Page 31 of Bucked By Love

“Thank you, princess.”

He scoops his hands over my rear and pulls me against him tighter. I squeak and push my hands against his chest for balance. When he kisses me this time, it’s rougher, untamed, and I laugh against his lips as I melt into his hungry affection.

The back door clangs open. Ransom and I instinctively stop kissing, and I straighten up.

Miss Maeby exits onto the back patio. She glances over at us as she takes her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. “You kids not getting into any trouble out here, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” Ransom strokes my hip.

“Oh! Miss Maeby. I have a favor.” I pop off of Ransom’s lap (he grunts in protest) and rummage through my bag. I find what I’m looking for and yank it out before walking over to her. “Can you please sign my poster?”

I unroll it carefully, displaying my print of her Belleflower Queen poster. Each year has its own unique design. Hers has the words Maeve Belladonna Katherine, Queen of 1994, in fancy, looping font at the bottom. An image of her is illustrated on the cover—Maeby as she was then, Maeve Belladonna. Regal, really, with her chin cocked upward and the Belleflower Queen flower crown at a slight cant over her head, as though even the illustrator knew she would be a slightly off center queen.

Maeby stares at the poster. “You collect these, huh?”

“Just my favorite queens.” I smile.

Flattery, flattery, flattery. She doesn’t look impressed. “Uh-huh.” She lights her cigarette. The stench makes my throat contract, but I power through it.

“This is going to be my year,” I tell her.

It’s not arrogance—it’s confidence. A Belleflower Queen must be confident and self-assured in everything she does.

If anyone understands that, it would be another Belleflower Queen.

I don’t need praise, but I do expect a degree of courteous understanding—Queen sees Queen. Instead, Miss Maeby’s mouth twists, her expressing souring.

“C’mere,” she says, pushing her hand on my shoulder. She guides me down the patio, to the two-stall shooting range. Here, she takes the poster from me. She goes to the end, where there’s a board with cans with holes in them sitting on the bottom shelf. I watch as she takes out a few tacks, sticks the poster to the board, and then comes around back. She lifts the BB gun, aims it, and fires.

I jump at the blast. The pellet leaves a perfectly round entrance wound in the bottom right edge of the paper.

Maeby stares at the damage. There’s a strange, far-off look in her eyes. She takes a drag from her cigarette, and then holds the rifle out to me. “Your turn.”

I almost protest, but then I correct myself.

A Belleflower Queen wouldn’t shy away from a challenge.

She moves aside and I step into place. I line the rifle up with my shoulder. Just as Daddy taught me. I look through the sight. I take aim.

I squeeze. The rifle kicks against me. I look down at the range and I’m relieved to see I hit the target—a matching hole, side-by-side with Maeby’s.

Before I can give back the gun through, she surprises me. She puts both hands on my shoulders and turns me towards her.

“There’s more to life than being a fucking Belleflower Queen,” she says, looking me dead in the eyes. “Understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Say it.”

There’s an intensity about her that tells me I can’t get out of this. So I repeat: “There’s more to life than being a Belleflower Queen.”

The hard edge of her mouth relaxes. She squeezes my shoulder. “Good girl. Now go get your poster.”

I retrieve it, untacking it from the wall. When I come back, Maeby has her pen out. She scribbles her signature in messy, looping letters, and then hands it back to me.

With that, Maeby heads back inside. I walk over to Ransom. He’s got his eyebrows raised.

“She’s a bitch,” I announce.