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“No offense Mads, I’m grateful for all the care packages you brought to the hospital but–these are so much better hot and fresh.”
She smiles at me, shakes her head, and walks away to help other customers. Ender and I dig into our food and talk casually about school and sports.
“Are you coming back to in person classes for winter quarter?” he asks.
Not only did I take a leave of absence from the football team, I had to give up classes too. I took a few remote classes but nothing challenging. They were all bullshit, low credit courses to keep me an active student. Despite the rumors, I do actually enjoy school. I want to finish, get a degree I can be proud of and do something with my life. Something I can be proud of. Something my parents can be proud of.
“Yeah. I mean, the docs all say I’m heading in the right direction, so no reason not to. Luckily, I’m not too far behind since I let you talk me into summer school.”
“You’re welcome,” Ender says around a mouthful of his sandwich.
“I’m thinking about changing my major,” I say, taking a huge bite of my burger.
Fuck, I missed real food. Hospital food is disgusting.
When I signed up for classes right out of high school, I chose communications because it was something that might help with a future career in sports, even if I didn’t make it to the NFL. Plus, it seemed easy and wouldn’t interfere with my social life too much. Now, I’m thinking I need to do more with my life after graduation. It’s cliche and makes me want to gag, but—thinking you’re going to die, puts a lot of perspective on things. I sure as shit would still take an NFL career if given the opportunity but, I don’t know if my body will ever do what it used to. And if I can’t play, I’m not entirely sure I still want to be part of that world.
“What are you thinking about changing it to? Do you need my help with the process?”
Ender changed his major before fall classes and knows the ins and outs of the whole process. Apparently, he’s somewhat of a gifted writer and thanks to his piece-of-shit dad, was too afraid to pursue it. Thankfully, Madison and Ender’s mom were encouragement enough over the summer that he’s now proudly part of the writing program and on his way to a creative writing degree.
“I’m not sure, honestly,” I tell him.
It’s the truth. I have no fucking clue what I want to be when I grow up. Right now, I just know I want the chance to grow up.
Chapter six
Aubrey
I’mnotsurewhatI’ve done to get the infuriating attention of a guy like Emmett. As I walk home, I’m fuming over his remark about the place I’m so excited to work at. A place where I can hopefully find some peace and solace. Somewhere away from my parents and the church. Somewhere that’s a touch my own. A place that’s a stepping stone toward anormallife.
A nerve-wracking thought occurs. What if he really does come into the bakery merely to bother me? I kick at a rock in my path as I walk. The rock was bigger than I realized and my toe burns which only adds to my annoyance. I won’t let him ruin this for me. Thankfully, I won’t be spending a lot of time in the shop itself. I should be out making deliveries, mostly. I shake the worry off and try to focus on how excited I am about this new bit of freedom.
I’m relieved to find the house is empty when I make it home. Mom is probably at work, and Dad must be down at the church. Mom cleans rooms at one of the fancy bed and breakfasts on the edge of town. I’ve overheard her talking to Dad more than once about the sinners that stay there and the things she finds in the rooms when she cleans them. Of course, she always makes sure to stop talking if she suspects I can hear. Dad is on permanent disability. He hurt his back years ago in an accident, working at the shipping hub a few towns over. He says God knew he needed more time to devote to prayer and the church, and that’s why he was injured. I know the truth, though. That he’s perfectly capable of working and chooses to only complain about the pain when he’s talking to a doctor. I’d point out that the ten commandments talk about not lying, but I doubt that would go over well.
Dad spends all his time now either in his study watching old video recordings of sermons, reading his Bible or volunteering down at the church. I don’t dare complain though because it leaves him less time to pay attention to what I am or am not doing. I can hole up in my room for hours without him bothering to check in on me most days. Even on the rare occasions he talks to me, it’s only to ask if I’ve said all my prayers or read enough Bible pages.
I’m pulling out my hidden books to take advantage of my current solitude when the romance novel with the indecent cover catches my eye. I pick it up and lightly run my fingertips over the cover. The lacey bra the woman on the cover is wearing is vastly different from my own bras. Plain, cream or white, no padding, lace or embellishment is all my mother ever buys me. It’s that or sports bras and the sports bras are really only for running. I turn the book over to read the back. When I’m finished with the synopsis, I’m even more convinced that my parents would be furious if they found this hidden under my mattress. Which makes opening the book to read it more thrilling than I expected.
I read for twenty minutes before I have to slam the book shut and shove it back under the mattress. My heart is racing and my skin is clammy. I’ve read romance novels before, but nothing like this. Nothing quite as graphic and detailed. When the woman talks about noticing the man’spackagebulging in his jeans and the things she wanted to do to it, I was overcome with emotion.
Mostly guilt over the other emotions and desires I was experiencing. The desire to keep reading and that flutter in my stomach that I get when I see the boy who works in the library—the butterflies. Some of the things the woman describes I didn’t even know were things people did.
I found out the truth about sex a few years ago from an anatomy book, but that book didn’t go into any detail about oral sex. The book under my mattress certainly does, though.
I pull out one of the other books I borrowed, leaving the romance novel hidden. But no matter how long I stare at the pages of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, I can’t stop thinking about that book under the mattress and what else may be written on the pages.
My curiosity will have to wait, because I hear someone's car pulling up outside. I scramble to sit back on my bed with my Bible in my lap, trying to calm my ragged breathing, double checking that all my other books are properly hidden. Mere seconds later, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I say at the closed door.
The door creaks open and Dad’s face comes into view. Everything in this house creaks or makes some kind of noise. It’s a nice house, but an old one. Three bedrooms, plus Dad’s study, with the original hardwood floors and a big porch out front. The house sits on twenty acres of land. Nothing much is on the land except trees and the water tower. My mother grew up here and inherited it when her parents passed away. She too grew up in Easton, as did her parents and her grandparents. It was moms grandad that let the city put the water tower on the property.
Mom’s parents weren’t religious like Mom and Dad. No, the religious zeal started with my own parents after they were married. After they met Josiah Johnson, our church's founder. Pastor Johnson lives in the big town and that’s where we meet for church. Only a handful of Easton residents are members of the church, which is why I don’t have any friends and why I’m homeschooled. Mom and Dad didn’t want to drive me to the church every day for the school they offer and public school was out of the question. So, I’ve been homeschooled my whole life, following the curriculum the church offers for kids who can’t make it to the church during the week.
Two years ago, when I was Seventeen, I finished my homeschooling courses and received a certificate. It’s not a diploma or a G.E.D., nothing to show I’ve had any formal education because the curriculum didn’t include things like science or history. I, of course, learned to read and write and there were some rudimentary math classes. But, anything that might give a hint of going against the church’s views, I’ve had to teach myself with the borrowed books from the library.
“Did you get the job?” dad asks.
