Page 38 of Praying for Rain

“That was the only thing I was ever good at. Being blonde. Being pretty. Being a perfect little trophy. I wasn’t real outgoing, so most people just thought I was a stuck-up bitch, but I got good grades. I made my mama proud. I dated the basketball star and went to church every Sunday. You know, small-town shit.”

As she talks, I begin to see glimmers of that girl in the one I’m looking at. The mascara smudged under her eyes. The half-inch of blonde roots I never noticed before. The killer fucking curves she was hiding under all that baggy clothing. Rainbow the bombshell became Rain the badass.

But both of them are just disguises.

I snap my fingers as it hits me. “You’re a chameleon.”

Rain gives me an offended glare. “What, like I’m fake?”

“No. You’re adaptive. You change how you look to suit your environment, to survive, like a chameleon.”

Rain rolls her eyes at me. “And what are you?”

“Me?” I point to myself with the bottle of vodka in my hand. “I’m good at figuring people out.” I give her a wink and take another swig. Wincing from the burn, I twist the cap back on. “Guess it’s a by-product of changing homes every six to twelve months.”

I set the bottle down on the carpet next to me, but when I glance back over at Rain, she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s staring at the corn-dog stick in her hands.

“Wes?” she asks, twirling the wood between her fingers.

“Yeah …”

Rain tosses the stick into the fire. It flickers blue as it catches, probably from all the fucking chemicals and preservatives.

“What happened to your sister?”

Fuck.

I swallow and decide to just rip the Band-Aid off.

“She starved to death.”

There. I said it. Let’s move on.

Rain’s eyes shoot open as she turns to face me. “What?” She shakes her head, confusion rippling her forehead. “How?”

“Neglect.” I shrug. “She was only eight months old. My mom was an addict and could hardly take care of herself, and our dads were both out of the picture. I managed to get myself to school and scavenge for food in the dumpster behind Burger Palace, but I never once thought about feeding my sister. She was just a baby, you know? I didn’t even think she ate food.”

“Oh my God, Wes.”

Rain’s mouth falls open like she’s going to say more, but I cut her off, “She used to cry all the time. All the fucking time. I would play in the woods or at my friends’ houses every chance I got so that I wouldn’t have to hear it. Then, one day, the crying just … stopped.”

I remember the relief I felt, followed by the horror of finding her lifeless body, faceup in her crib.

“The cops came when I called 911, and that was the last time I saw my mom. My case worker said I could go see her in jail, but …”

I shake my head and glance at Rain, waiting for the typical condolences to come pouring out of her parted lips. I’m so sorry. That’s just awful. Blah, fucking blah. But she’s not even looking at me. She’s staring into the fire again, a million miles away.

“My mom got pregnant when I was about eight or nine, too.”

My stomach drops. Rain never mentioned having a younger sibling, so I’m pretty sure this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“I was so excited. I loved playing with baby dolls, and I was about to have a real one that I could play with every day.”

“Did she have a miscarriage?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes.

Rain shakes her head. “My daddy gets real mean when he’s been drinking. He never puts his hands on me, but sometimes, when he gets like that, my mama—”

Rain suddenly goes so still. It’s as if somebody turned her off. She stops talking. She stops breathing. She even stops blinking. She just stares into that damn fire as all the color drains from her face.

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