Hendrix
My sister is baking.
I can’t find my cell.
I’m a broken and live wire.
Touch me, push me too far, and I’m going to explode.
On the counter are two sheet cakes my sister made from box mixes. She’s frosting one and instructing Marcus how to frost the other. She’s been at these cakes for most of the afternoon, and she hums to herself or sings along with the radio in that cool demeanor of hers as if two big sheet cakes in this small house is normal. Holiday’s up to something, and it’s slowly driving me insane.
“Where is my phone, Holiday?” She was the last one to have it. My cell has internet, hers just makes emergency calls.
“I gave it back to you. I can’t help it you’re forgetful.”
If I lose this cell, I’m screwed. If Holiday’s up to something, I’m screwed regardless. Maybe I should move to Montana. There aren’t many people in Montana. There, I could be happy.
Thor weaves through my legs, then runs around me in circles. He’s my shadow, following me everywhere I go, and I take him with me whenever I can. Currently, he longs for a walk. It’s reaching late afternoon, that’s what he and I do—walk for over an hour down by the creek. I’d like to take him out, but I need to find my cell first.
I open drawers in the kitchen and search them in the faint hope I set the cell on the counter, and it fell into one of the drawers. Forks, spoons, knives, various other utensils clank and bang together and then the pounding of wood against wood when I slam the drawer shut.
Holiday glances at me from out of her eye and then immediately focuses on frosting the cake. She begins to sing an old Beatles tune that’s a favorite of mine, and Marcus joins in. They sound good together, complementing the other. Holiday has a soulful voice. Rough, edgy and smooth all at the same time. I used to love listening to her sing, used to love playing the beat for her when she sang. Right now, I’m not caring about her voice. I want my cell. “Where is it?”
Thor swings his gaze between me and Holiday. Because he’s a good dog, he sits on my foot, then barks at her. Get her, boy, then while you’re at it, fetch my cell.
She bats her eyelashes, pretending she has no idea what I’m referring to. “Have you checked your room? Maybe it fell out of your pocket up there?”
I’ve checked my room. Four times. I’ve checked every pocket of pants I own and every other pair that are not on people’s bodies. “That phone is part of my probation. They call, I answer. That’s how it works, and right now, I can’t answer because I don’t have it. The last person who had my phone was you, so where is it?”
I know Holiday is the one responsible, I can feel it deep in my gut, but still I search. In case I’m wrong, hoping I’ll find where she’s stashed it.
My sister does what she’s done all day—shrugs one shoulder like that’s an answer, and the level of crazy she’s driving me to is undefinable. Skin peeling off my muscle, muscles crawling along my bones, in the way that only younger siblings can push older siblings out of their minds.
The back screen door opens, and Dominic pokes his head in. “Here.”
A knife full of frosting drops from Holiday’s hand as she spins, and it hits the counter. Her eyes go wide. “No, that can’t be. The cakes aren’t done.”
Dominic’s eyebrows rise. “Not my problem.”
“But I have a plan and this is not part of the plan.”
Dominic does a slow side eye to me, then studies my sister. “You’ve got to learn how go with the flow.”
Sinking feeling along with the annoyance that they act like I don’t exist. “What are the cakes for?”
Holiday flashes a smile at me. “One is for your birthday.”
“I had a birthday. Six months ago.” In juvenile detention.
Marcus turns with a can of frosting in one hand and a spoon full of frosting in the other. My mind is tripping over itself because a six-three stack of muscle with a tat on his right arm is baking, and he looks damn happy doing it. “You didn’t tell me you had a birthday.”
“Everyone has birthdays.”
“You should have told me you had one in detention.”
This entire house has gone insane. “And what were we going to do about it?”
He grins and it’s almost contagious. “Sing, man. We would have sung.”
Because that’s what I would have needed. An entire cell block singing to me on my birthday.
“Well,” Holiday says, “we’re celebrating your half birthday, so suck it up.”
Tension in my neck and I roll it. “I don’t want another party.”
“I don’t want another party,” she mimics in a low voice. “You know, you can do fun. That’s not against the law. Anyhow, today is officially your half birthday, so we’re celebrating because I like cake, and I was robbed of cake this past year when you weren’t here.”
“What’s the other cake for, and what are you and Dominic talking in code about?”
Holiday sighs, then levels a hard stare at Dominic. “For real? Here?”
“Here. Axle’s thirty seconds away from flipping cars. By the way, I told him it was your idea.”
Her lips curl into a snarl. “Coward.”
“Sticks and stones, sweetheart.” Dominic fishes my cell out of his back pocket and tosses it to me. I consider taking a chair and breaking it against the floor just to make myself feel better.
“Why do you have my phone?”
“Did.”
“What?”
“You said do. I don’t have it anymore. You do, so now it’s a did.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Ellison Monroe is out front talking to Axle. You better get out there. Axle’s going to excuse himself to murder Holiday, and I don’t think leaving a rich politician’s daughter to fend for herself in your front yard is smart. The girl is pretty, but I’m not getting a street-educated vibe.”
“It was your idea, too,” Holiday sings as she returns to icing cakes.
I’m caught between that fogginess that happens when someone clocks you in the head and the overwhelming instinctual need to protect Elle. My feet are moving, so the latter wins. I hit the screen door with enough force that it bangs against the siding. I round the house, and I can’t decide if this is a nightmare or the best dream.
Standing in my front yard, chatting with my older brother is the most beautiful girl in the world. Khaki skirt that’s showing off some mouthwatering thighs, a fitted blue top that appears tailored to each and every gorgeous curve, her long hair pulled into a high ponytail with loose curls, and I’ll be damned if she’s wearing those sexy glasses which means the color of her eyes are the real deal.
It’s Elle.
Dominic catches up to me, and he talks low and fast. “Four texts from your account. That’s it. Holiday wrote them, I approved them before she pushed Send. We said something about Elle being sick and wanting to know if she was okay. We texted her a picture of Thor. We waited, and we wouldn’t have sent another text if she didn’t reply. But she did. Holiday knew it was her birthday and asked if she had plans. She didn’t, so Holiday invited her here.”
It’s Elle’s birthday. She’s spending it alone. I had no idea.
“Her family isn’t in town, brother, and she said yes. I heard what you had to say the other night, saw the look on your face when you talked about her. You like this girl.”
I lean into him. “I walked because I don’t trust myself. I can’t screw up again.”
Dominic places a hand on my arm, and it’s a strong grip. “You won’t. I told you, you’re better than you were before, and if for some reason you do start to backtrack, I’ve got your back. I didn’t before, but I do now. It’s not enough for your body to be back home. I want your soul back, and the only time I saw a glimmer of that was when you talked about this girl.”
“This was not your call to make.”
“It wasn’t, but she’s here, and you’ve got a choice. Send her away and be the asshole that forced her to spend her birthday alone, or we order some pizzas, get some chicken wings and eat cake. Your choice.”
Elle’s gaze travels over my brother’s shoulders, and when she spots me, she brightens. Not the expression I’ve seen on TV. The real one. The one I’m starting to believe might only belong to me. I’d give up years of my life if that were true. That somehow I’m deserving enough to be the guy who’s worthy of her smile.
“Which one is it?” Dominic asks. “What type of man are you going to be?”
The right decision would be to send her home, hurt her feelings, cut open myself and bleed and make sure I don’t piss off the governor and return to jail...or...spend Elle’s birthday with her, soak up that smile, bask in her laughter, live for a few hours without the constant knots in my chest because only Elle has the key to unravel the chains that keep me locked up in my past sins.
Number two is selfish, number two is what she’s chosen, but what type of guy am I if pick number two?
Follow directions, not follow directions.
Pick my own path or start my own?
Hurt her, hurt me, or maybe be seventeen, if only for a few minutes.
What type of man am I going to be?
That’s the question. That’s always the question...