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“You’re only fifteen. Besides, I saw your last report card. You’re barely passing as it is and you won’t be allowed to stay on the wrestling team if you fail. No, I’ll be the one getting a job.”
Frankie raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to work in Black Mountain?”
I roll my chair over to the counter and grab the box of cereal sitting there. “I’d rather find something here in town.”
Frankie looks doubtful. Devil Valley isn’t exactly swimming in employment opportunities. I know I’d have more luck in Black Mountain. In fact the other day I saw a ‘Help Wanted’ sign at the diner a few blocks from school. But the thought of bussing tables for my over-privileged peers makes me want to gag. If I can’t get a job around here then I’ll have no choice. With Adela sick and out of work we don’t have a spare penny. My dad has been valiantly trying to shoulder the burden alone. The one time I brought up a part time job he became upset. He said that I need to stay focused on school and the newspaper and my future rather than working a dead end job for minimum wage. I should have disobeyed him sooner.
Frankie leaves on his mission to find new wrestling headgear. I eat several handfuls of sugary cereal right from the box and think about how Ms. Allen, the guidance counselor, called me down to her office yesterday to remind me that college application deadlines are approaching. Last spring I supplied an impressive list of my dream schools and Ms. Allen is unaware that things have changed. I can’t imagine moving to another state next year. She instructed me to get all my applications submitted by the end of winter break. I promised I would do exactly that. I was lying. The only school I’ve applied to is Eagle State University. It’s not even close to a top tier university and was never on my list of safety school possibilities. It’s a joke at Black Mountain Academy. “You failed the test? HAHA! Say hello to ESU.” But Eagle State has one vital quality in its favor. It’s only sixty miles away from Devil Valley.
The house is quiet and I tiptoe down the hall to look in on Adela. The bed is rumpled and there’s a light underneath the bathroom door. I knock softly and the running water stops.
“It’s me. Frankie had to go out and I’m about to leave too. I’ve got some errands to run.”
Her tired voice floats out at the end of a sigh. “All right.”
My hand is on the worn brass knob. “Are you okay?”
Stupid question. A person is not okay when she has cancer.
“I’m fine, Cam.”
The sour lump is my throat is familiar. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“No.” The water begins running again.
Normally Adela would be curious about my plans, not because she tries to be intrusive, but because she’s a devoted parent. I’m a daughter to her and always have been. She told me so on the day she married my father and she meant it.
On my way out of the room I glimpse a framed family photo on my father’s dresser. It was taken two years ago. Frankie is making a funny face and I’m laughing but it’s our parents who catch my attention. My father’s arm is draped over Adela’s shoulders and her gleaming black hair falls past her shoulders. Her eyes are on the camera lens but my father gazes at her with an expression of love and pride. After suffering the heartbreak of losing his first wife in a car accident sixteen years ago and then raising a daughter on his own it must have seemed to him like he’d finally found his happily ever after. Not just for him, but for us. All of us. Frankie’s father has never been part of his life. Like any other family we’ve had our struggles but we’ve always been happy. And then Adela discovered a lump in her left breast shorty after her thirty-fifth birthday. After that came the surgeries, the rounds of chemo and radiation, the anguish of watching her fight back tears because she’s so exhausted. Nothing about it is fair.
I pause at the mirror beside the front door to straighten my long ponytail and ensure that I look presentable. I’m wearing jeans and a thick white cable knit sweater and while I don’t appear ready to take on Wall Street I think I’m worthy enough to qualify for a low paying job in Devil Valley.
The sun is shining and the air is far warmer than it was a few days ago, although this is only temporary. December always carries the bite of winter on its shoulders. But for now it is nice to be outside and I commit to a positive attitude as I make my way to the squat business sector in the middle of Devil Valley.
Two hours later both my positivity and my ego are feeling a little bruised. Neither one of the town’s hair salons are looking for new employees. The grocery store manager told me to try again after the holidays. No one at the auto parts store would even speak to me. Two fast food establishments allow me to fill out an application but don’t seem optimistic that any jobs will be opening up in the near future. The pair of elderly sisters running an insurance office were very nice and regretted that they did not have any need of office help. But they did offer me a soda and a couple of stale ginger snap cookies before sending me on my way.
At this point my feet hurt and I’m running out of places to try. The bench at the bus stop is empty so I take a seat and stare moodily at the sights of Devil Valley. No one would call this a pretty town and for most of my life I’ve been in a hurry to get out of here. Lately I’ve been trying not to dwell on the reality that I won’t be going very far next year.
I notice a pair of guys walking down Cardinal Street in my direction. They are wearing Devil Valley High jackets and they are the McGill brothers, Alex and Damian. They are strong and violent and vulgar and they are definitely heading this way. I’ve known them since grade school and the older they grew the meaner they got. Then puberty hit and magnified their worst qualities. On the first day of eighth grade Damian snapped my bra strap so hard my eyes watered. Then Alex leaned in to chuckle in my ear, ‘Like it or not, we’re gonna bust your sweet cherry one of these days, Galway.’ Ever since transferring to Black Mountain I’ve managed to stay out of their orbit. I’d rather not change that habit today.
Running away would only attract their attention so I frantically search for an alternative. There’s a gas station across the street. When I was little it was a big treat to be allowed to walk down to Dee’s Gas and Goods and buy some candy with my allowance money but that was years ago and I can’t remember the last time I was inside. Dee Cushing is a friend of my dad’s. They went to high school together because Devil Valley is filled with people who were born here and never found a way to leave. Right now Dee’s store is looking like a fine place to hide from the McGill brothers for a little while.
I keep my head down as I hurry across the street, hoping the McGills are too occupied with trying to shove each other off the curb to notice my presence. The bell above the glass door emits a rusty jingle when I walk in and I glance back to see if the McGills are following.
They have come to a dead stop twenty yards away. They are staring right at me and oozing malevolent energy. They resemble oversized testosterone versions of the creepy little girls in The Shining. However, I do believe I’d take my chances with the weird ghost girls over the McGill brothers.
“You lost?”
I yelp and spin around. My brain recognizes the voice even before my eyes take in the sight of Ben Beltran behind the counter, leaning on his elbows and looking all devil-may-care as you please. His hair is tousled, he hasn’t shaved and somehow he has the ability to make the ugly red work smock look good.
Finding him here is a shock and so I ask a stupid question. “You work here?”
“No. I stole this trendy vest and for shits and giggles I hang out behind the counter.”
“Whatever.” I glance outside. The McGills are now crossing the street and moving rapidly in this direction. “Look, is there a different door that I could leave from?”
“Why? Did you break that one?”
“The McGill brothers are coming.”
