“Helping out at the farm for the time being.”
“And just how long isthatgoing to last?” Vince asks.
I shrug. “Till it doesn’t.”
I hear somebody shout, “Let’s get this party started!” then, and see Abby’s eyes widen and her pretty face, pale to begin with, grow paler.
I wheel around and see that Roof and Lynyrd Crockett have made a predictably loud entrance into Rowdy’s.
Somehow, they spot me at the same moment I’m looking across the room at them.
“If it ain’t the Big Nothing,” Roof yells over to me.
It turns out Abby’s right about news traveling fast in our town.
Even news of my brand-new nickname has made it to Rowdy’s.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LYNYRD POINTS AT Abby.
“Man, Big Nothing, you don’t waste any time,” he says. “You already hitting that again?”
Quietly Vince says, “We should get out of here, Silas. Likenow.”
My eyes are still locked on the Crockett boys, who are making no move to head to the bar, still a few feet from the front door.
“Them first,” I say to Vince.
Abby leans close to my ear. “Silas,” she says. “You’ve already had enough trouble for one day. You don’t need any more from the Crocketts.”
“I’m not the one who’d be starting it.”
Maybe it’s something in my voice, as calm as it is. Or just how long Vince Tarplay has known me, and how well. Maybe something he sees in my eyes.
“I’m here,” he says in not much more than a whisper.
I’m still looking at the Crocketts like they owe me money.
“That was just the JV team of assholes this afternoon,” I say to Vince and Abby, only loud enough for them to hear. “Over there is the varsity.”
Rowdy’s, despite the crowd in the front room, has gotten very quiet. It’s even as if someone has lowered the volume of the music.
“You talking to us, Big Nothing?” Roof Crockett says to me.
“Nah, Roof,” I call out to him. “That would indicate that I’m doing anything about you boys being here except care.”
He and his brother come walking toward us then, both of them weaving slightly, shoving a couple of guys out of the way as they do. They’re both wearing vests with white long-sleeved shirts underneath and jeans with visible stains on the front. As always with the Crockett boys, my first thought is gravy stains.
Or blood.
“Hard to believe nobody’s snatched you yet, Abby,” Lynyrd says.
By now they’re standing over the table, Lynyrd in front. He says, “You think it might be on account of there being too much tread on your tires, girl?”
He reaches down and rubs a hand down her cheek. She flinches, maybe afraid that he might not stop there.
But he does, because my hand is around his wrist as I’m already up and out of my chair.
