Page 30 of The Best Kind of Bad

It’s clear he’s up to something. I just have to figure out what.

20.

Dusty

I twist the paper between my fingers and hold the joint up.

Add that to my list of questionable good qualities.

Ace joint roller.

I tuck it inside my t-shirt pocket alongside the other joint I rolled.

Sienna is spending the night with her bestie, which means I have the barn all to myself.

She knows I smoke, everyone knows I smoke, but no one knows how much I smoke. That’s between me and a guy named Juice.

It’s more effective than any of the anti-depressants the doctor ever prescribed. Helps with the old football injuries, too. Farming ain’t exactly gentle on a shit knee.

Excuses aside, I don’t like to smoke in front of Sienna. She’s a good kid. Excellent grades. Clean record. She might just make it out of Silver Bend. I don’t need her turning into a pothead and getting lost along the way.

My phone rings and I glance over, heart skipping up to my throat when I see her name pop up.

“Marnie?”

Her voice is flat. Irritated. “Come get your damn dog.”

I lean back, an amused smile curving my lips. “Where is he?”

“Scratching at my back door.”

“Well, tell him to scram.”

“He speaks English?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been telling him to go for the last twenty minutes, but that hasn’t had any effect. I’ll say it again. Come get this damn dog.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get snippy.” I hang up before she can respond, chuckling to myself as I step outside.

The air is thick and oppressive. It almost feels heavy as I walk across the yard. The sky is an angry gray-green color, clouds like upside down popcorn form a low blanket overhead. I know what those clouds mean.

Hail.

Thank God the corn hasn’t come up yet, otherwise we’d lose the entire season’s crop in one night.

Ed sees me coming, inching his furry butt closer to Marnie’s door. He gives me an aggrieved look as I approach. Marnie swings the door open, and he shoots inside like greased lightning.

“Ed!” I call after him.

Marnie leans against the doorframe, tossing her arms. I take one look at her and swallow hard. She’s wearing what is presumably her pajamas. A white tank top and sweatpants. If she’s got a bra on at all, there isn’t much to it. The twin pebbles of her nipples stretch against the fabric. I avert my gaze, pretending to stare up at the stormy skies.

She frowns into the house, trying to decide which way Ed went. “How’d he get out, anyway?”

“Get out? Ed’s an outside dog. This is where he lives.”

She looks shocked. “He doesn’t live in the barn?”

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