Chapter 12 Jane
Jane
I give Cookie a gentle squeeze with my right leg so that she’ll make the turn.
We haven’t taken this route home from the general store before, but I know that this particular oil road cuts over to the highway. From there, we can follow along the shoulder until we hit Seven Pines.
The sun is a laser overhead, but on this grassy lane, the pine trees are so tall, so thick, that Cookie and I ride in a blanket of shadow.
Mom hates it when I ride bareback, but I know Cookie prefers not to be weighed down by a saddle, especially under the blistering sun.
And I prefer it, too. This free-falling, wild feeling I get when it’s just me and Cookie galloping across the field, no barrier between us, Cookie’s strawberry-blond mane loosely latticed through my hands.
It’s bonding, like I’m telling Cookie that I trust her, and she, in turn, trusts me.
Under the cloak of the piney shadows, the air rushing by feels almost cool, electric. Like my whole body’s being bathed in the clean, sharp scent of the forest.
When we get to the store, I step inside, letting the cold from the AC blast me.
I head for the lamb socks, but take my time roaming the aisles, pining for things I can’t afford, like the cute lime-green watering can with daisies painted on it.
It’s not that I care much for material things, but sometimes I wish I could be like Blair, a normal teen with an actual allowance.
I finally get to the socks, pluck them from the shelf, head for the counter.
It’s Denny who is at the register today.
Son of the shopkeeper, Mr. Oldham, and they only boy in a long time who’s had eyes for Julia.
He’s tall with a freckled face and short red hair. Kinda cute but in a nerdy, gawky way.
I can tell straightaway my sister is at once happy that he’s taken a shine to her but also mad that he’s not one of the gorgeous ones. So she’s frosty with him, but flirts back just enough to keep him on the hook.
After the first time I saw them flirting, I asked her about it later that night while we were doing laundry.
“So, Denny is kinda cute. And he seems to think you are, too.”
The corners of her lips lifted into a grin, but her face turned right back into a stone. “You’re just jealous that he’s taken notice of me and not you for a change.”
Such a bitch.
There I was, trying to be nice to her, trying to encourage her to maybe date him or something, but she had to cut me down.
Whatever. As I reach the counter now, Denny’s grinning at me.
“Julia with you today? Outside maybe?” Red streaks his neck as he asks me this.
“Nah, she’s back at the farm. Working with the bees.”
He takes my money, makes change. “Tell her I said hi, will ya?”
Man, I wish he’d work up the nerve to ask her out. Turn her back into an earlier, kinder, and much less cruel version of herself. If that’s possible.
I’m about to leave when he adds, “And hey, wait, lemme get you a free Dr. Pepper. On the house.”
I’m not sure if I should accept it; he’s only ever offered this to Julia, and I wouldn’t want her to think I’m betraying her somehow. But before I can say no, he’s handing me an icy cold bottle that I can’t resist.
After slamming it, I slip back outside onto the porch, plunk a quarter in the pay phone, and call Luke.
He answers on the first ring. “Heeeey,” he says with a lazy drawl.
I can picture him pasted along the sofa, top button of his jeans undone, dragging a hand through his hair.
“How’d you know it was me?” I smile into the receiver.
“I’m psychic,” Luke teases.
“Well, if you’re psychic, then tell me, when are we gonna see each other?”
“Mmmm… Not sure. Let me ask my Magic 8 Ball.”
He actually has one.
“Hold on.” The sound of the ball being shaken fills the line. “It says, You may rely on it.”
“That’s not a good answer. I wanna know when. Like, my birthday’s in two weeks—”
“June thirteenth, I remember. Only you would be born on the thirteenth, you wicked thing.”
This makes me laugh. “So…what do ya say? Seriously, you gonna come for my birthday?”
“Well, I wanted to keep it a surprise, but I actually think I’m gonna be there before then.”
I squeal so loudly, Cookie turns and looks at me. “Really? I miss you so much, babe.”
“Ah, not as much as I miss you.” Luke’s voice gets lower; I can picture his hand moving down to his zipper.
The thought sends shivers zinging over me.
Not that we’ve gone all the way. We haven’t. I may be wicked in my own way, but I still want to wait until I’m truly eighteen to take that step. If I even want to make it then.
But I love kissing Luke, doing other things with him I shouldn’t be doing, like taking off my shirt, letting him kiss me all over, and kissing him all over right back.
“You just gonna show up, then? Unannounced?”
“Don’t spoil the surprise any more than you already have.”
I can hear the grin in his voice.
After the call, I cluck at Cookie, who sidles up to the porch so I can mount her.
We trot down the lane, and then I nudge her with the heels of my boots, signaling for her to canter. Once we reach the highway, she breaks into a gallop again, the wind blasting my hair, cooling the sweat from it.
I want to ride all the way to Dallas. I can, I think; this road would eventually spill onto the freeway that leads there, but there’d be too many cars for Cookie, too much commotion.
I could hop a train like a bum the way I did that one time in Missouri.
We lived in a small depressing town, and one Friday, I hopped the freight train to St. Louis.
But once I got off, meandered around, I became intimidated by all the busyness of the big city—I was only thirteen—so I called Pa to come pick me up.
He was so disappointed in me, but maybe also kind of proud?
No, I should wait for Luke to come visit me.
The ground on the shoulder beneath Cookie’s feet is marshy, the thundering of her hooves muted by the boggy soil. Only the sound of cars whizzing past fills my ears.
When Cookie descends into a basin, I lean down into her spine even more. I hear a car buzz up behind us. Instead of soaring past, like the other vehicles, this one slows until it’s keeping pace with me and Cookie.
What the hell?
I twist my neck to the left, very slightly, to avoid changing Cookie’s course. It’s an apple-red Beamer. A convertible, but the cream-colored top is up.
I can’t make out who the driver is. All I see is a blur of blond hair, and I wonder, Is this person lost, looking for directions?
But they’re not rolling their window down, so I bring my attention back to Cookie.
“You’re a good girl,” I say, stroking her neck, trying to keep her calm, keep myself calm, because the car is sticking right next to us.
Inching closer. I feel as if I’m being squeezed between the bimmer and the wooden fence line that runs along the highway, even though there’s still plenty of space.
But alarm seeps over me; the taste of metal fills my mouth.
I shoot another look at the driver, who revs the engine loudly before peeling away.
At the commotion, Cookie spooks, gallops toward the fence line.
I try to guide her back, but by now she’s in full-blown panic mode. She races farther off the road until my leg explodes in pain, dragging alongside the barky fence, which soon claws me off Cookie’s back.