Blue
Sitting on the porch steps resting my weight on my palms, I close my eyes and breathe. The sunrays are intoxicating. After spending last night unpacking and then falling asleep early, I ended up waking at five this morning.
The house was dead quiet, but I found Tim at the breakfast table, the paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He told me most of what I need to know about Burroughs High, then, after a quick shower, I decided to explore the neighborhood.
I wonder how long it’ll take for us to get past the awkwardness. Tim and I spoke on the phone a few times before Mom had me fly out, but still, it’s a little strange actually being here. Originally, I was going to have a few weekend visits with him to start. I guess something changed last minute because less than a week later, Mom booked me a one-way flight to DFW airport.
And here I am.
The door slams shut behind me, but I don’t open my eyes until I hear, “Seriously?”
I squint at the sun, then tilt my head as Kimmie steps around me. She looks at me like I’m a mutant or a roach, her face squished. My lips curve when I swallow back a laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so displeased with my existence.
“What?” Her brows hike up. “Do you, like, sit out here for fun or something?”
Suppressing a groan at having to leave such a comfortable spot, I push myself up and brush off the back of my ivory bohemian skirt. Having an actual schedule is going to take some getting used to. “I was waiting for Tim, but since you beat him to it ...”
Kimmie rolls her eyes as I grab my backpack off the steps. “Whatever.” She jiggles car keys and walks toward the garage. “This is the only time I’m giving you a ride.”
“Oh, thanks, but”—I follow after her only because my bike is parked next to her white Jetta—“I can take my bike. I really just needed to know what time I’m supposed to be there.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, then swings her gaze to my bike when I tug my long skirt out of the way and hop on. My backpack slips from my shoulder, and I take a second to readjust it. I made it out of sunrise-themed kantha quilts last year, but the straps have basically no grip.
“Whatever,” she mutters again, unlocking her car and slipping inside. Pop music instantly blares in my ears. Rihanna, maybe? She rolls down her window and shouts, “7:55 a.m. Good luck getting there on time.” Snickering, she pushes a huge pair of sunglasses over her eyes and backs out of the driveway. Her tires squeal as she turns onto the street.
I frown. After pulling my flip phone from the front pocket of my backpack, I check the time. 7:48 a.m.Whoops. In a car I could make it, but on my bike ... ? I’m about to put the phone back when1 New Messageappears. I flick it open.
Mom: Happy Monday, beautiful. Missing you something crazy.
I smile. I’m going to be late anyway, so I take a minute to text back:Missing you more. Headed to school now.Shaking my head, I add:How weird is that?
Almost right away, she responds:Way too weird. I’ll call you tonight. Stay you, my Blue. xx
My lips lift as I tuck my phone away and begin pedaling. The air is different here—heavy, humid, warm. The grass seems greener too, and there are no mountains. I’m crossing the intersection across from the park, about halfway to school, when I spot a homeless man sitting on a raggedy blanket, a big trash bag beside him. An ache builds in my chest as I take in his long ashy hair, clothes thick with filth.
God, I can’t imagine having to live that way.
Scanning my surroundings again, I’m overwhelmed by the perfect sidewalks, perfect houses, perfect cars. Everything is as cold as it is shiny. How’d this poor man wind up here?
As I slow down to cross the street, a giant, battered pickup truck parks at the curb in front of the man. Hitting my brake, I narrow my eyes. The driver’s door opens. My heart slams against my rib cage.
It’s the guy from my backyard. The guy I awkwardly waved to.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt this time, but even the loose material struggles to hide the contours of hard muscle I’ve already seen. A faint breeze comes and goes, pressing the shirt against his abs when he moves. He’s looking at the pavement when he hops out of the truck, then he heads straight for the homeless man.
I pedal forward to get a better view, but the enormous truck blocks most from sight, and I’m afraid if I move too much, he’ll spot me spying.Again.
I catch the two of them shaking hands, but it’s a long shake, and their fingers curl like they’re gripping something. Exchanging something? When the guy from the yard leans down to speak, his broad back hides the homeless man from my line of vision. I lean forward as far as I can without falling over.
After a few moments of me seeing only his shirt-clad back, the guy from the guesthouse walks in front of the truck, his gaze on the ground, thick brow furrowed in concentration, strides long and—
Oh, my god. Is he coming over here?
I suck in a breath, my eyes widening, but he rounds the vehicle, opens the door, and gets inside. His car door slams, snapping me out of my trance and releasing the oxygen stuck in my lungs.
Jesus.
I should go. If I don’t get to school soon, they’ll kick me out before I even get started. I put my feet on the pedals and roll forward, peeking around the truck to check on the homeless man. My heart deflates when I spot him. He’s still sitting on the blanket, but his shoulders are slumped forward, his face in his palms. My jaw drops. His whole body shakes.
