21

Either I never turned my alarm on or I turned it off without realizing it, because what woke me up was not a buzzing phone, but the sound of the bus rumbling down the street.

I swore and threw off the covers.

I could:

 

A. walk to school

B. wake up my father and tell him he has to drive me and use that warm, fuzzy time together in the truck to ask why he cleaned all the guns

C. stay home because he’d probably sleep all day again and he’d never know the difference if I snuck out a little before two and made a lot of noise “coming home” half an hour later.

 

Option C had some long-term consequences, but the good part was that they were long-term, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them for a while, or at least for a couple of days. C was the winning option, right up until the doorbell rang.

I shouldn’t have answered it. I should have gone back to bed. In my defense, I was half asleep and not thinking clearly. I knew it was too early for the mail. Gracie drove in with Topher these days, so it wouldn’t have been her. I didn’t even think about Trish until I was already pulling the door open.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” shouted Finn.

Thankfully, I’d left the chain on. As I went to close it in his face, he wedged his foot between the door and the frame.

“Ouch,” he said.

“Move your foot.”

“No.”

“Go away.”

“Glad to see you, too.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You missed the bus,” he said.

“I’m sick.”

“Need chicken soup?”

“Actually, it’s my period,” I lied. “Killer cramps.”

“Chocolate and a heating pad?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have an older sister and my mom is a kick-ass feminist,” he said. “I’m probably the only guy in school who can buy tampons without having a seizure. Look at that, I can even say the word. ‘Tampon, tampon, tampon.’ If you say it enough, it stops sounding like a word, know what I mean?”

“Keep it down,” I warned. “My dad is still sleeping.”

“Then who just left in the pickup truck?”

“What?”

Finn removed his foot so I could close the door, free the chain, and open the door wide enough to see the empty driveway.

“Big white guy, huge arms, right? Yankees cap, scary sunglasses? I was parked up the block. Watched him pull out of the driveway and head for the city. That’s why I figured you needed a ride.”

Dad always told me when he picked up a job because it meant the new beginning, the fresh start that was going to change everything right up until the moment a day or two later when it came crashing down around him. Could he have gone to the VA to make up one of the missed appointments? Was he looking for a liquor store that opened early? When would he be back? More important, what kind of mood would he be in?

Option C was no longer an option.

“So,” Finn continued, “were you going to put on some pants or go to school pretending that your T-shirt there is a dress?”