Page 16 of Bad Intentions

“No. I managed the Sheetz by the truck stop. Then waited at the Italian place downtown. Plus, you just moved back. How would you know?”

I’m caught by surprise. Has she been asking around about me or something?

I lean on the counter to bring my eyes to her level. “Seriously, though. Why are you in this town?”

She must have some baggage—that’s the only reason people from the cities hide in small towns. Could be something bad, trauma. I normally have zero interest in others’ trauma when mine is overflowing the bucket.

Then, again, curiosity.

“Regrouping,” Rika says with a sneaky glint in her eyes. “Running away, getting myself together—whatever you wanna call it. Why are you?” she challenges me.

Jeez, this isn’t a competition of sad life stories. “My grandma is ill.”

“Karen Boots?”

I flinch. She knows the last name, probably knows the history. Of course she does. Which means she’s heard about my mom, too. She’d better not bring it up.

Mom trauma, that’s what they call it. “Aw, it was bad for you growing up.” “That's horrible.” “That sucks.” That was such a long time ago, but often, those sharp pieces of your past stay in you, cutting from the inside like the Pear of Anguish torture tool. I don’t remember my mom, but what happened to her is a badge I have to carry. Decades after she’s gone, the ghost of her is still next to me, almost every day, through stories, but more importantly, in my grandmother and her story, reminding me of where I come from.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound too defensive. “Karen Boots.”

“Yeah,” Rika mimics me.

“She raised me. So, I came to take care of her.”

“So you being here has nothing to do with that viral video that got you canceled?”

Aargh! I knew it!

And just like that, my scandal has made it to the small diner in Burnville.

10

JOSIE

In the age of social media, it only takes one wrong word to get canceled or cyber-bullied. Swear words have become commonplace, but a whole number of sensitive words and seemingly harmless acts can spark a war nowadays.

Rika narrows her eyes at me—she knows she’s hit a sensitive spot. In my experience, you don’t do that unless you want to hurt someone.

I expect another bitterly triumphant comment, which makes anger boil up in me again. I still haven’t learned how to properly respond to the mention of what happened back in Pittsburgh. I clench my jaw and hold her gaze. She might be one of those scandal-digging fans who thrive on trashing others. I’ve had enough of those.

She tosses her hair back, her braids snaking over her shoulders. No nasty comments follow, which surprises me a little. She studies me with uneasy calmness.

“You have a great voice,” she says. “I listened to your songs after that video went viral. You are great, girl. Like, really great.”

The comment cuts my reeling mind off from trying to generate a clever answer.

Thank you. I don’t say it, because I’ve learned from experience that insults often come right after praise. “You were great, but that video—” And then the pitchforks come out.

“Still singing?” Rika asks.

I push off the counter, my entire body so stiff I could crack at a touch.

“I mean, I get it,” she goes on. “It’s hard to find inspiration in this town. I hope you didn’t let a little hiccup and a handful of haters stop what you were doing. You are great.”

If you consider tens of thousands of people across social platforms a handful, this little motivational talk could work. But she doesn’t get it. No one does unless they know what it’s like to have over a million followers on social media and then, one day, have it all x-ed out. Forget any artist wanting to collab—let alone labels or producers.

“Right.” I fetch the coffee pot, then fill her cup though it barely needs a refill.