Carter
Carter, 11
Boone, 14
Kara, 18
Boone holds my hand as a cherry-colored car pulls down our road and parks. It's expensive and out of place in our trailer park. Most people who live here drive battered trucks and cars or walk everywhere.
I didn't get any sleep last night; I was too nervous about meeting my sister today—excited, too. Luckily, Boone came over this morning as he promised. Declan made the same promise, but I don't think he even came home last night. Boone said Declan isn't mad at me, but I think he is. Why else wouldn't he be here?
"What if she doesn't like me?" I ask.
Boone looks down at me. He drops my hand and puts an arm around my shoulders. He's a lot taller than me, so he has to bend down to plant a kiss on top of my head. He does that a lot, and I hate it because Declan does it, too. It means he looks at me like a little sister. That hurts, especially when I've crushed on Boone Fell for as long as I've known what a crush was.
"She'll love you just as much as I do," he tells me. "It's hard not to."
My cheeks get hot; they always do when Boone tells me he loves me. No matter how he sees me, I'll never look at him like a brother. He's more than that—he’s my best friend.
I hear Kara's car door open. I wonder if she'll look like me. What does our dad look like? Do I look like him?
"You're okay," Boone whispers. "This is good."
The second I see Kara, I know he's right. She's smiling at me like she doesn't see anything else. She's tall, wearing a sundress that's way prettier than anything I own, since I usually have to wear Declan's old clothes. Kara doesn't look like me at all, but it doesn't matter, because she already feels like a sister.
"Hi, Carter," she says when she's closer. "I'm Kara."
I stare up at her in amazement. She looks as if she wanted to be here with me—as if she liked me. Without thinking, I detach myself from Boone and take a step forward, then wrap my arms around her waist.
She doesn't hug me back. Maybe she's not a fan of hugging? I let go of her quickly and start to turn back to Boone. But then she kneels down and holds open her arms so she can hug me at my own level.
"It's so wonderful to meet you," she says into my shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry this didn't happen sooner."
"It's okay," I say back.
"We have now, don't we?" She sounds positive and sure, which makes me feel the same way. When she pulls back, her eyes are watery. "I've always wanted a sister."
"Me, too," I tell her. "Brothers sort of stink."
She laughs and releases me to talk to Boone. "Are you Declan?"
Boone goes stiff. "No, I'm Boone—the neighbor."
"Oh, Boone," Kara practically sings his name. Boone's my absolute favorite subject, so I talk about him way too much. "I've heard a lot about you."
Boone breaks out in a grin, loosening up. "Yeah. Carter's a little obsessed with me."
"Am not," I mumble.
He nudges my shoulder with his hand. "I'm obsessed with her, too."
"That's good. I'm glad you both have someone." Kara stands and looks around. "I was hoping I could meet Declan."
"He's …" I start but trail off.
"Maybe he'll be here when y’all get back," Boone says, winking at me. "He's notorious for running off at the worst times."
Kara doesn't look like she believes him. "Do you know what time I should have her back by?"
Her question stumps both of us. Tish doesn't really care when Declan and I get home, or if we come home at all. I spent an entire night with Boone in the woods because he wanted to take me camping, and Tish didn't notice.
"Uh, dark?" Boone asks, looking down at me.
"Yeah, dark," I say.
"You don't have a curfew?" she asks.
Boone and I shake our heads.
"Okay," Kara says, drawing out the word. "Well, we'll be home before dark then. I guess Tish isn't home, either?"
"She is," I say but quickly regret it when Kara looks at the trailer as if she wanted to go in. For the first time, she must really see where I live because she turns green.
"You don't want to meet her," Boone explains. "It'll ruin your day."
Kara blinks rapidly and latches her hand onto mine. Panic rises as sharp pangs stab in my chest, and my heart stumbles toward a faster beat. What if she takes me away from Boone and Declan? That happened to the boys down the street—one day they were here and the next, they were gone.
Boone kneels down in front of me. “What’s wrong, Carter?” He presses another kiss to my face, this time on my cheek.
I choke on a sob, gasping for air. "I-I don't want to get taken away."
“Hey, it’s fine.” He wraps his arms tightly around me and whispers in my ear, "Not gonna happen, Junebug. You belong here with us, all right?"
I nod against his shoulder. "I belong with you," I say in a barely-there voice.
"Oh, gosh, Carter," Kara says, kneeling down beside Boone. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just … I didn't expect …"
"You're okay, Carter. You're going to have fun, and I'll be waiting here for you when you get back," Boone says. "I'll always be here waiting for you."
#
"So, why am I dropping you off again?" Gabe wonders aloud as he pulls up in front of the gas station. He keeps asking me that, and I keep evading.
"Because I want to be more active."
"You once told me you're chronically allergic to activity."
"I am. But I figure maybe I can become immune to it."
"That's not how it works."
"Are you sure? Because I walked from the house to your car and I feel fine. It's a miracle."
"You're too good at that straight-faced thing, Carter," he says, shaking his head.
Luckily he doesn't push any further. The last thing I want is him finding out about Boone. It's going to be a battle when I come clean about our burgeoning rekindled friendship, so I want to make sure Boone's worth it.
I fiddle with the door handle, but then lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. "Thanks, Gabe." I feel horrible for omitting the truth. I've always told him and Kara everything. We’ve always maintained a relationship in which we don’t lie to each other no matter how mortifying or awkward. He'll be so disappointed in me when he finds out, and I'll have no clue how to handle it.
I head into what I hope is going to be a very calm, boring workday like it usually is during the day in this sleepy town. It's the night shifts that are bad. That's when all of Tish's kind come out.
During my shift, I have a total of ten customers—two people paying in cash for gas, five buying cigarettes, and the rest buying chips, jerky, water, condoms, and all the other items that fall under etcetera. I always like to play a game where I try to guess what people are going to buy when I first see them. Most of the time, I'm right, thanks to most people being repeat customers, like Boone.
The bell rings, and I don't bother looking up at my eleventh customer, until a pack of beef jerky drops to the counter. "I'll take some of them cigs, too," the man says, pointing over my shoulder. I don't like the guy; he looks like some sort of terrifying lumberjack, with a long, shaggy beard, a horrible sunglasses tan, and a flannel shirt.
He doesn't name a brand, so I just reach in the direction he was motioning toward.
"No, not them. They're expensive."
"Which ones do you want?" I ask politely, even though I want to tell him they're all expensive.
"The cheap ones."
I scour the shelf for the cheapest pack. When I turn around, I don't miss the fact that this middle-aged man is checking out my backside. A chill runs down my back. I've been leered at before, but there's something about this man that makes me want to lock myself in the back room and call 911. As I set the pack down on the counter, I slyly reach beside the cash register to slide our emergency can of mace closer. We've never gotten robbed, but a lot of us work alone, so we always make sure we have something to use to protect ourselves.
"Are you Tish Hart's kid?" he asks as I'm ringing up the pack.
My whole body suddenly feels as though it were berated with pins and needles. My hand stills around the pack, and I look up at the man, seeing him more clearly than I did before. The sleeves of his flannel shirt are rolled up, revealing scars and open sores. His face is gaunt and broken-out. Most of his teeth are missing, but the ones he does have are decayed.
Meth.
I don't recognize him, but I recognize his type. Declan never got the chance to go beyond heroin, but my mom did. She started meth a while ago, just before she went AWOL. Gabe and Kara have tried to find her because while she was never much of a mom, it's horrible not knowing where she is. She could be dead.
"Yes, I am," I say slowly.
"Hm," he breathes, his gaze unabashedly roaming up and down my body.
"Do you know her?" I ask cautiously.
"'Lot more than knew her, kid," he mutters. "Fucked ’er."
I put the pack down as carefully as I can, sick to my stomach. "You should leave."
"She's got a picture of you. Says you're rich and gonna be her ticket." He's looking at me as if I were his ticket, too.
I drag the mace out into the open and grip it tightly. My mom's said that to me before. Kara had our dad pay her to give up custody. Money was the only way to get my mom to do it, God knows why. Even after getting that money, she tried (and succeeded) to get more through the years.
"You should leave," I say, fighting to keep my voice even. I'm practiced at keeping a straight face around Gabe and Kara, but right now, doing so seems impossible. I focus on ignoring every single terrifying thought as my finger twitches against the button. "Now."
"You really gonna use that thing?"
"Yes."
"Fuck me." He holds up his hands, cackling. "I'm gone then." There's something ominous about the way he says it. I half expect him to add for now.
My heart refuses to stop racing, even when the door's closed behind him. The mace feels heavy in my hands. The plastic is digging into my hand, stinging. I almost want to press my thumb into the button and spray the air, just for good measure—ward off any bad spirit he left behind. I'm more used to men like him than I want to be, but that doesn't mean they don't terrify me. Mama used to bring home his kind all the time, and I always did my best to disappear into the background—to hide. I wish I could do that now.
The bell above the door rings again, and I nearly set the mace off. I have no doubt that if I needed to, I'd use this.
"Carter, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"
I recognize Boone's voice before my vision clears and I see him. He's taking up the tainted space where the man was before. I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to wrap my mind around the man being gone. I'm safe now.
"Was it that creep? Did he try something?" Boone demands.
"No—he just—" I stutter out syllables that aren't much of a response.
"Shit, Carter, give me that before you blind me." He covers my shaking hands with his, and he gently pries the mace from me. "You're safe. It's all okay."
I nod and open my eyes. Boone's standing in front of me like some sort of hero. A weird movie reel starts playing in front of my eyes with "Holding Out For a Hero" playing, light shining down on him, and his face offering a safe, strong place to get lost in.
Am I about to have a seizure or something?
"You're worrying me here, Junebug."
"I'm worrying myself," I murmur. I let out a long breath, trying to get my wits about me. It works, and I start to see reality for what it is. There's no music playing, no light and, while Boone looks ready to avenge me, he also looks afraid. I'm not used to a scared Boone. He's wearing a shirt this time, which is probably a good thing, or else I might pass out. There's nothing that makes me feel dizzier than Boone Fell's lick-able abs.
No, scratch that. I'm thinking about Boone in a way I definitely shouldn't be. Especially after what just happened. There's got to be something wrong with me.
"He didn't hurt you?" Boone asks again.
"No, he didn't," I say slowly. "He was just being … crude. He knows my mom."
"I knew there was somethin' shady about him," he mutters, looking over his shoulder. "If I wasn't so worried about you, I'd go after him."
"Don't. Maybe he'll stay away." I don't think he will.
"Well, if he doesn't, you call me or Gabe or Kara or 911 or, hell, call the SWAT Team in."
"I'm okay. I have my mace."
Boone laughs but not in his usual relaxed way. "I'm sure you could do a lot of damage with it, too. But we both know a drugged up guy ain't gonna even care about pain."
"It'd be worth a try."
"It would," he agrees.
"I can handle myself, you know. Kara and I took self-defense classes. I only started really freaking out after he left." With my heartbeat slowing down to normal, I can now delineate Savior Boone from the Boone I'm not quite on board with yet. I glance at the clock on my register. I still have twenty more minutes left in my shift. "You're early."
"Yeah, well, I'm trying to impress this girl, so I figure I need to pull out all the stops."
I raise an eyebrow. "You're not supposed to admit you're 'pulling out stops.'"
"Why not? If I don't, how will you know I'm doing it?"
"I will."
"Yeah, but how?"
He's smirking at me, but there's something off about it. I've become an expert when it comes to Boone’s smiles, so if there's ever one thing I can be sure about, it’s that I know what they mean. But this one is different and new.
"You're trying to distract me, aren't you?" I ask skeptically.
"Yeah," he says with a shrug. He looks away, the smile gone. "It's something that's always worked for you when you panic. I always hate seeing you scared."
I can't answer him. I'm afraid if I do, I'll give him everything. "You're okay with waiting twenty minutes?"
"Sounds like the perfect amount of time for a nap."
#
He doesn't nap. Instead, he sits on the floor beside the Home & Garden stand with a magazine balanced on his left kneecap and his other leg outstretched. His gaze is hidden behind a pair of aviators, but I don't miss how his head moves subtly as he looks between me and the door for my creepy customer.
When the next cashier, Marcus, shows up ten minutes late, Boone straightens and crosses his arms. Even with those sunglasses on, I know he's glaring at Marcus. I'm a little upset he's late, too, but then I see Marcus' red, sweaty face, and I give him a sympathetic smile. He's been working two jobs, trying to afford college, and it's wearing on him.
"Sorry," he says, out of breath.
"It's okay," I say, grabbing my purse and throwing it over my shoulder.
"Yeah, it's not. That guy looks like he's about to pick a fight with me. What is he—your bodyguard?"
I only shrug. I wish it were so simple.
Boone stands near him, and the squeeze in my chest reminds me this is anything but simple. He's looking at me as he used to, back when his eyes would light up and he'd smile widely, showing off his sharp teeth. Actually, I'm not sure if he stopped looking at me that way, or if I stopped noticing.
"You ready?" he asks.
"You didn't have to glare at Marcus, you know," I tell him, jutting my chin in Marcus' direction once we’re out of hearing distance.
Boone crosses his arms. "He was late."
"He's got a lot on his plate."
"We all do, Junebug."
"Okay, then. What if that was me racing in? What if I was working two jobs and going to school, and I was basically rushing from one place to the next, knowing I was definitely going to be late but always worrying how late? Would your reaction be different then?"
My voice is rushed and my words are mangled. I'm tired from the day, but I'm also tired because of the way he makes me feel.
"You got me there. It would be different," he admits. He holds open the door for me. As I walk out, he pulls his aviators down his nose to look up at the sun and slides them back in place. "You don't like it when I call you that, do you?"
I dig in my purse for my own sunglasses. "When you call me 'Junebug'?"
"Yeah. They're in the small part there, yeah—shit."
A blush spreads across my cheeks as I quickly shove and hide a tampon beneath my wallet. Hopefully I remember it's there the next time I pay for something.
I glance up at Boone, and I'm surprised to see he's blushing, too. I've never seen Boone blush. I'm not sure why this would make him do that, considering he once held me in his arms when I was having bad cramps. He and Declan were actually the ones who sat me down and gave me the period talk. Maybe it's just because things are different now. I'm not a little girl who has to be taught everything—who you have to take a hand and lead.
For once in my life, we're on even ground. "I don't like it," I tell him. "The nickname, I mean."
"You used to."
"I was little. I liked everything you said—including a nickname after an ugly bug. I tried to find one good thing about them, and you know what I found?"
He actually looks curious. "What?"
"They aren't harmful to humans or animals, and that's about it. They kill crops, burrow into the ground, come back out, and die. Oh, and they make good food for small creatures. I'm really glad that I represent that to you."
"I think they're actually beautiful, you know," he tells me as we come to a stop at a crosswalk and wait for the light to change. "They're resilient, and they always emerge around the same time. You can put a lot of faith in a Junebug to do what it's gotta do."
I have absolutely no clue how to respond. Instead I stare at the crosswalk sign, willing it to change. I don't feel resilient right now—I feel vulnerable. He said that as though he'd been saving up his response for years. The thing is, I never know if that's how it is with him. I can never decipher if what he says is just a line he's feeding me, or if it's a sentence he's been perfecting. He could just be really, really good at persuasion, and he's using it against me.
The entire time, I feel him watching me closely. Regardless of what he says, he's looking for a reaction. He's meaning to warm my heart—to sway my feelings. Definitely a pro-persuader.
The light changes, and I step out into the street.
"I'll keep the nickname to a minimum then, Carter," he says as he catches up to me.
"Thank you," I say back. At about the halfway mark, he clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. "So, how'd you get Gabe to drive you here? I'd imagine neither of them are happy about us hanging out."
"He doesn't know."
"What?"
"I didn't tell Gabe or Kara." Oh, the guilty feelings. "I lied."
"Why?" he asks.
I'm not sure if he's asking why I lied or why I'm choosing to be here under the guise of a lie. "I don't know yet, but I'd prefer it if you don't walk me all the way home."
"Got it," he says, clearly disappointed. "Kara still greets you every day?"
"Yeah. She hasn't missed a day."
"That's good. I always liked that she did that. And how on the days when I'd come over, she always had something good for me to eat."
"Kara always has something good to eat."
"Yeah, I mean, she always had cookies and brownies or whatever, but she always gave me the healthy stuff, too."
"You totally had a crush on her," I tease. That comes out of nowhere—because it's something I used to always joke about with him. Joke might not be the right word, since most of the time I wanted some sort of a reassurance he didn't like her that way. It's hard not to love Kara, but it's equally hard not to be jealous of her, especially when I was younger. It was as if she somehow managed to be everything and have everything I never had. The happiness, the family, the boyfriend—I never wanted to tack Boone onto that list.
Boone grins at me and shakes his head. "That would be just another reason for Gabe to kill me."
"I don't think he really needs a reason."
"Correction: he doesn't want one," he says. "He'll just do it—put his medical degree to use and kill me in a way so it doesn't look like murder."
"Gabe would never do that."
"Or would he?" He reaches his hand out to run it along the fence as we walk. I can't help noticing how calloused his hand is, with a galaxy of bruises spreading across his knuckles. I heard he still does work around town, which explains his hands.
"Maybe you should be easier on your hands," I say softly. "They look like they hurt."
He glances down at them as if he were just noticing how bad they look. He makes a fist and winces before dropping it back to the fence post. "The bruises are worth the money I make."
"So are work gloves," I add.
"Tried those, but they're annoying as hell. Maybe this thing with Jason will take off, and I'll get to spend more time behind a desk. Until then, I've gotta keep on."
"What thing with Jason?" I always liked Jason, because Jason would never be caught doing the things Declan did.
"Ah, yeah, it's nothing much yet. We're just looking to start up our own business."
"That would be great for you."
"Yeah, it would. Right now I'm making enough to move out and have a comfortable life, but I need to make more—and this would get me that. I don't want to have to take Dad with me. I'll pay his way, but he's staying in that trailer."
"Is he still …" I trail off, trying to remember if he was drinking when Boone and I last talked, or if he was worshiping God. It changed from day to day. "Is he still going to church?"
Boone nods. "More now than ever. He's been sober for a while, but you never know with him. He's not working, so he's got a lot of time on his hands."
I never liked Boone's dad. He easily fell in the same category as my mom's boyfriends—slimy, mean, creepy, rude, and horrible—when he was drinking. The same could be said when he was attending church. But I hated him the most for the way he treated Boone. I grew up with a parent who didn't care, while Boone grew up with one who cared too much.
"None of this is what I wanted to talk about," Boone says, sounding frustrated, as we come to a halt at the intersection for my street.
"What did you want to talk about?"
"You." He takes a step into my space and looks down at me. He brings his hands up as if he were going to touch me, but then he doesn't. If there's one thing overly-flirtatious, charming, talkative Boone is good at, it's putting up barriers. He's the king of keeping you at a distance, even when he's right in front of you. He manages to do it in a way that makes you look as though you were the one putting them up. "I miss you, Carter. So goddamn much. Not having you in my life is hell. I meant it when I said I miss you."
"Boone," I say softly. "I'm not sure I can do this with you."
"I know I don't deserve it."
"It's not that."
"Well, it sort of is."
I can't hold back a smile. He's just so blunt. "It's just, I can't go through losing someone again," I continue.
"What if you don't lose me this time?"
"I think that every time, and I somehow still do."
"This time is going to be different. I'm going to prove I'm not leaving again."
"It's not really something you can prove." I bite my tongue as I carefully construct my words. "There's always someday. Today you might not leave, but someday you could. I haven't been able to trust in the always sense."
"Let me give you that, then."
"I don't know if you can."
"I can, and I will."
"Why now? Why not any of the other times?"
He sighs and steps away, turning his back on me. He links his hands at the back of his head and kicks at a rock. "Because I've never had always either, and it's about time the both of us do. It's time I learn to stick around."
"So I'm just something to practice with?"
"No, you're more. You're my …" He trails off, and whatever his answer was going to be, I'll never get to know it. "You have to let me in."
"Boone, it's you who needs to let me in."
"Okay. I will."
I close my eyes. "It's not that easy."
"When it comes to you, it's effortless. I just never let it happen." He turns to face me and looks as if he were about to drop to his knees and plead with me. "Let me walk you home again tomorrow?"
I can't say no. I never can. Maybe he needs to work on letting me in, and I need to work on pushing him out. "Okay."
#
Somehow, Boone climbs up and places another note and flower before I even make it up to my room. Normally, I might get changed and promptly flop onto my bed until the smell of food revives me, but the call of the letter is too strong. I go straight there instead.
Carter,
I never crushed on Kara. It was always you. Always.
Boone