The next day went by and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

Trashy.

Loser.

Gross.

Girlfriend.

Ugh.

Berk and I did our usual routine and no Bart and no nothing.

I didn’t feel like eating the maple bars Delilah brought us and when Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson stopped by the tramp to say she’d teach me how to sing some songs because I’d asked her about that a while back because I thought maybe I’d go on The Voice and at first she’d said she had no time but now she said she would do it but I just said, “No thanks.”

She put her hand on her hip and got a look on her face. She was wearing a turban on her head.

“I will not offer again, young lady.”

And I looked at her face. She had thick black glasses and wiry hairs coming out of her chin, but she was kind of pretty in an old lady kind of way.

I wondered if she was trashy and gross.

“No thank you,” I said again.

Berkeley said, “I will.”

And Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson said Berkeley’s voice wasn’t mature enough yet.

And then she left.

I sort of regretted saying no to her because then I’d get to see the inside of her trailer firsthand and because of The Voice but I also didn’t regret it because I felt like throwing up.

We sat on the tramp.

We read our books.

We ate our stupid sandwiches.

I watched Grant and Bob walk around. Grant was trying to fix something on his car and swore.

And Berkeley yelled, “That’s a bad word” and I wished she would just be quiet but Grant looked over and said, “Did you say something?” and Berkeley said, “That was a bad word,” and Grant laughed and said, “Sorry, I’ll try to watch my language,” and Berkeley said, “You really should,” and then he laughed again and then burped, which I thought was kind of rude.

I also knew for sure Bart was a liar. The FBI would have no interest in someone like Grant.

So that’s how the week went.

Boring and nothing.

Except Paul did show me two MMA moves called the Double Leg Takedown, which I tried out, and Paul said, “Dang girl,” because I was actually pretty good at it, and also the Spinning Back Fist, which I need to practice.

And I got a job taking out Wanda and Jerry Smith’s garbage each week for a dollar because Jerry, who usually does it, twisted his ankle at Petco when he was trying to clean out the cat cages and Wanda doesn’t leave her house.

But other than those things, boring. And nothing.

The weekend was even worse.

On Saturday, Carlene and Bonnie were giggling on Carlene’s front porch and I came out and said hi.

And then they both stopped laughing and Bonnie said, “We have to go,” and she took Carlene’s hand and they went inside.

I could see them go to Carlene’s room through the windows and they turned on music and they were probably going to the mall soon.

I wondered if Bonnie was invited to the Monster Jam.

Mom and Berk were inside.

We were supposed to go swimming at the rec center later but I didn’t feel like it.

Delilah came by in her jogging outfit even though she doesn’t jog and she said, “What’s troubling you, hon?”

I said, “Nothing.”

And she said, “Don’t look like nothing.”

So I ignored her and went and sat on the tramp.

Then I got off the tramp.

Then I walked to the KOA to see if anything was going on there.

Nothing.

Except a couple sitting on a picnic table feeding each other doughnuts, which made me feel like barfing all over them.

Dad didn’t have a girlfriend.

No way he had a girlfriend.

I walked back.

Nobody interesting was on the trail and it was Little League practice at the fields; not that I cared ever who was over there except for one time there was a family reunion and they brought a band that played Taylor Swift and I liked it.

Blah.

Nothing.

So I sat on the tramp and knew in my whole life nothing was ever going to happen and I was going to rot and die.

~

I thought that, but I also thought how deep down in a place between my intestines and stomach, in a small little pocket, a voice was telling me that someday I’d see Bart again.

That he’d come.

That he’d understand.

That he was different like me.

That we both had big ideas and were going to big places.

Not to give up.

And I said, “I don’t even care about him. Give up what?”

And the voice said, “You know.”

And I said, “I do not know.”

And the voice said, “You know.”

And I said, “No, I don’t.”

And I was getting very angry at this voice because I didn’t even care about Bart anymore. Just then a marching band came down our street.