“You shouldn’t’ve left,” says my mom, finding me sitting on the slab of pavement outside our back door, which we call our sad excuse for a patio. It’s late evening now, and I’m in my interview clothes with the tie loosened, too tired to bother changing.
“I had to leave,” I mutter, miserable, as I rub a sore spot on my calf. Or is it sore from my time on the farm? “I’m gonna find a job.”
“No one’s hiring, Hoyt, I told you. That’s just how it is.”
I tuck my knees to my chest, irritated. “G-Man insisted there would be an opening at the movies. Either he was stoned as usual or he lied, ‘cause there ain’t no openings.”
My mom just sighs. “Just go back out to the Strong farm and apologize. I’m sure it isn’t too late. I’ll drive you.”
I’m not apologizing. No fucking way. “Least my little sister seems happy I’m here,” I remark. “Only one who missed me, apparently.”
“You were gone a day, Hoyt. Besides, you’re gonna see Gemma for her birthday next month. She wasn’t gonna miss you long.”
“Maybe the Wells Fargo on Wicker is hiring. I can be a banker, can’t I?” I wrinkle my nose. “Or do I need some stupid degree for that? It’s just countin’ other people’s money all day, isn’t it?”
She lets out another sigh. “Dinner’ll be ready in five. Think it over, Hoyt, I can still drive you in the morning.” She slips back into the house as I glower at the dead, scorched grass.
I’m not going back to that farm.
Of course, it isn’t the end of it. “Who’s going to pay for college now?” asks my stepdad during dinner in his soft, dreary voice. “If you’re going to community, it’s still gonna cost an arm and a leg.”
“I’m not going to community in Fairview. I’m going to UT with my friends, like I’m supposed to.”
“You can’t. Not with your grades. Not with our money.”
Everyone assumes I’m just saving up for community college in Fairview, even if I insisted to everyone and their uncles that I’m going to UT no matter what. “I will make it work. I’ll find money. Score a scholarship for losers like me. I’ll get two summer jobs.”
“Hoyt, you can’t even get one.”
I can barely stand to listen to it any more. “I’m gettin’ one.”
“Or consider your other options. Defer for a bit, perhaps. Take some time off to build up your account. Ain’t no shame in bussing tables for a couple years.” Even when my mom nudges him, tired of hearing about it herself, he shrugs. “I’m just saying. He had it good with the Strongs. And it’s in all of our best interests to have a good relationship with them, now with Mrs. Strong as mayor. I’d say you should ask about that new Strong gym opening up soon, but I’m sure their staff’s already filled.” He lets out a long sigh.
Gemma smiles at me from across the table: my ten-year-old little sister with blonde pigtails. She was born mere months before my dad passed away. I was eight. Her smile turns goofy, and suddenly I find myself smiling back. I make a funny face, and she giggles. Neither of our parents notice, caught up suddenly in a discussion about something that happened to my stepdad at work.
If it wasn’t for my little sister, I’m not sure I’d still be living in this house at all.
I’m brushing my teeth later on when my sister comes around the corner. “Are you a farmer yet?” she asks coyly.
I give her a funny look. “Best dang farmer in all here Spruce, ya betch’ya I am,” I announce, toothpaste in my mouth, waving my toothbrush around. She giggles at me. I spit into the sink, then squint at her. “What’re you doin’ up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
She shakes her head. “It’s summer, silly.”
“Oh, right, right. The summer freedoms. No bedtime, even for a little ten-year-old.”
“I’m not that little anymore!” she protests.
Y’know. All barely four feet of her.
I clean off my toothbrush and set it into the cup by the sink. “Y’know, it’s important to get a good night’s rest, otherwise you sleep in all day like a lazy bump on a log. Are you a lazy bump on a log, Miss Gemma?”
She pouts at me. “I ain’t a bump!”
I swear, she looks just like me when she does that expression. In other words, I taught her well. “Of course, it’s also summer time,” I reason, shrugging. “So maybe it’s okay to be … a little bit bad …?”
Her face lights up. “Yes!”
“How ‘bout we play ghost stories out on the tire?”
“Yes!!”
Can I get one more exclamation point out of her? “Are you sure you can handle my ghost stories? They get pretty messed up, y’know. Maybe too much for a little ten-year-old’s ears.”