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“Watch your mouth,” Mom says from across the table, her voice sounding resigned, probably from years of futile attempts to make me watch my mouth. She leans over and takes the glue gun, righting it so that it won’t burn a hole through the tablecloth.
I suck in a deep breath through my teeth, flailing my burned finger around in the air. The coolness from my spit helps it a little, but I know it’ll blister and then the rest of my day will be screwed. Tears pool in my eyes as I stare at the stupid red splotch on my skin.
“You okay?” Mom asks, peering at me over her own glue gun. I nod, and her lips flatten. She squeezes glue onto a plastic football then presses it to a wooden W and puts her glue gun down next to mine. “Talk to me, Isla.”
My already huge eyes get even bigger in my poor representation of innocence. I shrug. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Mom’s ocean blue eyes meet mine. She’s giving me that you can’t fool me look. “You’ve been weird all week, girl. I’m not an idiot. What’s wrong?”
I swallow and seriously consider telling her about Nate and how distant he’s been lately. It’s awkward to talk to parents about this kind of thing, but maybe she’ll have some insight, some kind of advic
e to put my mind at ease. But then the back door creaks open, and I’m saved by the arrival of my dad.
“Where’s my girls?” he calls out, walking through the alcove that leads into the dining room, AKA the Warrior’s spirit warehouse. Of course he knows we’re in here—we’re always in here before school starts. He shrugs off his shoulder bag and opens it, taking out a few papers that he hands to Mom. “Can you look over this real quick, see if I forgot anything?” To me, Dad smiles. “I was thinking pizza after the meeting. What do you say, Isla?”
“Meeting?” I ask for one confusing second. And then I groan. “Ugh, is it HOA time again?”
“That’s why I’m bribing you with pizza,” Dad says, throwing me a wink. I roll my eyes, wondering if I could claim that my finger burn needs hospital intervention and then get out of going to this stupid meeting. Both of my parents are on the board for the Homeowners Association, and they drag me to the monthly meetings to help them pass out paperwork and collect signatures. Basically, I’m the Spirit Girl of the HOA. The only good thing about these meetings is that Nate’s parents are on the board, too. He lives just a few streets over. The close proximity is how we first met at a bus stop all those years ago.
I haven’t seen him in three days, and I definitely need some boyfriend time. I force a smile and shove down the painful feeling in my chest. This will be a good meeting. Nate will be over whatever has been making him weird lately, and things will go back to normal. Yep, I think as I head to my bedroom and get ready, flailing my burned finger. Everything will go back to normal, just like it always has.
Nate waves at me from his place at the entrance of Grace Care, a senior living facility with the cheapest conference room in town. His massive shoulders not only make him a great linebacker, but it enables him to be seen from far away. “I’ll see you guys inside,” I say to my parents as I jog ahead to meet him.
“Hey,” I say, breathless both from the jog and his gorgeous one-dimpled smile. He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt that hugs tightly to his chest and biceps, making me swoon hard after three days of not seeing him.
“Hey there,” he says, his southern voice soothing to my soul. He leans down, and I lift up on my toes to kiss him. It’s a quick gesture, but that’s all it takes to melt away the stone in my chest. I was right. Things are okay.
Nate hands me half of the papers in his hand. “Wanna help?”
“Of course,” I say, taking my place at his side. The papers are flyers with local news and information about what’s been happening in our neighborhood over the last month. I know from memory that we have over five hundred homes in our subdivision and about a third of the residents come to these meetings. There’s a large headline at the top of the flyer. I catch the word rezoning but then Mrs. Walker approaches, and I hand her the flyer before I’ve read the rest of it.
Inside, Grace Care is an elaborate building with dark wood floors and reclaimed wooden paneling with wrought iron décor lining the high ceilings. Fall decorations fill every inch of free space, and the corridor smells like warm pumpkin pie and cinnamon scented candles. We head into the conference room which is large enough to hold a few hundred people comfortably in padded chairs. There’s a small podium at the front and a projector screen that displays the same contents as the flyer we had passed out. Nate grabs my hand, and we weave through the rows of people, some of them still standing around chatting with their neighbors. We take a seat in the first row between both sets of our parents. Mrs. Miles reaches across her son’s lap and squeezes my arm in hello. I smile back.
Mr. Roberts, an older man with a stomach almost as wide as he is tall, starts the meeting, and I immediately tune it out, instead choosing to lean my head against my boyfriend’s shoulder. He smells like body spray, and although he’s sprayed it on a little too strongly today, I still want to crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around him and never let go.
I’m vaguely aware of my parents whispering to each other in hushed tones. I think I catch my name, and I lift my head and look over at them. They both turn to look at me at the same moment, their faces identical expressions of concern and … anger? I lift an eyebrow and mouth the word what? They look back to each other and then whisper to themselves some more. Weird.
The projector screen switches slides and the word REZONING stares at me in big bolded red letters. An uneasiness falls over me like my subconscious is trying to tell me something. The room erupts into a quiet murmur, and Mr. Roberts clears his throat. “As I’m sure many of you are aware, the county has finally come to a decision on the rezoning of certain neighborhoods in Deer Valley and our neighboring city, Granite Hills.”
Boring. I settle back against Nate’s shoulder. He stiffens. “Are you listening?” he whispers.
I look back at the presentation screen, which is now showing a map of Shady Canyons, my neighborhood. Next to it is Canyon Pointe, the neighboring subdivision which is a part of the next town over. It’s also full of rich people with houses significantly bigger and more expensive than our middle-class suburbia. I sit a little straighter as Mr. Robert’s words start to make horrifying sense in my head.
“Due to the city’s rezoning to make room for all the expansion along the interstate, some of your students will now be residents of Granite Hills Independent School District.” He points to the projection screen, aiming his pencil directly at the red jagged line that cuts through a sliver of my neighborhood. My mouth falls open, and I lean forward in my chair, somehow thinking that I can refocus on the map and see it all differently. “Parts of Bent Oak Drive, Oak Moss Drive, and the entire stretch of Willow Breeze Lane have been acquired into GHISD. Now keep in mind people, you’ll still be a resident of Deer Valley, but you’ll pay Granite Hills school taxes.”
I turn to my parents. “What?”
Mom’s lips press together, and she shakes her head, her gaze concentrated on Mr. Roberts. Dad’s focusing on the screen, his brows drawn together in a calculating way. “Their taxes are higher than ours,” he mutters under his breath. “I can’t believe they would pull this shit so late in the year.”
Nate tugs on my sleeve. “You live on Willow Breeze Lane.”
“I am aware of that.” The words are mine, but they sound like someone else’s when they leave my mouth. A few people complain loudly about the new change, arguing about where they can protest. My mom even says something about thinking they had more time, but all the shouts and disagreements fade into background noise as I watch the screen, focusing on the jagged red line that splits my neighborhood apart. Nate’s house is on one side of the line and mine is on the other.
“There’s nothing more we can do about it,” Mr. Roberts bellows from the podium, trying to make his voice drown out the protests. “The decision is final and students like Miss Rush here,” he gestures toward me and then to a brunette girl a few rows over, “and Miss Morgan will be attending Granite Hills in two weeks. Derek and Judy, your kids will be in Granite Hills as well. This doesn’t affect many of the children in Shady Canyons, just a few.”
Just a few. Like me.
I swallow but the lump in my throat only doubles in size. Mom grabs my hand and squeezes it. Nate’s dad whispers something to him. I am a statue, unable to look his way or even take my eyes off the screen in front of me.
