Page 8 of For Fillies and Monsters

I relax at that, my back leaning into the seat. Dale seems mostly like the friend I remember, even after all these years. Kind, compassionate, thoughtful—but so much has changed, too. She’s darker, fiercer, and there’s a shadow in her eyes that didn’t used to be there.

It’s not the same level of darkness that clouds my own vision, but it’s darkness all the same—the darkness given to those who no longer see the world through the bright haze of innocence and positivity.

What has she seen, been through?

“Tell me about you. You’re teaching or something now? I can’t imagine you with students. You always hated kids.” I’m notsure if I’m being rude or not, but I never have been good at small talk. Dale smiles and leans in conspiratorially.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I still do.” She sets the menu down. “I’m an agriculture teacher now. I teach plants and animals, and leadership from time to time, at the high school. It’s fun, and I’m honestly better at it than I thought I would be. Kids, as annoying as they are, also give me a purpose. As much as it drains me, it also fills my cup!”

“That sounds pretty cool, honestly. I’d love to see you in action sometime.” It’s true, seeing what she does would be inspirational, if not a little funny, too.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You don’t know it, but us agriculture teachers will use anyone we can get our hands on!” Dale snickers, and I raise an eyebrow—she doesn’t come across as the kind of person who asks for help from anyone. Not because she’s too good for it, but because she doesn’t think she deserves it.

“What else is new? How are your parents?”

“Good. Now that Amelia and I are grown, they moved back to Mexico to help with my grandparents. I miss them, but I also love that I don’t have to leave this town to get away from them.” She pauses, seeming to look for the right words. “And you? I know your parents, um, weren’t, um…”

I just shake my head, not even close to ready to dive into that shitshow.

Dale nods. “Some other time, maybe.” Her face splits into a grin, eyes glittering with mischief. “Do you like to drink?”

I laugh at that. “Do you like to drink? Can teachers drink?” Dale rolls her eyes at my questions.

“We are humans, you know. Humans who have to deal with shitheads day in and day out. Hell yeah, we drink!” She slams her hands on the table and looks around. “Want to go get a drink instead?”

“It’s barely noon.” I laugh nervously.

Dale shrugs her shoulders and stands up. “Yeah, and? I only suggested we meet here because I wanted to be proper. I was worried you had gotten all grown up on me.” She eyes me as if trying to peel back my skin and see what lies beneath. “I want to see how wrong I was.”

Without another word or a comment to the waitress, she strides toward the door. Her long braid swishes over her ample backside, and I notice she is wearing dark black pants—Latina Sandie, right here in small town Texas.Seems so odd for an agriculture teacher.

But what the fuck do I know?

I hurriedly scoot out of the booth, afraid she will leave me behind if I don’t catch up.

“You can wear that as a teacher?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dale looks me up and down and laughs so loud someone drops a cup.

“You can wear that as a rancher?”

Touché.

We step out into the humid air, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“I still hate the heat,” I hiss, looking up at the sun.

“You didn’t use to. It was a good excuse to wear even less clothes.” Dale waggles her eyebrows at me and walks over to her black, shiny Dodge.

I whistle, the sound a shrill ringing in the parking lot.

“Get in, bitch. We will get your truck tomorrow.”

I stare at Dale, her small frame bouncing into the truck with practiced ease. She might look small and poised, but I can sense the wild animal just beneath her skin. Dale was always good at wearing a mask, and I have the aching need to see what is beneath it—everyone deserves to have someone truly see them.

Dale leans out of the window, the truck roaring to life, and I can’t help but smile. She looks like a little girl messing with her daddy’s truck, but I know that’s not true. Everything Dale is and has is because she worked for it; I desperately want to be like her when I grow up.

Tapping on the side of the truck, her tone teasing, Dale shouts above the grumble of the engine, “I’m getting you trashed!”

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