Page 26 of Mended Hearts

Dustin is now eighteen, and I envy the idea that he can take off, leaving this world behind if he wants to. I have to wait until May but still wonder if I have the actual gumption to do something so rebellious. Practice for spring ball has finally begun, and I praise Jesus every day for the distraction. I also pray for a scholarship so I can move far away from my overbearing parents—well, mainly my father, but they seem to be a packaged deal.

It’s hard to stay positive about something when it seems like the whole world is against it and you hold no control. I knowDustin said he isn’t going anywhere, but he’s young and has so much going for him. I don’t want to put a damper on his last year of high school. How cool will it be to look back ten years down the road, only to be reminded of the girlfriend he could never be with?

Yikes.

Juliana, our catcher, sidles up next to me as I finish stuffing my school attire in my gym bag. Something in her hand catches my eye and I glance down. “This is for you.”

I take it from her hand and begin reading the invitation. “A slumber party?” With a raised brow, I tilt my head in her direction.

She laughs and raises her hands in defense. “I know. I know.”

Being this close in proximity to her, I fully drink her in and see the dusting of freckles peeking out through her dark skin, framing her dainty nose. Her tight mocha curls bounce around with each movement. A tinge of guilt builds within me, regretting that I haven’t taken more time to build relationships with my teammates. I guess I’m still stuck in a nomad mentality when it comes to softball. Subconsciously keeping it all at arm’s length, leaving everything on the field.

“But,” she starts cautiously. “I just have a feeling getting out is something you desperately need.”

More than she knows. I tell her I’ll see what I can do but don’t mention how nothing is my choice anymore. I would like to go—anything to get me out of the damn house. But just the idea of bringing it up isn’t something I want to deal with. I take the invitation with every intention of throwing it away as soon as I get home.

“What’s this?” my mom asks as she flips through the mail I set on the counter.

I look over from behind the fridge door, wondering what the heck she’s referencing. She’s holding up the rectangle invitationand I scold myself for forgetting to toss it. I want to be a smart-ass and ask,“Well, what’s it say?”She’s holding it, for Pete’s sake. She knows what it is.

“Juliana is having a sleepover for all of us girls from the team. I meant to throw it away.” I shrug.

“Well, are you going?” she asks, and this time I can’t control myself.

Uncontrollable laughter bubbles up from deep down. “You’re kidding, right?”

She stares at me incredulously like I just grew a third eye or something. Has she been oblivious to what has been going on in this house for the last few months? Has my dad been drugging her? I want to walk over, place my hands on her shoulders, shake…hard, and ask,“Where have you been?”But I refrain.

I slide the drawer open, grab a spoon, and hip bump it closed. Peeling back the top of my yogurt, I lean back against the counter and stare back at my mother. I’m waiting for her to answer my question just like she seems to be waiting for me to do the same. But I answered hers. It doesn’t matter if I did so with a question.

I sigh with defeat. “I’m not going. When’s the last time I’ve done anything?” I ask, raising a brow. I’m not trying to be a smart-ass this time around. I want her to think about it.

“You’re right. Let’s change that,” she says with determination, tapping the invitation against the counter.

“Good luck with that.” I snort.

“Ye of little faith,” she quotes, and boy is she right. All the faith I had growing up has been squandered.

I HAVE NO idea how she managed, and I don’t dare ask no matter how badly I want to say,“Show me your ways, oh talented one.”I hug my mother, whispering athank youand alove youin her ear. She worked some magic, and after more thought, I’m convinced I don’t want to know the specifics. I have a feeling a sacrifice was involved.

“Bye, Dad,” I say in passing without a glance back. I stopped telling him I loved him when he started being a dick. It’s not like he’s saying it to me, either. I feel his heated stare as I jog to the street where Juliana is parked. She waves and smiles at my parents, who are standing at the door like I’m off to my first sleepover. Well, on second thought, it might just be. They must be so proud that I’m finally growing up. I’d grow up a lot more if my helicopter father lost his pilot license.

“No hanging out with boys,” my dad finally says. Out of all things, it’s sad that’s always his main concern. A‘bye, have a good time’would’ve sufficed.

“Okay. I’ll just become a lesbian,” I mumble as I open the door and jump in her car.

“Wow. If your dad’s glare could kill,” Juliana says, wide-eyed with disbelief.

“We’d be six feet under,” I finish.

“Or swimming with the fishes.” She laughs and shivers in her seat before throwing her car in drive. “Oooh. I love this song!” she exclaims, cranking the volume up.

Nelly’s “Shake Yo Tailfeather” pounds through the speakers, filling her little Honda Civic. The bass in her speakers could probably move her car just as much as the four wheels do. She opens her windows and sunroof while we cruise through town, blaring. This is something I’ve heard other kids talk about doing but haven’t been privy to partake in. From my understanding, it’s something that most teens do in small towns since there isn’t much else to do. We’re singing, dancing, and attempting to rapall at once. And it’s great. It’s freeing. All the bull crap seems to disappear. I’m able to let go and have fun.

And this is how my entire senior year should’ve been. But it’s not my reality, and I’m not oblivious to the idea that this is most likely my only chance to experience this. So I dive in, acting silly and taking advantage of it. We passed by the sign leading out of town, and instead of questioning our destination, I waved bye to the sign that said,“Jasper, Georgia will miss you. Come back soon, ya hear?”

The tunes keep coming, and with each one, I become more pumped. I’m never allowed to belt out and dance to secular music at home. If my father knew I listened to it, I’d be grounded. I’m not sure why booty shaking or music that makes you want to shake your booty is considered so ungodly. To him, it all centers around sex…and to him, sex is of the Devil. I’ve come to terms that my father and I will never see eye to eye. He’ll always be stuck in his ways, and I’ll always be wrong for not wanting to be stuck with him and his ways.

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