Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“No.” I was so sick of hearing what might make Mel or my mother proud, like waking up in a world where they weren’t wasn’t accomplishment enough.
“Suit yourself. I’ll get some burgers and fries on for y’all.” Aunt Georgia drifted back to the kitchen.
“Why aren’t you going to try for the team?” Colt asked, seemingly in no hurry to return to our game. “You’re a fast runner. Bet Coach could use you.”
“None of your business,” I snapped and cued another round. I was a fast runner because I had two older siblings and a penchant for attracting bullies at school. That and turning in fast laps meant less yelling from Coach in gym class.
“Okay.” Colt didn’t seem bothered by the return of my bad mood, and we continued playing the arcade game.
“Order up!” Aunt Georgia placed two baskets of burgers and fries on a nearby table.
“Thanks, Aunt Georgia,” Colt said before motioning for me to join him. “Here’s our food.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I took the seat across from him, but that didn’t stop me from glaring at him, determined to make him say it. Pity followed me everywhere I went this summer, and I hated it. “Who told you to?”
Colt gave a loud snort. “Whole dang town knows you lost your mama and brother, Mav. No one needed to tell me shit.” He gestured at my untouched food. “Eat your fries.”
Several warm, perfect fries later, my mood had leveled to something more agreeable. And honest.
“My old man’s gonna be pissed if I don’t make the team,” I confessed. Mel Junior had been a star from the moment he was born, Lovelorn’s favorite kid, and the town had loved cheering for him. Even my dad had smiled when he earned a place on the state university team. No way could I measure up, and no way was I trying.
“So?” Colt shrugged his bony shoulders. He was taller than me but skinnier, with knobby elbows and knees. “Not too late to sign up.”
“Eh. Maybe I want him pissed.” Maybe then he’d actually notice me. I’d been used to his harsh words and strict ways my whole life, but this silence since Mel and Mom died in a small plane crash on the way home from Colorado Springs was slowly killing me. My dad had never been what you called easy, but for all she shared his work ethic, my mom had managed a cheerful mood, often humming as she worked. Mel had often had music on or football friends over. The house was too darn quiet now.
“I get that.” Colt nodded thoughtfully, gaze narrowing like Dusty’s, our foreman, when he was thinking hard. “My mom started walking after my dad died. Couldn’t figure out why. Never invited us along. Made me mad, her leaving me in charge so she could walk.”
Colt had relatives all over town, including his mother and several younger siblings, the smallest of which had been a baby when his dad had been killed in the line of duty as a sheriff’s deputy for the county two years back. Everyone knew his story too. Hadn’t thought about that until right now, but he had to get sick of the questions and pity too.
“That sucks,” I said with genuine sympathy.
“Then, one day, I saw her coming back, wiping her eyes. Guess walking is her crying time.” Colt’s eyes took on a faraway cast, and the firm set to his jaw made him look older than me despite us being in the same grade. “I don’t get mad no more.”
“My dad doesn’t cry.” If he was going to share, I could too. “Told me not to either. Says I better toughen up.”
“How are you supposed to not cry?” Colt’s eyebrows knit together like that was the stupidest question ever.
“Beats me.” I took a big bite of burger. I missed my mother and Mel every day, yet Dad expected me to carry on with chores like my world hadn’t been upended.
“Least my mom never said that.” He made a dismissive gesture with a fry. “I cried every day for a long time.”
My eyes went wide as I marveled at how easily he’d confessed. “How’d you stop?”
“Dunno.” Colt dipped the fry in ketchup, taking his time replying. “Played a lot of arcade games in here. Washed stacks of dishes for Aunt Georgia. Then summer hit, and all I could think about was making the team. Started training.”
“Training?” I wrinkled my nose. “Like PE?”
“Running. Weights. My dad played quarterback for County. Gotta be fast and strong.” Colt nodded despite looking like a stiff Colorado wind could knock him over.
“Make him proud,” I whispered, throat too thick to think about another bite. I shoved my basket away. My father was impossible to please, but my mom had been proud of my grades, hanging my report cards on the fridge.