I sat up. My hair tumbled over my forehead. I swiped the strands away only to have them bounce back.
“Selena! We’ll be late, dearie.” Grams called from downstairs.
Her cheery voice slapped me out of my gloom.
“Coming!” I pulled the light comforter off my legs.
…
A hot shower later, I came into the kitchen in jeans and a shirt with RECYCLE in bold letters across my chest. Streams of golden sunlight made the kitchen look comfortable and lived in. The smell of pancakes and ham helped banish any thoughts of black dogs and hooded figures.
The radio on the counter blared the Morning Show on KASL. The weather report was winding down when I dropped my school bag on the floor, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The day would be sunny without a chance of rain, beautifully clear—all blue skies and puffy white clouds.
No milky moonlight. No silvery clearing. No images of death.
I watched my grandmother—a small woman with a big heart—fill a plate with a stack of pancakes, slices of ham, and a mound of scrambled eggs. She had her white hair in a simple twist. When she turned around, her freshly glossed lips held a sweet smile that warmed me from the inside out. Grams moved like a storm in the kitchen, but instead of devastation in her wake, she left great food and shiny countertops.
“Morning.” She beamed at me.
“Are we feeding a party of five?” I stared wide-eyed at the plate Grams set in front of me. Eat-a-horse hungry portions stared back.
“Nothing like a good breakfast to get the day started,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder while squeezing juice from a couple of oranges. “You have a big weekend ahead of you.”
“Ugh! Don’t remind me. Where’s Gramps?”
“In the garage.” Grams placed a glass filled with OJ beside my plate. “He’s getting his tools ready. It’s another long day at Hay Creek Ranch.”
“Their tractors acting up again?”
“I think it’s just a check-up this time. Now, eat up, child! We’ll be out of here in two shakes of a chicken’s bottom.”
I smiled, my right cheek bulging with pancakes.
About halfway through my breakfast, Gramps’s towering height and massive frame filled the kitchen. His salt-and-pepper hair looked wind-blown, like he’d been running out in the prairie all day. I liked the laugh lines on his face best.
His gruff voice boomed. “Good morning, little lady!”
“Not so little anymore, hon.” Grams playfully tapped his bicep.
“Well. She’ll always be little to me!”
Having had enough of breakfast, I teased Gramps while I brought my plate and glass to the sink, “Everyone’s little compared to you.”
“Right about that.” He kissed Grams on the cheek before staring at my half-eaten plate. “Not hungry?”
“Just late.” I shrugged, trying not to connect my lack of appetite to the knots in my stomach.
“Did I happen to see the trashcans open this morning?” Grams raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t want those raccoons coming by again.”
Like a delinquent caught shoplifting, he winced and quickly made his way out the door. “Well, ladies, I’m off to Hay Creek. You two take care now.”
“You’re one to talk! Don’t come home with cuts or bruises.” Grams put her hands on her hips, a kitchen towel hanging from her apron.
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her.
Suppressing a giggle, I slung my bag over my shoulder. Normal. Absolutely nothing but normal. I beamed, grounding myself in the moment. My grandparents’ love acted as my safety net, catching me when I needed it most. I had nothing to worry about.
…
Unfortunately, my glow from basking in my grandparents’ love didn’t last long. Kyle kept bugging me about why I flinched every time he touched me. I’d been so keyed up that it felt like I had extra shots of Redbull in my veins. Surviving a day of school didn’t used to be so hard. Thank god Bowen left me alone. Who knew granting him the friendship card would keep him away? I should have thought of it sooner.
As if my day couldn’t get any worse, somehow Dillan’s death stares grew more intense as the day wore on. I wasn’t happy about the weekend, but I’d accepted it. If Dillan wanted to act immature by staring at me like I threatened his very existence, then fine. I had other things to worry about.
After making a pit stop at the arts and craft store for supplies, I sat in the back of Kyle’s Prius trying to ignore the guy sitting shotgun. But Dillan’s tapping kept drawing my attention. His fingers played a rhythm on the door panel.
“I think we should use tea to stain the water,” Constance said, bouncing in her seat. “What do you guys think?”
“I like it.” Kyle peered at her through the rearview mirror. “It ties in to the Boston Tea Party.”
“What about glitter? It always makes a project pop,” she added.
“I don’t know. I think we should stick to traditional colors,” Kyle said.
Again, my gaze landed on the one person I tried so hard to ignore. My fingers started their own drumbeat on the door panel at my side. A metallic object peeking out of his sweater sleeve caught my eye. A watch?
He stretched, and I realized it was a thin, leather cuff with a silver cross that had its four points connected by a circle. An opaque gem I didn’t recognize sat on the intersection of the cross. Being interested in anything concerning Mr. Rock-Star-National-Geographic stamped down the temptation to ask why he chose to wear such a curious accessory.
“I can’t believe you listen to Newcastle Afternoon,” Constance teased, referring to the radio.
Kyle tsked. “Is there a law banning sixteen-year-olds from listening to a radio show?”
“I think what she means is: can we listen to something else?” Dillan turned to Kyle.
“Hey, I like listening to the news.” He let go of the steering wheel for a second and shrugged.
Constance giggled. “That makes it even worse, Kyle. You sound like my Grandpa.”
“What do you think?”
It took me a second to notice that Kyle spoke to me. “I’m sort of immune to Newcastle Afternoon since it’s on at the diner after school, so I’m not the best person to ask.”
“Two against one and an abstained. For the sake of maintaining peace, I fold.” He stretched out his leg, eased out his phone from his jeans pocket, and handed it to Dillan after unlocking the screen.
Dillan scanned through the playlist. “The Beegees, Chicago, Duran Duran, Air Supply?”
“Who are they?” Constance leaned forward and looked over Dillan’s shoulder. “Never heard of them. Are they new?”
“Total opposite.” Dillan’s voice said he grimaced. “You’re worse than Rainer.”
Kyle went on the defensive, “I happen to think Air Supply has some of the most poignant ballads.”
“They’re old bands?” Constance sounded like a six-year-old who just found out reindeers couldn’t fly.
“Classics!” Kyle said indignantly.
“Yes, classics.” Dillan’s tone dripped sarcasm. “Oh, and I just found Abba. If I find Karen Carpenter in here, I will officially rule you pathetic.”
“Don’t you have any Taylor Swift songs?” Constance leaned back on her seat.
“I’m not a big fan.” Kyle’s expression turned blank.
Constance looked aghast. “Why not? She’s probably the most successful country singer out there right now! I’m a proud Swifty.”
He scratched his head.
Feeling bad for my friend, I bailed him out. “Constance, Kyle doesn’t really keep up with all that stuff.”
“Really?” She pouted. “That’s…well, weird.”
“It’s not like I don’t have a TV or the Internet.” He rubbed his cheek. “I’m just picky with the information I put into my brain.”