Page 2 of Advice from a Sunflower

Denise grew up here in The Hollow, a small town in the outskirts of Nowhereland that she’s never escaped from. It’s not on the way to anything, so we rarely see people passing through like they show in movies with small towns. It’s just our little community of people, coexisting together and minding everyone else’s business.

She would tell us stories about how she wanted to pick up and leave the moment she finished high school, claiming the town was too small to hold all her big dreams. She found out she was pregnant with Marnie the week before prom and didn’t tell her parents until graduation, when she had her bags packed and her car gassed up to go. Grandma threw a fit, insisting that she stay to raise the child the right way. Denise finally conceded when her dad pulled the battery out of her car and refused to replace it. She swore she’d leave the second Marnie was in school. Then, she had me.

Grandma and Grandpa took good care of us, always making sure we had everything we needed and then some. Grandpa fixed up the apartment over their garage a few years ago and Denise moved us in before the paint was dry. I know it broke Grandma’s heart to see us go, even if it was only a few feet away. As it turns out, Denise made the right choice. Grandma couldn’t do much caring for herself, let alone for the three of us, and Grandpa was tied up helping her. They each passed within weeks of each other—her from lung cancer and him from a broken heart. The three of us processed grief in our own ways, but we fought through the best we could together. That was when I noticed the first shift between us, and Denise hasn’t been the same person since.

She’s never been like most moms in town. She doesn’t dote after Marnie and me. She expects that we take care of ourselves most of the time, especially now that she got her new job as a receptionist at the beauty salon down the street and she can’t rely on her parents to pick up the slack. We’re used to it.

It’s hard to miss something you never had in the first place, right?

“There’s a boy next door,” Marnie states once I make my way up the stairs and into our shared bedroom.

Despite the house seeming enormous, there’s only two large bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, which means Marnie and I are stuck sharing a room again.

“How old is he?” I ask, rummaging through my dresser for something warm to wear now that I’ve been stripped of all my clothes by Denise. I hope the boy didn’t see her doing that right by the back door.

“He looks as old as me, and very handsome. I’m going to make him my boyfriend.”

She flips from her stomach onto her back, resting her head on folded arms.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling as I slip a shirt over my head. Marnie has gone boy crazy. That’s what Denise calls it. She demands every boy’s attention, even if she doesn’t really like them. Last week, she told me she snuck behind the slide at school and kissed Ryan Atkins, a very disturbing boy we’ve known since kindergarten. The idea of her putting her lips anywhere near him proves that she has definitely gone crazy and that there’s no return in sight.

After dinner, we settled in for the night—me with a book in hand and Marnie with her face on the TV, zoned out to some new reality show they're airing on MTV. Around nine, Denise peeks her head into our doorway and tells us she’s meeting a few friends for prayer at the only church in town, right down the street. Marnie and I share a look before hesitantly nodding toward her, our eyes cast down in worry.

“She’s been doing that a lot lately,” Marnie comments, her gaze still fixed on the TV.

“I know. I wonder what’s so great about that place.”

“Emma Marshall’s mom goes to the same prayer circle on the weekends, and she sometimes goes to visit. She says it’s a smelly dump. Why would Denise want to risk leaving us home alone to spend so much time in some dump?” Marnie finally tears her eyes from MTV to look at me, her nose scrunched in mock disgust.

“Beats me,” I say, rolling over toward the wall to get back to my book, signaling the end of our conversation.

Denise is just going through something. I’m sure losing both your parents so close together is a shock, especially when they were the sole support system you had as a single mother. We would just have to give her time to fight through this rough patch and then things would return back to normal.

***

As it turns out, the boy next door is new to town. He and his parents moved here from California. He didn't look like what I always pictured someone from California to look. His skin is a pale shade of white that I've never seen before and his hair is such a dark brown, I thought it was black until he moved, and I saw the chestnut tint shining in the sun. After his dad was re-stationed in the Army somewhere close by, his mom decided to bring the family back to her hometown so he could have a sense of normalcy in his life.

I got all this information out of him in between Marnie’s desperate attempts to steal his heart. She twirled her hair around her finger and giggled when he made a weird joke about being something called an "Army Brat" and then pretended to drop a book on the ground that she’d been holding in her arms since we walked over to introduce ourselves. When I saw it was my copy ofJane Eyre, I dove toward it before she had the chance to ask him to grab it, offering her an irritated scowl as she rasped out another fit of unwarranted giggles.

“That’s a good book,” the boy says, pointing to my hands as I attempt to brush the dirt off the cover.

“I know. That’s why I keep it safely tucked away on my bookshelf.” I shoot an accusatory glance toward Marnie, who still hasn’t bothered to apologize.

“What’s your name?” she asks him, ignoring my dirty looks.

“Eli,” he says proudly, extending his hand in the air between us.

Marnie and I consider it for a moment, not sure what he’s trying to do until something clicks in my mind and I shove mine up to meet his, shaking with a bit too much pressure. Grandpa once told me a firm handshake makes for a strong first impression. When I finally let his hand free, he wiggles his fingers in front of his face and then slides it in front of Marnie. She smiles and barely touches him, letting out a quiet giggle that has his cheeks blushing.

“Eli,” my sister coos, as if it’s something she’s never heard before.

We have an Eli in our school just a couple of grades above us, so I’m not sure why she’s acting so stupid.

“I’m Marnie, and this is my little sister, Mouse.”

“Your mom named you Mouse?” he asks, brows knit together in confusion.

“No, my real name—” I begin to say, but Marnie talks over me and steals his attention back, her voice overpowering mine.

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