Two hours a day, right after school, I stock, sweep floors and clean the bathroom. Best parts about the Save Mart? Number one: it’s right next to the library so I’m only lying about where I’m at by ten feet. Number two: Dad doesn’t check in on me because it’s right after school and he doesn’t have time. Number three: Mom and Dad don’t shop here and neither do their friends. This place sells generic labels, and my mother would have a hot flash at the idea of being seen someplace so cheap.
The manager of the store offered to let me work weekends, and while the lure of more money was appealing, I declined. Mom and Dad believe I’m studying with Camila after school at the library. Regular work on the weekends might press my luck.
Like he has for the past week, Jesse’s waiting for me in his ancient red pickup truck in the last spot of the parking lot. He has a blue baseball cap over his red hair and he drums the steering wheel as if he’s listening to the beat of an amazing song.
Typically, walking to Jesse’s truck feels like tiptoeing along a plank of a ship in the middle of the ocean, and each step is mental preparation for the long drop. He’s not exactly a conversationalist. Then again, neither am I. Our ride home is silent, and it’s awkward. But today, I’m skipping to the truck because I got paid.
Metal grinds against metal as I crack open the passenger door then heave myself into the truck which is higher off the ground than should be legal. My first inhale is of Jesse—turned-over earth, cut grass and a summer breeze mixed with a rich, spicy scent that I can’t quite describe. The scent is calming and each inhale makes me warm all over.
The pleather seat I’m sitting on is ripped, and I have no confidence in the aging seatbelt as I click it into place. With one hand on the wheel, Jesse glances over at me as if he’s curious. “You’re in a good mood.”
I wave my paycheck in the air. “I got paid.”
Jesse offers me a hesitant smile, the type that ghosts the Peter Pan one he gave me regularly when we were children. For some reason, I blush.
Maybe it’s because of the way his green eyes glow, maybe it’s because Jesse is beautiful with how he’s currently looking at me. Maybe it’s because Jesse is huge in this small cab. He encompasses every inch of it, and I’m scared if I move just the slightest we might touch, setting off the same sparks of electricity that happened at Glory’s.
I glance away, yet Jesse still watches me. Under his attention, my skin becomes sensitive, as if his gaze were a brush of his fingers. After several beats, he looks away, turns over the engine, and we sputter and backfire our way out of the parking lot.
Because his air conditioner is busted, both windows are rolled down and my hair blows wildly in the wind until I take a ponytail holder off my wrist and tie my hair into a bun.
Jesse’s dressed differently today. More like I would have thought he should have dressed for his grandmother’s funeral. Instead of jeans, a T-shirt and work boots, Jesse’s in a long-sleeve blue gingham button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, tan slacks and black boots that appear shined. He’s cleanly shaved, and I have to admit I miss the red scruff on his jaw.
I’m tempted to ask him where he’s going, but decide I won’t like his answer because it appears he’s dressed to go on a date. Though it’s stupid for me to care. What he does is not my concern. To keep myself from asking, I open my paycheck then frown. My ten dollars an hour wasn’t nearly as promising on paper as it sounded in theory. Taxes, social security and who the hell is FICA?
“Want me to take you someplace to cash it?” Jesse asks.
His question stops me cold. I don’t have a bank account so I’m not sure I can cash my check. My mother doesn’t have a bank account either, and I’m not sure if she has ever owned one. Her name isn’t even on Dad’s accounts. She just has a credit card she shares with Dad.
Since I’m a minor, I’m required to have a parent sign for me to open an account, and my father continuously tells me that there’s no reason for me to have one when he’s more than happy to cover my expenses.
“I guess you don’t cash checks,” Jesse continues with a grin like we’re sharing a joke, but I don’t find him funny. “You probably put it in your overflowing savings account. Tell me which bank, and I’ll take you there. When you enter a bank, do angels sing and do the people who work there fall to their knees like you’re royalty?”
Embarrassment of my reality sweeps through me, and it’s chased by a shot of anger. Every time I start to think Jesse has a shred of something redeemable in him, he speaks. I shove my check back into the envelope, cross my arms and wish for the awkward silence to return.
Jesse narrows his eyes on me. “What can you possibly be mad about?”
He is living proof that boys are incredibly dense. “You insulted me.”
“I what?”
I gesture at the road because his attention is on me and not on driving straight. Dying is not on my list of things to do for the day.
He looks forward, and the tendons in his neck are strained as if he has the right to be annoyed. “I didn’t say anything bad to you.”
I roll my eyes, and he catches it. “Is this how you want to play this out, Tink? I get you a job, drive you home and then you find the slightest reason to get upset?”
“You make wrong assumptions about me, and I don’t appreciate it. And where do you get off calling me Tink? Like you and I are somehow friends.”
Red splotches appear on his face. “Do you need to go to the bank or not? And I’m not insulting you with asking. I’m being nice. You should try it sometime.”
I want to kill him, but then if I did I wouldn’t have a ride.
“Home or bank, Scarlett?” Jesse stops at the light on Main Street and looks over at me. “Third time I’ve asked the question, and last I checked it’s proper to answer, even for you.”
My spin goes rigid. “You mean even for an ice princess?”
Jesse’s lips thin out. “Home it is, then, or down the street from home since you can’t stomach me dropping you off at your driveway. For the record, you are an ice princess. I get you a job, give you a ride and you can’t stand to let your mommy and daddy see me with you. That’s cold, even for you.”
The light turns green, and his truck barrels down the road. Obviously Jesse believes the speed limit is more of a suggestion than law. It should take longer than it does to reach the road that leads to my house and Jesse’s trailer, but that’s what happens when you do fifty-five in a thirty-five then eighty in a sixty.
Like I asked on Tuesday, he drives halfway down the mile road then stops. The manners my mother drilled into me are begging for me to open my mouth and say, “Thank you for the ride,” but my pride is demanding that I leave the truck, slam the door behind me, then stomp down the road. Because I’m torn down the middle, I don’t do either. I’m paralyzed, and I stare straight out the window.
“Are you getting out or not?” Jesse sounds as exhausted as I feel.
“Why did you get me the job? In fact, why are you picking me up from work and taking me home?”
“Being neighborly,” he bites out. “It’s what decent people do.”
“For years you’ve frozen me out. I take that back, you froze me out after you spent weeks saying terrible things about me at school. Things that have clung to me like mud I can’t wash off, and now you’re doing nice things to be ‘neighborly’?”
“What do you want me to do here? Because anything I do or say is going to piss you off.”
He’s right. I fist my paycheck, reach to the floorboard for my purse and when my fingers grab air, I go numb. My pulse beats hard in my ears, and I quake. I forgot my purse, which means I forgot my cell, which means Dad is going to catch me in a lie. How could I be so stupid?
Sweat breaks out along my brow. I need my purse. I need my phone. If Dad finds out I have a job . . . I cover my cheek with my hand, wondering how painful the slap would be.
“I forgot my purse at the store.” My voice is strained, hoarse.
“Let me guess. You expect me to take you back.”
My mouth goes dry because the answer is yes, but I don’t know how to ask him. I don’t know why he’s helping me. I don’t know why he stopped being my friend. More important, I don’t know how to return home without my cell. I have to plug my cell into the power cord in the kitchen every night before I go to bed, in the slot that’s right next to my mother’s. The slots my father checks before he goes to bed.
I don’t know what Dad will do if I don’t have my cell, and I don’t want to find out. And what happens if someone from the store finds my purse, calls my home and Dad answers? Oh my God, what have I done?
I meet Jesse’s eyes and will him to do this for me because I can’t bring myself to open my mouth and ask even though I should. Even though it shouldn’t be a problem for me to do so, but I can’t ask for help. I . . . can’t.
Behind me, a crow caws and while the sound does nothing for me, Jesse’s eyes snap over my shoulder. He blinks once, twice, a third time, and then with a low curse, he slams into reverse. Dust flies from the rear wheels as he backs into the grass then lurches toward town.
I glance behind me, through the back window, and the massive crow perched on the wooden horse fence bordering our property flaps his giant wings in agitation. A chill runs along my skin, and I rub my hands down my arms for warmth. I swear to God that bird is watching me and that’s not normal. Nothing feels normal.
Jesse takes the left onto the state road and something in the bed of the truck shifts. It’s a shovel, and then my heart sinks as I notice more gardening tools and flowers. All of them in flimsy containers that suggest the flowers are ready to be planted.
I don’t have to be a brilliant detective to figure out where Jesse was going after he dropped me off. I bet he had plans to scatter his grandmother’s ashes today, and that he was going to mark the spot with her favorite flowers.
My stomach churns, and I slink down in the seat, sick to death of being me.