He doesn’t answer. I creep down the hall and peek around the corner. My shoulder bumps one of the hanging pictures, but I catch it before it falls.
“Shane Andrew Michaels, answer me right this?—”
“Yes! Jesus, fuck off would you?—”
Gran spins on him, waving her finger in his face. Through tight lips, she says, “Don’t you dare speak to me like?—”
Shane starts to say something, but then his bloodshot eyes meet mine, and he takes a step back from her. He’s sweaty and pale. Huffing a breath, he shoves past Gran, then me, barreling to his room and slamming the door behind him.
Gran forces a smile, straightening out her blue button-down blouse. “Hello, sweetheart. I’m gonna go out for a smoke. Why don’t you come with me?” she asks, gesturing toward the porch.
She walks toward me, resting a hand on my back.
Gran’s small but mighty. She’s where I get my short stature from. Her gray hair’s pulled away from her face with a sparkly silver clip.
She steps out onto the porch, packing her cigarettes on the way to the swing. I close the door behind me and sit next to her.
“Your brother’s a pain in my ass.” She shakes her head as she lights one up. “He’s just like his damn dad.”
Barely more than a whisper, I say, “I don’t think he’s anything like Dad.”
I know Shane—he’s brave. He might be the way he is because of our dad, but he’s not cruel. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. No one really understands him… they didn’t see what he went through.
Well, no one except me.
She exhales, squeezing her eyes shut. Her shoulders slump. “You alright?”
I nod, picking at a string on my denim shorts.
“He’s happy you’re here. He’s just having a hard time. That’s all.”
“I know,” I mutter.
“He’ll be better tomorrow. Let him sleep it off. The old Shane’ll be back by mornin’.”
She finishes her cigarette before going back inside, leaving me on the swing. I don’t want Shane to have a hard time. His whole life’s been a hard time.
My bare feet sweep back and forth against the carpeted porch as I fight back tears. If Shane was out here with me, he’d probably tell me to quit being a big baby. I sniff them away as a blonde pulls up on a bike.
She stops in front of the house in cut-off shorts, a T-shirt that’s too big, and a backward baseball cap.
“Who are you?” she asks, smacking a piece of gum.
I stare at her for a moment, taken aback by her sharp tone.
When I don’t answer right away, she snaps, “You can’t speak? You know the boy that lives here’s weird too.”
“No, I just—” I shake my head, pinching my brows together. “Jesus, have you heard of manners?”
She hesitates, dropping her hands to her sides. “It was a joke.”
“It wasn’t funny, and you shouldn’t pop your gum like that. It’s tacky.”
She chuckles before climbing off her bike and jogging up to the porch. Flopping down on the swing, she holds out a hand. “I’m Nik.”
Taking her hand, I say, “Ash.”
“How old are you?” she asks.
