and said a small prayer, which I sometimes do. Then I said, “When is the Monster Jam?”

“Like August.”

“Oh,” I said. “That would be fun. What day in August?”

She shrugged. “The Monster Jam in West Jordan is in June.”

“Oh,” I said. What day what day what day.

Then Tandi yelled for her.

“I have to go.” And she went inside.

~

That night I convinced Mom to stop at the library on the way to the store.

She didn’t want to but I said, “It will take me five minutes.”

So she said, “Fine.”

I ran in. Got on a computer and found out.

West Jordan Monster Jam: June 24.

Las Vegas Monster Jam: August 3.

It only took five minutes but then, when I got in the car, I realized I’d forgotten to look up Steve Fossett, which ruined my mood but only a little.

..............

Dear Dad,

I’m going to Las Vegas! Mom said it’s a good idea and it’s with Carlene’s family because Chip might qualify for the regionals!!!!!! In the truck!!!!! I’m not sure where we’re staying but probably in one of the nice casinos like the Paris or MGM Grand. I can see if they can get an extra room if you want to meet us there or maybe we could pick you up. I bet Chip would want to see you. And Tandi.

I looked it up in our map book and Bryce is only an hour away from the freeway we’ll be driving. You could come to the exit or something. Or maybe they could drop me off at the exit and I could come with you for a little bit. Or we could follow them in your car.

What kind of car do you have now?

We still have the Pontiac.

Okay.

Or you could call Chip yourself. Do you want to call him or should I ask? Just let me know. I know you’re busy so if you can’t it’s okay. It’s in August. I’ll let you know more soon.

Also, that boy Bart has died. He was eaten by a cougar.

I’m going to send this in the mail because the computer is broken. I’ll just address it to Bryce National Park Ranger Station? I hope you get it.

Love,
Liv

P.S. Maybe they have an award for the best paint job on the truck and you’d get a medal or something!!!!!!!

..............