Cover.html by Playing Hurt Holly Schindler

Author:Playing Hurt Holly Schindler [Schindler, Playing Hurt Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

Kenzie’s face falls a little. But what am I supposed to do? There’s no room for her in the cab—three’s pushing it as it is. And if I kick Chelsea out, it would look bad—wouldn’t it? It’s not that I want Chelsea to come with us. Right?

Kenzie hands Brandon the stack of flyers. “Come on, already,”

Brandon says, his voice bouncing against the dash. “Let’s go.”

Chelsea

pivot

Clint,”Isay,asweallpileoutofthecab.Brandonflashesmealook as he rushes toward Pike’s. I flash him a nasty one right back. The silence that filled the truck all the way to Baudette was unbearable—he had to notice that. And I’m going to burst if I don’t get to the bottom of this, find out why Clint keeps pushing me away. Brandon shakes his head at me the moment before he disappears through the door. I hurry after him, trying to catch up with Clint.

“Come on. Clint. Talk to me,” I plead, following him inside. The lunch rush has left every table in the entire restaurant decorated with wadded-up napkins, and plates empty except for the stray French fry and uneaten tomato slice. Ice-filled glasses have created random patterns of watery circles on tabletops. The air hangs heavy with the smells of cooking oil and sunscreen, lake water and Noxzema. My tears are like a whole pack of dogs on leashes; no matter how I try to tug them back, they just keep barreling forward. I tilt my head toward the ground while Brandon attacks Gene, flopping his banner out 136/262

onto the floor. Cecilia smiles at him as her hair hangs down over her tired face.

But when she looks back our way, at me and Clint, still river-soggy and awkward, her eyes hang on awhile. She stares at Clint’s angry, clenched jaw, and at my face, hot with embarrassment, until Brandon finishes his breathless sales pitch to Clint’s dad.

“Brandon,” she says, tossing a long brown strand of hair away from her eye as she pinches two empty glasses between her fingers, “we’d be happy to hang the banner in the window. In the meantime, why don’t you let Clint walk you around town? He can show you all the best places to post your signs. Chelsea can stay with us until you guys get back.”

Brandon sprints toward the door, grabbing Clint’s arm on the way out. He races onto the sidewalk, dragging Clint, so happy he’s half-skipping. He starts joyfully singing Paul Simon’s “Cecilia.”

I’m still shaking my head at him when Cecilia calls, “Come back here, Chelsea,” nodding once toward the kitchen. I follow her into the kitchen, but I still feel like crying—maybe even more so now. I think if she says one word to me, my eyes will turn into lawn sprinklers, spraying water all over the entirety of Pike’s kitchen. The stainless steel appliances will all be dripping, exhaust hoods to grease traps.

“You don’t mind helping me out in dish?” Cecilia asks. I don’t—even though it’s a little weird. It’ll give me something to do with my hands, at least. And I won’t have to look Cecilia in the eye.

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