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When my first shift was over, I yanked off my apron, folded it and stuck it in my back pocket. I cut toward College Hill and stopped in at Louis Restaurant for some dinner. Although I had always loved the place, I found myself wanting the ridiculous food of the ranch. I looked up from my seat and called it what it was. Homesick. I was homesick something awful for Cricket.
I sat back and recalled all the times I made myself memorize her, utterly grateful that I had. Vanilla. Grapefruit. Clever smiles. Ballet walks. Swishing hips. Witty conversation. Humble attitude. Talented. All-around perfect. I sighed, leaving my food as it was and left enough for a generous tip.
I walked home, determined to trudge through it all, determined to give the Hunts a life free of any drama, and that was not going to happen if my dad had anything to say about it.
The night air felt thick. It was starting to get really warm and humid and I was ready for school to start, ready for the distraction. Summer bugs began chirping in the trees on my walk home. I studied the sidewalk, wishing it was field and snow.
I swung open the iron gate to my complex and let it slam shut behind me. I descended the walkway that led to my door and pulled my keys out of my front pocket. I swung them in my fingers, whistling “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.”
“That’s my jam,” someone beside me said.
I stopped walking, my keys dropping to the sidewalk below me. My heart started racing.
“You like The Flaming Lips?” I asked her, the same question I had that day she delivered the calf.
She sat on the retaining wall in front of my apartment, one knee against her chest, and watched me. She made my blood furiously pump through my veins. I wanted to seize her.
“Why did you go?” she asked.
“I had to.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“My dad won’t stop trying to destroy me, Cricket, and he’ll take down everyone in my path, including your family.”
“You are my family, Spencer.”
My eyes closed at her drugging words.
“Did you mean it?” she asked, holding up my crinkled letter. It looked so worn, like she’d read it over and over.
“Every. Word.”
“Come here,” she said.
I walked toward her.
She had a soft canvas bag beside her. She reached her hand inside and pulled her hand out. Perched on her palm was the sculpture of the three little birds. On a ribbon of metal, it read “Smile with the risin’ sun.”
“Take it.”
I held it in my hand and studied its brilliancy. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“You’re the sun for me, Cricket.”
“You’re the sun for me, Spencer.”
“I hate life without you, Cricket.”
“I hate life without you, Spencer.”
“I want you so bad. I can taste you already.”
“I’m yours to taste, love.”
“But my dad…”
“You’re dad is not invincible, Spencer. We will cross those bridges when we come to them.”
