Chapter One
Brooke
Flipping through the channels for the third time, I finally settled on a marathon of America’s Next Top Model. It was season six, which I had already seen more than once, but it was better than any of the other crap that was on TV on Sunday nights.
The house was quiet except for Tyra’s voice coming from the TV. Gram was at her weekly poker night, which wouldn’t end until close to midnight. I swear she had a more active social life than I did lately, which wasn’t all that hard to accomplish.
For being a seventy-one year old grandmother who had raised her now twenty-three year old granddaughter, she was surprisingly spry. My mom had been sixteen when she had me. Shortly after I was born she ran off with some guy, who was not my father. I’m not sure what happened to him, but my mom stayed gone. I’ve seen her only occasionally over the years, and she’s more like a distant cousin than a mother. Gram is the only mother I’ve ever known, which is why I still live here with her. I tell her it’s because she’s getting older and needs my help to keep up this big old house. But the truth is that I don’t know how to be alone.
My friend, Poppy, who used to live in the apartment over our garage, moved out on her own right after she graduated high school. She’s so independent and sure of herself. I envy that about her.
It’s only been a few days since she moved out of the garage apartment to live with her boyfriend, Ford, but I miss her already. My bedroom is at the back of the house and my windows overlook the backyard as well as the detached garage and studio apartment where Poppy used to live. She spent most of her time locked away in there studying, and it was rare that I could get her to go out with me. But it was still comforting to be able to look out my window at night and know I had a friend close by.
Now the lights above the garage were on, but I had yet to meet the new tenant. He had moved in yesterday when I was at work. I sincerely doubted we would be besties though, considering he was the new principal at the elementary school. Not exactly someone I would want to hang out with, and vice versa.
My phone rang from its spot next to me on my bed. The display showed that Chet was calling. There was only one reason Chet called me, especially at 10:00 at night. Tattooed with a shaved head, Chet was the epitome of a bad boy. He played guitar in a local band and was my on-again off-again boyfriend. Right now we were off-again, but that didn’t stop him from calling me. Even as I touched the screen to answer the call, I hated myself for not being stronger and ignoring the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” He only ever called me babe, and I sometimes wondered if he knew what my name was. “You at home?”
“Yeah, I’m at home. What do you want, Chet?”
His voice took on the low seductive quality that had undoubtedly charmed many girls before me. “I just finished a gig, and I thought I could swing by.”
I sighed. “Why do you want to come over, Chet?”
“I miss you, babe.”
I paused, trying to resist. “No, Chet. If you really miss me, you can call and ask me out on a date. A real date. One that involves spending time together not having sex.”
Then, because I knew my resolve would crumble if I stayed on the line, I pressed End. I put my phone in my nightstand drawer, where it would be out of my sight, and went downstairs. There was absolutely no chocolate in the house, so I stood in front of the open fridge trying to find a good substitute. With a frustrated huff, I swung the door shut. From the kitchen window I saw the lights above the garage go out. I rolled my eyes. The principal must have an early bedtime.
The outside light was still on, illuminating the corner of the garage. The garbage cans caught my eye, and I remembered it was trash day on Monday. Not wanting to make Gram put the cans out when she got home later, I slipped on a pair of flip flops and went outside.
It was only mid August, so the summer humidity was still in full effect. The heavy moist air hit my skin and made the tendrils at my neck curl. My hair was piled on top of my head, but there were a few strands escaping the messy bun.
Since it was my lazy day, I wasn’t wearing any makeup and had on a tank top and boy shorts. Gram would have scolded me for going outside in my underwear if she was home, but it was dark. On a Sunday night, everyone in our small town was probably in bed by now.
I dragged one trash can and then the other down the driveway to the curb, making sure they weren’t blocking the way for Gram to pull her car in. Or for the principal to pull his car out. His very sensible black sedan.
My finger caught on the handle of the second trash can, and I swore as I saw that my nail broke. I just had my nails done yesterday, and now half of the hot pink polish on my left pinkie was missing. Most people thought redheads shouldn’t wear pink, but it was one of my favorite colors. I made a mental note to leave for work early tomorrow so I could stop by Nancy’s New Nails and get it fixed.