Chapter Ten
West
I headed back to my barbecue court, which was a funny and accurate name. I checked to make sure the fire had burned to ash and then headed back to the house.
A house that always stunk of dust and decay, rather than Mexican food, which kind of made me mad. Why couldn’t my parents pull their shit together? I opened the back door and smelled pizza.
My dad glanced up. “There you are. Come eat while the pizza is still warm.”
And now I felt like a jerk for my earlier thoughts. My dad was probably doing the best he could. “Thanks. That smells great.”
After dinner, I felt antsy. I pulled up the latest science fiction book I’d been reading, but it didn’t hold my interest. My mind kept wandering to Nina. Oddly confrontational, yet attractive, Nina. What was her story?
I’d heard that they’d moved here when her parents divorced. Her mom seemed normal, which made me wonder what her dad had done. Nina’s pathological insistence on telling the truth made me think her dad must have lied or cheated.
Not that it was any of my business, but I liked to figure out why people behaved the way they did. I’d Googled a bunch of stuff about mental illness, hoping to find something to help my mom. All it had done was make me question my own sanity. Everyone was weird in one way or another. Most people figured out an acceptable way to behave while they were out in public.
My biggest fear was that one day I’d end up like my mom, trapped in my own house, drowning in useless possessions. This line of thought was getting me nowhere, so I changed into track pants and a sweatshirt and headed out for a run.
As my feet pounded the pavement, a wave of calmness flowed over me. This was why I ran. As I ran past the houses in the neighborhood, I noticed who had lights on and whose houses were dark like mine. Was no one home in the dark houses, or were other people drowning in junk like my mom?
…
The next day in social studies, Mr. Grant gave us a list of projects around town that needed volunteers. “I don’t expect you to be altruistic at this age, so anyone who helps out with these projects will receive extra credit.”
“Why?” a girl in the front row asked.
“Because people coming together to make their community a better place is important. Too many times people lose themselves in their own concerns or in online communities, and they forget to look around and take an interest in their neighbors’ lives.”
Charlie leaned over and said, “You don’t have that problem.”
I snorted.
“Something you wanted to add, West?”
Busted. And for that, Charlie would pay…later. For now, I scanned the paper Mr. Grant had passed out. “What’s going on with the library?”
“The Hilmer Library was built in 1912. It’s suffered water damage from leaking pipes, and the heat and air need to be updated. It’s become too expensive to maintain. Plans to build the new library have been delayed due to political red tape and funding. I believe they are supposed to break ground for the new building next spring. Brandt Recycling purchased the Hilmer building with the intention of turning it into a recycling center. There’s some shelving and woodwork that can be salvaged before the conversion. Is that a project you’d be interested in working on?”
Not really, but I could fake it. “Sounds interesting.”
“I suggest you gather a group of friends. I’ll talk to the contractors and let you know when you can help.”
The bell rang, saving me from further suck-uppery. Once we were in the hall, I punched Charlie. “Tell Matt it’s your fault that he’s been volunteered for salvage duty.”
At lunch, I shared the good news with Matt. In his typical easygoing style, he shrugged. “Sure. Maybe they’ll have something in there we can use at the nursery.”
Matt and Charlie’s dad owned Patterson Landscaping. Funny how they would inherit a thriving business, and I was going to inherit a house full of Rubbermaid boxes full of worthless junk.
It’s not like you could choose who your parents were. I’d never understood how my antisocial dad could be their dad’s brother. It’s not like my uncle was everybody’s friend; I knew he preferred to work outside with plants and trees rather than dealing with people, but at least he was able to interact with people and keep a business afloat.
When my mom first became ill, I’d spent a lot of time over at my cousins’, hanging out with Matt and Charlie and Haley. I’d thought my mom was going through a phase, like when she’d bought a bunch of rusty, old farm tools at garage sales and put them up on shelves all over the kitchen, or when she’d made dozens of candles in old teacups. Instead of getting better, her collecting turned into hoarding. It was like someone had flipped a switch in her brain that made every item seem like a precious treasure she couldn’t live without.
My dad dealt with all of it by storing her crap in Rubbermaid boxes. All I could do back then, and now, was sit back and watch as waves of boxes took over our house. Sneaking out what I could, when I could, felt like a small victory. I no longer dreamed of moving in with my cousins. I dreamed of graduating, moving out, and never looking back.