Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

Here we go. The same fight. Over and over. It never ended. She’s still angry I didn’t follow her rules when I moved to Lee Vines. She’s horrified I made friends—with boys. She loathes the fact they care for me and send me letters and pastries and pies. It’s like she’d rather them have been awful, terrible boys, instead of good, sweet, and kind ones.

My mother has a lot of issues.

What she didn’t know was how close we’d become. That it wasn’t just Dexter I’d fallen for. It was all of them. They’d stolen my heart and changed me. That change wasn’t something she could accept. Not now, anyway.

“Mom, I’ve done everything you’ve asked since I came home. I work, I study, I do my chores. I have no friends. No social life other than a few letters and a TV date with my grandmother who lives three thousand miles away every night. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

And there we have it. That’s where I am with my life, and from the look on my mother’s face, she has no answer. None. She caught me in this web and we both know I’ll be eighteen soon. I’ll keep earning money and one day I’ll head to college. But not here. Not on the East Coast, and she knows it.

“I bought some fresh cream at the market,” she says, moving to the refrigerator. “I know you like it with your dessert.”

I cut a large piece and place it on a plate I’ve taken from the cabinet. It’s gooey and the pears look fresh, and in my mind I can see Dexter in a white, stained apron covering his red and black flannel, with a dusting of flour on the bridge of his nose. I long to brush it off. To kiss his lips. To turn and find the others standing nearby.

The plop of cream on my pie and the clank of the fork on my plate breaks me from my thoughts and I’m not in the kitchen of the Wayward Sun, but in my kitchen with my mother.

“Thanks,” I mumble, gathering up my dessert and heading out of the kitchen.

“You’re not eating down here?”

“Nope. Homework,” I lie. There’s a letter burning a hole in my pocket.

I don’t turn to see the hurt look on her face. At this point, I don’t really care.

Dear Starlee,

School starts back after Labor Day, which will coincide with the summer season being fully over. I’m ready for a break. Between Ms. Nye’s manual labor and Sierra’s never-ending pile of dirty dishes, I’m actually looking forward to school.

Jake is still kicking my ass on morning runs and we’ve had practice every day for two weeks. Coach is impressed I upped my stamina over the summer. Less impressed when I crashed into the water table trying to catch a ball. No worries. My helmet protected my handsome face and amazing brain.

Charlie’s obsessed with this new upgrade on his game and has entered a few competitions. He’s gunning for some kind of “e-sport” scholarship. I’m pretty sure he’s crazy. I’m more likely to get one in football.

(Can’t read due to stain. Looks like chocolate) finishing up his probation. I know he’s too chicken shit to tell you, but your testimony really helped at the hearing. If he keeps his grades up this fall, he’ll be cut loose. We’ll finally be criminal-free in the family.

Sierra wants you to ask your mom if you can set up a live stream so we can all watch the SPN season premiere together—that is, if you’re caught up. She’s willing to talk to her, if you want. October 2nd. Mark your calendar.

Okay, I better go. I need to ice my knee from practice and Dexter is giving me the stink eye because there’s a shit-ton of dishes to do.

Love you Starlee Jones,

George

3

Starlee

For my birthday, my mother had a tradition. We’d walk to the business district near our house, browse the local bookstore where I could pick out anything I wanted, eat dinner at the Thai restaurant and over a bowl of sticky rice for dessert, then I’d open my gifts.

I look out the window of our house at the downpour of rain flooding our street.

“Not sure walking is a good idea,” I say, watching the trees sway. “Maybe we should just stay home?”

My mother appears in the doorway. She’s tugging her raincoat closed. “But it’s tradition.”

“True, but Hurricane Betsy doesn’t care about tradition.”

Yep, a hurricane hit the coast last night and is racing through North Carolina.

“We can take the car.”