Like Dragonflies, page 2
“New barista on Monday. Got it. Thanks, Martina.” I rush out of the door and hop into the car in a huff. Did he have to blow the horn like I was taking forever? I was in there for all of five minutes.
Instead of saying what’s on my mind, I clutch the hot coffee cup in my hands and press my lips to the lid. “Sorry, I was talking to a friend,” I mutter. The driver doesn’t respond. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and I swallow my explanation about not being in there for that long.
I’m silent the rest of the way home.
I can’t breathe normally until I’m in my room again with the door closed and locked. I sit my cup down gingerly on the dresser, then kick off my heels, tear out of the silky blue dress, and scrub the mauve lipstick off with the back of my hand. Much better.
I wiggle my toes against the plush carpet and let out a tiny hum of happiness. My partially finished canvas and paintbrushes are waiting for me. Every brush in my cup points at me like they know I’ve been away for too long.
“Well, I’m back,” I say into the air. God, if Mom knew I was talking to my paintbrushes, she’d have me committed. I sweep all but a few tendrils of my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head, pull on a T-shirt, and smile.
I’m finally in my happy place.
Mars
They named me after a planet.
Back before meth was quickly killing my mother and whiskey was transforming my father into a mean bastard, my parents were nerds.
Two kids, lying in a field behind the old steel mill on County Line Road, making love and counting stars. They existed—these people. I’ve seen the proof myself in albums at my aunt Darcy’s house. Mom with her dark blonde hair and blue eyes that glimmered only for my dad. Pregnant and all smiles. Too young to be that happy about bringing a baby into the world. Their little boy named Mars, making his mark on Earth with a wail loud enough to make all the nurses at Duncan General Hospital cringe.
Hell, I still make some of those nurses cringe.
The spring of ’99 was when my parents were forced to get their heads out of the clouds and swallow a huge dose of reality.
Parenthood.
Unluckily for me, they both sucked at it.
Dad was barely old enough to get a decent paying job, and well, Mom wasn’t even legal at all.
They were just kids.
It’s that thought I desperately try to drive into my skull whenever Dad is plastered and throwing shit around our trailer.
He was thrust into a life he didn’t want. Forced to skip college and dive straight into the workforce. All his opportunities were taken…because of me.
I know this, because he reminds me daily.
She’d still be here if it weren’t for you.
Not a bitter day goes by where my dad isn’t blaming me for my mother’s transformation from Duncan’s town sweetheart to the meth head, who left her baby in a hot car while on the hunt for her next fix.
Apparently, little loudmouth Mars McKinney drove his mother to drugs.
And just like the epic dust storms planet Mars is known for, I’m one brewing to disastrous proportions. An embarrassingly long criminal record. My own stint with Mom’s beloved drug of choice. A laundry list of a million other reasons Sheriff Beauchamp is looking to lock me up over for good.
Difference between Mom and me, though, is I woke up.
I snapped the fuck out of it.
Life sucks. It changes and screws you. It gives you responsibilities you’re not sure you’re capable of handling. With annoying insistence, it pokes and pokes and pokes at you until you’re at your breaking point.
Mom broke.
Dad’s almost there.
But I am not them.
I will not break.
I refuse to break.
Which is why, ever since early last June, when I got busted with meth in my truck and spent forty-seven days locked up in the hottest goddamn place in our Podunk town, I opened my eyes and took a hard look at myself.
I’m not her.
Sunny McKinney’s life ended when I was two months old. It was accidental. She didn’t mean to kill herself. Her blind choices were what took her from this world.
I was the witness to her death.
I’ll be damned if I’m the witness of my own.
When you spend your summer in a ten by ten cell, hotter than the asshole of Hades, you take a real good look at your life. And my life sucked.
Not now.
Not anymore.
From the moment Sheriff Beauchamp unshackled me and sent me off, after a lecture that made my ears bleed, I’ve been trying to do right ever since.
Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be pushing into a bar called Duncan D’s at eleven in the morning on a Monday.
“If it ain’t ol’ Jailbait Jailbird,” Hank Morrison says, his raspy voice echoing over the jukebox playing something horrifyingly country.
I snort out a laugh and give him a two-fingered mock salute as I saunter into the tiny bar that reeks of stale cigarettes and ancient alcoholic geezers. “I’ve come looking for a job. The old lady who works here,” I retort back with a lopsided grin, “is she hiring?”
Darcy hollers from the back. “We don’t hire your kind here.”
Sidling up next to Hank at the bar, I yell back. “My kind? What? Like super-hot, incredibly intelligent, boy-band-look-alike babes kind? I thought old ladies like you were always on the prowl. I’m cheap labor if that helps.”
Hank starts laughing and sends his decrepit ass into a coughing fit. Usually, at this hour, he’s the only one here. For as prehistoric as he is, and how much he drinks, you’d think he’d be somewhere six feet under in the same cemetery Mom is buried in.
Not this guy.
This guy has a bionic liver.
Still alive and kickin’.
Darcy pops her head around the corner, the lips crinkling on each side of her mouth as she grins at me. “Come here, you little shit, and give your favorite aunt a hug.”
“Only aunt,” I retort, earning the bird from her. Like I used to when I was a kid, I climb over the bar and hop to the other side, barely managing not to take out half her liquor bottles with my long legs in the process. “Hey, Aunt Darc.”
She barely comes to my chin and reeks of cigarette smoke, but she’s the closest thing to a mother I have. “There’s my boy.”
We share a brief, stiff hug. Aunt Darcy, while the only mother figure in my life, isn’t one to coddle or cuddle. But she does love me, which is all that matters. More than I can say for my old man.
“You headed to the city?” she asks, as she untangles herself from my bear hug and begins flinging open lower cabinet doors as she hunts for something.
“Yeah, class starts at noon.”
“Jimmy says you’re not coming into the restaurant tonight.” She glances over her shoulder at me, frowning. “You’re not doing the smack again, are you?”
The smack?
“Smack is heroin,” I mutter. “And no, I’m not doing smack or meth or any of that shit. I told you I was done.”
She whips around and crosses her arms over her ample chest. “So why did you call out from work?”
Jimmy is Aunt Darcy’s new man. Well, new old man. He’s older than Hank. Probably fought in all the wars. When he’s not running the diner on the corner, he’s spending all his extra time at Duncan D’s stuffing all his hard-earned money in Aunt Darcy’s tip jar.
“Because I can work there any day. Mondays are slow as hell. Jimmy doesn’t care.” I rub at the back of my neck and smirk. “Besides, I got me another job.”
“Another job?” She frowns. “This makes three now? Plus college?”
Ignoring her skepticism, I snag a Styrofoam cup and help myself to some Coke from the fountain. “This job pays more than waiting tables at Jimmy’s. And you know the lawn gig is only seasonal.” I chug the rest of the Coke and then toss the cup into the trash.
She grumbles out her disapproval, “Who hired you? There’s only a few folks around here who will touch that record, boy.”
Shrugging, I gulp down the Coke. “Not here. A little java place on campus.”
“Sounds fancy,” Hank jests. His belly jiggles when he laughs at his own joke and tries to mimic me in a prissy voice. “A little java place on campus.”
Darcy and I both flip him off.
“I hate to say it,” she says, “but how?” If her brows furl any closer together, she’ll have a unibrow. “It took the sheriff vouching to a friend of his at that college for your skinny ass to even get enrolled. Now you’re telling me you’ve gotten yourself a job there too?” She huffs. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you’re leaving Duncan and moving away to Ashton Hills for good.”
If I wasn’t a broke-ass ex-criminal, I’d have gotten the hell out of here a long time ago.
“Just trying to get my shit together.” I flash her a wolfish grin. “Until I turn twenty-one and force you to hire me.”
She’s not amused. There’s a worried glint in her blue eyes. “Mars…”
“It’ll be fine,” I say lightly. It has to be. Slowly, I will crawl my way out of this hellhole of a town.
“Long drive for a fancy java job,” she mutters, her voice already giving in to defeat.
“I’m only scheduled on my class days, for now.”
She lets out a heavy, resigned sigh. “Fine. Go on and get out of here before you’re late. You better let me know how it goes.”
“Yes, Mom,” I tease.
Before she can swat at me, I hop the bar again and slap Hank on the back on my way out. Once out of the stuffy, yet familiar bar I’ve practically grown up in, I inhale the cool October air. My rust bucket sits crooked and barely within the lines. I try not to think about how worn the tires are or the fact the alternator decides to be a finicky asshole at the worst possible times. Instead, I try to think of what’s ahead of me.
Twenty minutes from this shithole is a new life.
A life I’m slowly trying to learn and embrace.
Busier. Fancier. Faster.
But no one knows me there. I can be whoever the hell I want.
Climbing into my truck, I turn the engine and thank fuck it starts. After surfing the few stations my radio will pick up, I settle on some classic rock. Led Zeppelin blares through one speaker as I drive through our one-stoplight town and merge onto the highway. All I have to do is make it four years. Four years on my dad’s hard-earned dime. Then, I’ll have a degree. I can get a job that’s worth something. I’ll be worth something.
The drive turns somber and I try not to think about my dad. Last night we tied it up in the living room. He may be a mean-ass drunk, but he’s still young. And all those hard shifts at the steel mill have him bulkier and fitter than me. When he wants to make a point, he makes said point with his fists. I can’t help but touch the tender, slightly bruised area below my eye, hoping like hell it’s not obvious.
As the college comes to view on the highway, my anxiety amps up. Dave Murphy, my new boss, assured me my record wasn’t anything to be worried about. My crimes, albeit many, were only misdemeanors. He told me as long as I showed up, and didn’t steal from him, I’d be better than half the employees who have come through his shop.
I’m a firm believer of “don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” Otherwise, I’d have bitten the fuck out of Dad long ago.
I drive past a group of girls walking near the English building and a few turn to point, giggling. That’s the shit I hate. In this rich college town, everyone is loaded. I kind of stick out like a sore thumb. When I’m in class, most people don’t pay much attention to me. It’s just getting to and from in my piece of shit truck that draws their eyes my way.
Ignoring the girls’ stares, I park my rust bucket and hurry to class, where I spend the next ninety minutes trying not to fall sleep as the English instructor rambles about Robert Frost.
After a long day of classes and studying, I leave the media center on a trek back to my truck. Now that it’s dark, no one is out to witness the way my truck rumbles and whines as I try to get it to start. Thankfully, on the third attempt, the engine fires up and I head for the other side of campus. Looping around the back of the main building, I find a parking spot. I climb out and make my way to a door marked “employees only.” Dave gave me a code, and after fucking it up twice, I finally manage to key it in right and make my way inside.
“Mars,” Dave greets, a wide grin on his face, when I enter his office just off the back door. “So glad you showed up. You’re already in the running for employee of the month.”
A woman with curly brown hair and a nice smile peeks inside. “Hey now. That’s my permanent spot.”
Dave waves her in. “Martina, this is the new guy, Mars McKinney. He’s a prior shithead like my brother, but he’s trying to get back on track.”
“Mars, huh? Like the planet?” she asks, offering me her hand. “Cute.”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you, too.”
We shake hands and Dave stands.
“She’ll show you how to run the register and the machines,” he says, gesturing at his door. “Haley works Mondays too. You two will relieve Martina. There’s not much to know about The Grind House except, when we’re dead, you can look at your phone or do homework, but when it gets slammed, you won’t have time for much of anything aside from pouring coffee.” He waves us away. “Go on and let her show you. We’ll catch up on the paperwork after the evening rush. Glad to have you on board, Mars.”
“Thanks, Dave,” I say with genuine gratitude.
Martina gives me a quick tour of the back and shows me where I can stow away my things. I opt to keep my hoodie on and accept a mustard yellow apron from her. We meet Haley—a pink-haired girl with zero personality—and then Martina shows me the machines. It’s all just a fancier version of Jimmy’s little diner. Minus the food and crotchety old people. And way better coffee.
As soon as Martina leaves, I saunter back over to Haley. She’s cute if you’re into girls who are less interesting than walls. The pink hair is severely misleading.
“Hey, Hay. How long have you been working here?”
She blinks at me. No smile. Nothing. “Three months.”
“You go to school here?”
More boring blinking. “Yep.”
“Ehhh, what’s your major?”
“Are you like going to talk the whole time because I’m trying to listen this podcast?” She points at where a small earbud sits inside her ear under a tuft of pink hair.
The door chimes and I jolt, thankful for the opportunity to talk to someone. Anyone.
“I’ll get this one,” I tell her and rush over to the register, eager for my first customer. At least here the patrons are my age, although Haley is about as interesting as Jimmy’s older and senile sister, Betty.
“The Grind House,” I bellow out, my big mouth carrying across the shop. “Good evening.”
The girl walking in with her head down, and shouldering a bag, stiffens at my greeting. She jerks her chin up, meeting my stare. Her eyes widen and her cheeks immediately turn pink. She opens her full pouty lips like she might say something, before bringing her knuckle to her lips in an almost nervous way.
“Do we give discounts for beautiful girls?” I ask Haley over my shoulder, never taking my eyes off my first customer.
“No,” Haley deadpans behind me.
The girl’s cheeks burn bright red, and now her ears are turning the same color beneath loose strands of coal black hair that have come loose from her messy bun. She blinks one, two, three times, but unlike Haley, this girl looks cute doing it. Like I’ve stunned her silent. I can’t help but grin at her, curling my finger and motioning her closer.
“Come a little closer, my pretty. I only bite when I get to know you.” I flash her a wicked grin, showing off all my teeth. “And we’ve only just met.”
Sage
My brain is in full-fledged panic mode. I glance over my shoulder to see if there’s someone behind me in line. There’s no one.
I stare at the tall and lean, but still muscular, guy behind the counter. God, he’s hot. Hot guys don’t talk to me though. I’m certain there’s a rule written down somewhere that says so.
A crooked grin hangs on his lips and his soft blue eyes nail me to my spot. My feet wouldn’t budge if someone lit a fire underneath them.
“Are you talking to…me?” My voice is just above a whisper, but he hears me somehow.
“You’re the only pretty girl in here,” he says. I feel his gaze tracing my features and my cheeks burn. I know my ears are bright pink. I feel them scorching.
“Rude,” I hear a girl mutter from behind the counter. My eyes lock on to her pink hair, and I finally find the muscle memory to swallow.
I know her. She doesn’t make my lattes like Martina, but at least she’s not a hot guy trying to turn me to ash with his stare. I decide to focus on her instead. I don’t even allow my eyes to look at the guy’s nametag.
I wiggle my fingers in the air to catch her attention. “Hi, um…can you make my usual?” I ask once she notices me. Her hands are full of mustard yellow mugs. She’s clearly busy but I need her to take my order. If she doesn’t I’ll be stuck with…him.
“The new guy needs to learn how to use the espresso machine, so he’s gonna help you.” Her tone is flat and her eyes are expressionless.
“What’s wrong? You don’t trust me? Is that any way to start a friendship with your new favorite barista?” He lifts a dark eyebrow and my chest squeezes. A thick wall of stone moves in and my lungs are defenseless against it.
“Martina usually makes my drink,” I tell him. I shrug my messenger bag higher on my shoulder and tap a curled knuckle against my bottom lip. His eyes hone in on the motion and my chest compresses.
My breathing is shallow. My heart is knocking around in my chest like a wild bird placed in a cage. Without warning, my hand jerks to my chest. I massage the spot over my heart, just to make sure nobody else can see how ferociously it’s thumping.
