AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Is everything okay?
Our conversations are mostly functional: can you do this? / this is done. Food is ready / pass the ketchup.
Which is fine. He’s got skin like leather from being in the sun and looks twice as old as he should. He’s as exhausted as I am. We don’t have the time or energy for a heart-to-heart.
“Be right there,” I say. I start inside the trailer. We have a jar we share, and I dump my tips in it. It’s not much, but we’ll stay fed for the rest of the week.
Our trailer has a sink in the front, a cushioned bench (my bed), a bathroom, and a main cabin in the back (Dad’s bed). I stretch across the bench and lie down. Just for a second, I tell myself.
But as soon as my eyes close, I’m out.
I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but I wake up to my father’s hand on my shoulder. Rough hands, gentle squeeze. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs. “Some girl is here to see you.”
I blink awake, disoriented. My hair is a mess. I’m still in my sweat-stained uniform. I’m not fit for humans. A girl?
Only one girl it could be. I descend the steps and glance around.
Kenzi stands there. She’s wearing a cute yellow dress with strappy shoulders. Her black hair is in swoopy waves. Green eyes shining like sea glass.
The sight of her makes me feel a weird way, a way I don’t usually feel about girls. My heart launches itself against my chest like a wild animal suddenly uncaged.
“What’s up?” I ask. Casual.
She half-grins, looking shy—my father usually has that effect on people; he’s hard-edged and scary. But she holds up a paper plate, a piece of cake on it, and says, “I come bearing gifts.”
She’s a gift: pristine and pretty, fresh off the spotless deck of her stepdad’s boat.
I’m filthy and burningly aware of the eyesore that is the trailer.
I sway on the balls of my feet, deliberating. “Give me one second.”
I close the door on her and squeeze past my dad. “You want me to tell her to go?” he asks.
“No.” I’m tearing off my clothes, ripping a paper towel off, dampening it, and wetting my face, the back of my neck, all the parts of me that feel grimy. I pull on black jeans, a black shirt. Run my fingers through my hair. I slip my lip ring into my bottom lip—I have to take it out while I work (Mr. King’s orders), but I try to pop it in once I’m off to keep the hole from closing up.
“Your burger is still on the grill,” Dad reminds me.
“Thanks. I’ll grab it later.”
I slip outside and close the door behind me. No more dock boy.
Kenzi is sitting on my stump. She glances up, and her eyes sweep over me. “So this is what Donovans look like in their natural habitat.”
“Mmhm.” There’s a sugar flower on her slice of cake, and I swipe it between my fingers and pop it in my mouth. “Whose birthday is it?”
“Mine.”
I squint at her. “Are you serious?”
“Lucky number eighteen.”
“That’s a big one.”
“So I’ve been told.” If she’s put off by the trailer, BBQ pit, or my growly father, she doesn’t show it. The opposite, actually; she looks right at home.
“Wanna take a walk?” I ask her.
“Sure.”
