Chapter 3
Five years later
I sigh, pressing closer to the warm body beside me.
Sam shifts in his sleep, his hand brushing mine, and for a second, I pretend we don’t have to get up.
The sharp chatter of birds shatters my peace, and my eyes fly open.
Beyond the tree house window, streaks of color stain the sky, signaling the approaching sunrise. What time is it?
My gaze shifts to the clock hanging on the wall. Holy crap! What the heck happened to my alarm? I reach down and snag my cell phone off the floor. The freaking battery’s dead. Dang it! I fell asleep last night and forgot to charge my phone.
“Sam, get up,” I whisper urgently, roughly shaking his shoulder.
“Ten more minutes,” he grumbles, his eyes still closed.
“Uh-uh. Up. Now,” I order, scrambling off the futon.
“Stop being mean,” he whines, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
“Come on, Sam,” I grab a pillow and whack him on the head, but he doesn’t budge. “It’s ten to six. You know my momma will be waking up soon.”
And if she happens to stop by my bedroom and I’m not there… I shiver. She’ll beat me senseless and ground me until I’m married.
“Maybe…” I hesitate. “Maybe you shouldn’t come over so much.”
“Whoa.” Sam bolts to his feet, shaggy blond hair flopping across his tan forehead. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s becoming too risky sneaking out here all the time. My momma’s going to pitch a fit if she catches me.”
Recently, Momma’s gotten stricter about my comings and goings. And that’s not the worst part. I’ve caught her staring at me with a calculating gleam in her eyes more than once. I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen.
“Don’t worry.” He curls his hands around my slender shoulders and gives me his signature lopsided smile. “I’ll be your human alarm clock from now on.”
I scoff. “Sam, you sleep like the dead.”
“Dang, have some faith in me,” he gripes, giving my earlobe a playful tug.
I sigh contentedly and lean into his hand. Most nights, I fall asleep curled against his chest, lulled by that same gentle touch.
“All right, I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.” I hold up one finger. “Don’t let me down.”
“You know I got your back, girl.” He gathers me in a tight embrace and drops a soft kiss on my temple.
I pull back and meet his twinkling blue gaze. “I’m happy we’re friends.”
He’s always been more than that, though. He’s my secret. My shelter. My other half when everything else is going to shit.
He’s the one bright spot in my controlled existence. When Momma pushes me to the brink, he stops me from tumbling over the edge. What would I do without his constant presence in my life?
I hope I never have to find out.
A faint frown flickers across his expressive face, but disappears just as fast.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.
“Nothing.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“You sure?”
“I’m cool, Zilphia,” he clips out.
“Okay. I’m looking forward to kicking your butt in Monopoly again tonight,” I tease to lighten the mood.
“Hey,” he scowls in mock anger. “You won because you cheated.”
“I did not.” I chuckle, punching him in the arm. “You’re just a sore loser.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says, shooing me toward the door. “Go on, get outta here.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” I slide my feet into my comfy pink bunny slippers. “See you later.”
I dash to the mirror and snatch my bonnet off. It won’t take too long to style my hair. I plug my flat iron into the outlet and switch it on, then liberally apply heat protectant onto my thick strands.
“Hey, shit for brains.” Nolan strolls into my bedroom and stretches out across my bed. “Momma said get your ass downstairs pronto.”
“Get out,” I snap, picking up my hairspray and launching it at his fat head.
He easily dodges it. “Nope.”
“I mean it,” I bite out between clenched teeth, scouring my dresser for the next haircare product to use as a makeshift missile.
“Don’t kill the messenger.” He leans to the side and lets a big one rip. “Damn, that stench is going to linger in here for days.”
“Ugh, you disgusting pig!” I charge at him, my fist raised. “I’m going to murder you!”
Before I can deliver the blow, he bolts out of the door, cackling like a hyena.
Living with him is a nightmare! And since we’re going to the same school this year, he’s my ride in the mornings.
Grrr! Being in a confined space with him is a true test of my patience, and that’s putting it mildly.
He blasts the radio, farts, picks his nose…
basically doing everything he can to annoy me during the entire twenty-minute drive.
Thank the heavens above, he’s graduating next year and heading off to college—hopefully somewhere thousands of miles away. I’m literally counting the days. I pluck my honeysuckle body spray from the dresser and liberally spray the sweet scent around my room.
Great, now it smells like flowers and rotten eggs.
Nolan is popular and well-liked by his peers.
I don’t understand it. Girls even compete for his attention.
It’s sickening to watch. What the heck do they see in him?
It can’t be his stellar personality. Okay, yeah, playing sports has toned his body, but he’s short and resembles a naked mole rat.
He’s seriously butt ugly. And I’m not just saying that because he’s the worst brother on this planet. It’s a fact.
Nolan doesn’t take after our parents, who are very attractive people. Maybe he’s adopted. That’d explain a lot.
I quickly run the flat iron through my silky mane, then slick down my baby hairs with edge control. A few coats of watermelon-flavored lip gloss, and I’m ready. I study my reflection, turning from side to side, checking that everything is perfect.
“Zilphia Theresa Kensley, your behind better be at the kitchen table in two minutes!” Momma yells upstairs.
Crappity crap crap. It spells disaster whenever she uses my full name. I’m in for the ‘you’re a bad daughter’ lecture interspersed with head shakes of disappointment. Yippee.
“Coming, Momma,” I call out, grabbing my inhaler, my purse, and my backpack. I yank my door shut and race downstairs.
“Good morning.” I bustle into the kitchen and slide into a chair.
The table is laden with bacon, eggs, potatoes, grits, and pancakes.
“Morning, baby girl.” Daddy beams, placing his coffee mug on the table. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
“Yep.”
Momma stops filling the dishwasher and immediately starts airing my shortcomings. “You are so irresponsible, Zilphia. Why can’t you be more like your brother?”
Daddy shoots me a pitying look but doesn’t utter a word in my defense. We’re in the same boat. Momma is always jumping down his throat for one reason or another, mostly about finances. She spends more than he earns. I wonder if he regrets choosing her instead of Sheila.
“I told her to hurry up, Momma, but she was taking her sweet ole time.” Nolan smiles smugly.
Oh, how I want to smack it off his fugly face.
“Do you need a bedtime at fifteen?”
“No, Momma,” I answer respectfully. “I forgot to charge my phone last night.”
“You’re too old to be this stupid and irresponsible,” she snaps, glaring at me with disdain.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, clasping my sweaty hands together beneath the table. “It won’t happen again.”
She lets out an annoyed huff and turns back to her task. I release a relieved breath and begin stocking my plate. I’m careful to serve myself small portions so as not to incur her wrath.
Momma prepares a feast every morning, dressed as if she’s heading to a red-carpet event.
Today, a ruffled apron is cinched tight around a yellow sundress. Designer, of course—same as the white stilettoes adorning her dainty feet.
Her red lipstick hasn’t smudged. Not a single hair out of place in her perfect bun.
Who cooks dressed like that?
She doesn’t have anywhere to be. Not this early. Unless “somewhere” means lunch at the country club or a shopping spree with the same women who kiss each other’s cheeks and roll their eyes the second backs are turned.
“Have you made a decision about me visiting Grandma for Thanksgiving?” I ask her.
My grandmother fell and broke her hip two years ago. She had surgery to repair the damage. I haven’t seen her since—traveling is just too exhausting for her now.
“I have and the answer is no.”
“Please,” I beg, clenching the fork in my hand. “I miss Grandma so much.”
And I want to get to know my aunt and cousins too.
Deja and I are the same age, and Terrence just turned three.
“Well, I don’t want Sheila and your cousins’ ghetto behavior rubbing off on you. If Momma had her own place, I’d let you go.”
“But—”
She slams the dishwasher shut. “This topic is closed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, sinking into my chair.
I blink back tears, my heart splintering into tiny pieces. It’s not fair. The feud between Momma and Sheila has nothing to do with me. Why should I suffer because they don’t get along?
“Argh!”
My head snaps up at Momma’s outraged cry to find her bristling near the open refrigerator, holding a medium-size storage container.
Oh no. I’m in big trouble now.
“Why is there only one chicken breast left? I cooked extra to use for stir fry tonight.”
“I didn’t eat them,” Nolan announces, saturating his pancakes in syrup.
“Wesley?” she growls at Daddy, planting a newly manicured hand on her hip.
“It wasn’t me either,” he responds.
Suddenly, three pairs of eyes land on me, and I fidget in my seat.
“I got hungry in the middle of the night,” I explain lamely. It was either that or “Oh, I took a plate of food to my secret friend last night.”
“No wonder you’re getting fat,” Nolan retorts.
Momma rushes forward and yanks me out of the chair. “Bathroom. Now.”
I know what this means.
Weight check.
My mother trails behind me, shoving me toward the digital scale when we reach the bathroom. “Move it!”
I step on the smooth metal surface, shaking in absolute terror.
121 lb.
“You’ve gained six pounds!” she screeches and slaps me hard across the face. “Why are you trying to embarrass me?”
“I’m not, Momma, I swear,” I say, tears staining my cheeks.
“You don’t deserve to be a majorette!” She slaps me again. “You’re disgusting and bring shame to the uniform!”
I didn’t even want to try out for the team. Momma was a majorette and forced me to follow in her footsteps.
“No fried foods, starches, or sugar until I say otherwise.”
With the taste of blood in my mouth, I choke back a sob and whisper, “Yes, ma’am.”