Chasing Nikki(4)

I had a nice system going, and I thought things couldn’t get any worse—until now. Now my mom was dragging me to live on a ranch in the middle of Podunk-freaking-nowhere with my psychotic grandpa who believed ranching was the be-all, end-all, to learning life lessons.

Even before my dad died, I hated going there to visit because all I ever did was work. I’d spent entire vacations, feeding cows, straining milk, planting giant fields of corn, and mucking out stalls until I was sure the manure smell would never come off me.

I quickly learned to invent reasons not to go there by joining all the sport teams at school. Games and practices didn’t allow me to leave town much. During the summer I worked as a lifeguard for one of the local pools and trips to grandpa’s house became fewer and farther between. Even my dad volunteered to stay home with me, sending Mom away to see her parents by herself.

The car pulled into the driveway, and I hurriedly exited the vehicle. I rushed into the house ahead of my mom and locked myself in my room. I walked over and sank down on the bed, stretching out to bury my face into the pillow.

Her declaration had shocked me. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Yes, I could admit I was on a massive downward spiral, failing classes, not playing sports—not caring about anything in general. I submersed myself in partying and trying to cover the hurt inside. Mom threatened me on several occasions that I better straighten up my act or I wouldn’t like the consequences. I thought it was all talk though, and never did I think she would resort to moving again.

Silver Creek, Arizona. I couldn’t believe it. I would never survive there. There wasn’t even anything to do—unless kids really were into cow tipping these days. And the only weed a teenager could score was probably the ones growing on the sides of the road.

I slammed my fist into the headboard and felt my knuckles split open. I looked to see the blood running down my fingers before I flopped back to my pillow.

Let it bleed, I thought. I don’t even care.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I dug it out, seeing the battery was nearly dead after not being charged during the night.

“You home?” The screen showed a text from Conner.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. Dad yelled for an hour. Says I’m going to jail.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “Sorry, bro.” I typed back.

“Guess we finally got caught.”

“Guess so. Mom’s making me move to Silver Creek—with my grandpa.”

“Man! I think I’d prefer jail,” Connor replied.

The phone buzzed once loudly as it died. I tossed it onto the nightstand and buried my face back into the pillow.

Everything was so messed up.





“The sentence is a five hundred dollar fine, and one hundred hours of community service, as well as a weekend rehab session on the destructive nature of alcohol and drug use.” The judge’s gavel struck down, and I tried to keep my expression neutral as I left the courtroom.

“You got off easy if you ask me,” Mom said once we stepped outside.

“Easy? You’re kidding, right?” I complained. “What do I need rehab for? I’m not addicted to anything.”

“You might not be, but you’ve been abusing substances, and addiction usually follows that. I think it’s a good call on the judge’s part.”

I kept my mouth shut. Arguing wasn’t going to do anything but get me into more trouble.

“You’re lucky. They could’ve suspended you and kicked you out of sports, not that it matters since you haven’t played anything since football season anyway.”

“So now what?” I asked, wanting to get off the subject.

“Now you’re going to pay the fine out of your checking account. Then we’ll make an appointment with the court liaison so we can get your rehab and community service transferred to Silver Creek.”

I groaned. “Please, Mom. Isn’t there anyway I can talk you out of this? I promise I’ll be better. Just stay here.”

“No, my mind is made up. I think the change in environment will be good for both of us. It’ll be nice to feel like part of a family again.”

Not Grandpa’s family, I thought. The guy was a hard nose about everything. He expected things to be done a certain way, at a certain time, and you couldn’t argue with him.

I knew part of my grandpa’s attitude came from being a corpsman in the Marines in his younger years. He’d learned to love rigid order, and he brought that over into his everyday life when he left the service.

“It’ll be like living in the middle of a military barracks,” I grumbled, pausing at the door to the office my mom was ushering me into.