Page 8 of Within These County Lines

She snorts like a horse, vibrating her lips. “We just started.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t mean it can’t be stupid.” I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Have you ever heard of Rainbow Valley Swim Club?”

She shakes her head. “What’s that?”

“Never mind. Forget it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, you best not be thinking about quitting. We can’t fund our Appalachian road trip with your complaints.”

In August, we’re supposed to drive from Penango to West Virginia, down through Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, and finally Tennessee. I’ll stop in Knoxville. Whitley plans to continue onward to Florida where she’ll attend the University of Florida in Gainesville.

We want to see more states in a couple weeks than we have in our whole lives.

That is, if there is life after Penango.

Instead of responding to her, I push through the front door and slam it behind me.

In the bathroom, Mom is tying her hair into a ponytail, wearing her blue scrubs for her hospital shift.

“You’re home early,” she says, catching my reflection in the mirror. “I thought this was a full-time job?”

“It is.” I sigh. “But I had to take some personal time after unexpected events this morning.”

She raises her eyebrows. “It doesn’t look good to call out of a job in your first week, Stetson. This job is paying for your travel to Tennessee. If you get fired, you’ll be walking to Penango College.”

I nod stiffly. “I know, Mom. It’s paying for a lot of things. Are you almost done? I have to pee.”

“I need five more minutes, honey. I have work this afternoon. You can’t change your schedule and expect everyone else to do the same.”

I exhale. “Oh my god. Are you and Murray teaming up against me or something?”

She blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

I retreat to my room, thrust in my earbuds, and blast “Like a Prayer” from Miley Cyrus’s live album at full volume.

I listen exclusively to live recordings. I’ve never been to a concert, but hearing a crowd of strangers from somewhere far away gives me hope that one day I’ll be among them. And right now, a concert feels like the perfect place to scream my lungs out without anyone asking why.

Murray’s smiling face stares down at me from the bulletin board above my desk. It’s covered in movie ticket stubs, photos, and all the proof of our time together. The tiniest gap between his two front teeth is visible in every shot.

I yank the board from my wall and hurl it across the room. It crashes into my dresser with a thud that scatters the pictures, buttons, and thumbtacks like shrapnel.

I rip off my black shirt, still damp with Xander’s tears, then collapse onto my bed, pulling my pillow over my face to scream.

Shortly after, the door flies open.

“Is there a damn exorcism happening in here?” Whitley asks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I sniff, hard. “Get those pies away from me!” I shout, pointing at the boxes in her arms.

The management at the Bean used to give Murray and me pies nearing their expiration date to deliver to old folks around the county. We’d always sneak one for ourselves, sharing sweet kisses laced with cherry, blueberry, or raspberry throughout the afternoons.

But now their sweetness makes me sick.

Whitley frowns and places the boxes on my dresser, then sits on the bottom of my mattress. I slowly pull my earbuds out.

“Okay, what is your deal?” she asks. “You’ve been so weird today. I know it’s not our job.” A few seconds of silence pass. “Are you going to tell me what happened with Murray or what?”

I rub my face. “I haven’t told anyone about it,” I admit. “I don’t know if I want to yet.”