Jennifer stared at her father in his ugly, beat-up Chevy. She knew she should be afraid, but it took her a half second longer than it should have to wipe that stupid grin off her face, to forget her elation over the absolutely perfect night with Darren. It wasn’t until she heard her father’s voice that she understood how much trouble she was in.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Dad sounded eerily calm. She would have felt far more comfortable if he’d been yelling at her.
“Get in the truck,” he growled.
Jennifer hesitated a moment too long. In an instant, her father reached his hand out the window and yanked her by the arm. She hit her head on the side of the door, the dull metallic thump giving way to a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
“Did you go deaf all of a sudden?” Dad growled, his fingernails digging into her flesh. “Get in the truck.”
Jennifer heard a noise from the front porch. She glanced over to see Shawna and Kylee standing in front of the house gaping at her.
She scurried over to the passenger side, her head swirling with pain and dizziness.
Her father let out his breath, and Jennifer saw his worried expression, his aged face. “Dad, I’m really …”
“I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” he snapped. “Not a word, do you understand me? For years, I’ve done my best to feed you, to clothe you, to keep you safe. Well, how am I supposed to do that when you’re sneaking out at all hours of the night, huh? No, I really want you to tell me. How am I supposed to keep you safe?”
Jennifer bit her lower lip, uncertain if her dad wanted an actual answer or not. The corner of her mouth where Darren had given her that kiss still burned hot. For a second, she worried her dad would look over at her and know everything. Everything she and Darren talked about. Everything they did.
She thought about Darren’s hand holding hers. About how earnestly he’d looked at her. Nobody had treated her as kindly and lovingly as Darren had tonight. Her father certainly had never been so warm and attentive.
If Mom were still alive, she’d understand. Jennifer could tell her about Darren, ask her questions. Mom would know what you’re supposed to say to a boy when you’re done with a slow dance. She’d know if you could call a peck that wasn’t even quite on the lips a real kiss or just practice.
Jennifer crossed her arms. It wasn’t fair. If anybody should have died, it should have been Dad. The euphoria she felt just a few minutes earlier, the confusion and giddy embarrassment that bubbled to the surface when she thought about Darren, the grief that came crashing over her unexpectedly when she remembered Mom … it was impossible to give a name to each and every emotion swirling around chaotically in her soul.
Dad was gripping the steering wheel and muttered something under his breath.
“What did you just say?” Jennifer snapped, her anger now rising to the surface of every other conflicting emotion.
“I said if your mother could see you now, she’d be rolling around in her grave.”
Jennifer’s fists started flying. “How dare you!” she shouted, punching, scratching, pummeling. “I hate you. Hate you, hate you, HATE you.”
Dad jerked the Chevy to a standstill at the bus stop near the school. He turned to her, the tired expression on his face replaced with a look of disgust and rage.
“Get out,” he snarled, putting the truck into park.
Jennifer stared for a second, trying to catch her breath, trying to replay what had just happened. Had she really punched her own father? He knew she didn’t mean it, right? She didn’t really hate him.
“Dad, I’m sorry …”
“Don’t give me that.” His face was contorted in anger, but his tone was bone-chillingly controlled. “Get out of the truck.”
Jennifer hesitated. “I really didn’t mean …”
Dad reached across her and flung open the passenger side door. “Get out of the truck,” he repeated with a curse.
Jennifer was crying now, not tears of anger but of fear. She raised her eyes to her father, who glowered at her unblinkingly. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
Dad adjusted his belt. “I’m going to teach you some manners, young lady, and you better pray you catch on because one wrong move, and I swear I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life.”