Page 49 of Limbo

I kick his steel-toed boot. “Graham.”

“What?” His eyes stay shut.

“Give me the keys to the truck. I want to go to the gas station.”

“Walk.”

I flip him off, not that he’ll ever know.

Cate has Connor playing with dolls at the kitchen table. He uses a high-pitched voice, talking about going to the mall when I interrupt.

“I’m going to the S-Stop,” I say, pulling on my coat.

His concern radiates across the room, the two wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. “Are you sure—”

“If I stay here any longer, I’ll claw my eyes out.”

I slam the door on my way out for no reason other than to piss off Graham. It does nothing to improve my mood, and the six blocks of walking fails as well.

Rounding the corner of the gas station, I check the cars in the parking lot, not wanting to run into certain people. I only recognize the busted-up Cadillac parked in the employee spot. It belongs to one of our old neighbors, Rhonda. She waves at me as the bell dings, announcing my entrance.

The soda selection holds my attention for a minute, but I deem a mixer unnecessary. I snag a fifth of vodka off the bottom shelf and return to the counter. Rather than ask for my fake ID, Rhonda inquires about school. I politely respond while paying with the cash I stole from Graham’s wallet. If he hides my phone, he should know better than to leave his wallet out on the dresser. I consider it a late birthday gift. Or Christmas since he missed that, too.

I walk down the unpaved street on my return trip, gravel crunching under my feet. Out of four-hundred-and-some-odd residents, two use the sidewalks—both mailmen. My two-drink rule goes the fuck out the window, and another long pull out of my bottle in a brown paper bag continues to dull my nerves, still raw from last night.

Almost to Graham’s, a black Grand Am, with a crack in the front bumper from slamming into a light pole, speeds past. The tires displace rocks, skidding to a stop behind me.

Seriously, my day can’t get any worse.

With nowhere to hide, I stop once the car doors open. Tony appears first, laughing. His fiery-red hair sticks out under his stocking cap. The pinches to my sides come courtesy of Pete on his way around me. Shayna follows them, her mischievous grin engaged.

Three of the worst best friends imaginable. The four of us made up a third of our class from the time Tony popped up in the sixth grade until Sutterville’s and Waymore’s schools merged our junior year. Even with more students, teachers scrambled to keep no more than two of us in a class at once—out of fear of mutiny. A fair concern. As a group, we drift toward the wild side rather quickly. More often than not, on my orders.

Senior year, I distanced myself, and after graduation, I abandoned them altogether in favor of a clean break and a fresh start. Not something any of them hold against me. Also not something they ever let me forget.

And now, they literally circle me—vultures to prey.

“Henders, where the hell you been?”

“Couldn’t stay away any longer?”

“She’s back every other weekend, guys. She’s just too good for us now, remember?”

Everyone but me laughs.

“We’re having a party tonight.”

“Look, she’s already pre-gaming.”

I offer the bottle to Shayna. She throws her blonde head back, taking a swig, and wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her sweatshirt before passing it to Pete. Rather than drink, he hands it off to Tony without ever looking away from me. His soft gaze has stayed unchanged despite the months of me dodging him.

“Well, you coming with us?” Tony holds out the bottle in my direction.

He waves it around, encouraging me with his stoner grin, until I swipe it from his hand. I run through my numerous options that include sitting around, miserable, with Graham for the rest of the weekend or—no, that’s the end of the list. Since I would rather stick hot needles in my eyes than be anywhere near my father, I pluck the cigarette from behind Tony’s ear and take another drink.

They all smile when I ask, “Where are we going?”

Horrific country music blares from the speakers in the living room, volume maxed out. Tony shakes his head, disappearing from the kitchen.

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