Chapters (44)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Julie Murphy
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
Regardless, if I’d known I would be trudging through sharp gravel and mud to get to Dad’s construction site, I probably would not have worn my favorite teal crushed-velvet Doc Martens. Did I mention that it’s only the third week of April and already sweltering? This weather is really not speaking to my footwear choices, but I spend so much energy making sure I don’t stand out that I like to take advantage of wearing a few of my favorite pieces when I’m going places where I won’t see anyone from school.
When I got home that afternoon, Mom was already busy making dinner, and she was in a great mood. I don’t know why and it honestly doesn’t matter, but when Mom is in a good mood, you’re either with her or against her. Which is why she did not take kindly to me attempting to pick a fight with Clem the moment we sat down for dinner.
“How’s my old friend Paulina out in Georgia doing?” I asked.
Clem crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, if you’re ready to talk about this, let’s get it out of the way.”
“I don’t think there’s much to talk about, Clem. We made plans and you changed them.”
She handed me the plates while she put out the forks and knives. “It’s not that simple.”
“Seems like it was pretty simple when you told Mom and Dad and Grammy.”
“And Hannah, too,” she added quietly.
“Oh, so Hannah knows too?” I wasn’t surprised, but I was hurt.
“She’s my girlfriend, Waylon.”
“Yeah, and I’m your twin brother.”
“Did you ever think that maybe there was a reas—” She threw her arms up and shook her head. “You know what? You’re petty.”
“Petty? I’m petty for caring that my sister went behind my back—”
“Enough,” snapped Mom. “I’m not dealing with this tonight. You two have to sort this out.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
“You.” Mom pointed to me. “I’m putting this in a container and you’re taking it to your father.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “After dinner.”
“Nope.” She ducked down to rummage around in her cabinet of mismatched plastic containers. “You eat with your father. Clem and I will eat here.”
My stomach grumbled then at the absolutely perfect moment, but if she could hear, she showed no pity on me.