Page 1 of Barbed Wire Fences
Chapter 1 - Rhett
“Rhett, get out here right now!” my mother’s voice booms from outside. Her yell rattles the flimsy screen door of our trailer, probably loud enough for my friends Molly and Maverick Patrick across the street to hear.
It’s another scorcher of a summer day, and I’ve spent all morning at the lake behind our trailer park, fishing until my skin reeks of sun and water. Now I’m starving.
I take a bite of my peanut butter and potato chip sandwich, salt and crunch heaven, when she yells again, this time even louder.
“Rhett Daniel Miller!” she shouts, and I know she means business. She’s pulling out the middle name and that tone that says I’m in trouble if I don’t get my ass in gear.
I drop my sandwich onto the paper plate with a groan and stick my head through the screen door into the blinding July sun.
“Yes, Mother?” I say, my tone dripping with that exaggerated sweetness only a teenage boy still mooching off his mom can pull off.
I know I’m pushing it. Especially considering she’s the one stocking the pantry with all the snacks I’ve been tearing through like a human garbage disposal thanks to the five inches I sprouted practically overnight this summer.
She’s standing with another woman, about her age but with a face life hasn’t gone easy on. Her shoulders sag like she’s carrying more than years alone. And tucked half-hidden behind them is a small girl peeking out with wide, watchful eyes. Eyes that look like they see everything.
The way Mom narrows her gaze at my tone tells me I’m already skating on thin ice. And if she’s holding back from snapping, I know what that means. I’m about to get roped into something I’ll hate, and there’s no way out of it.
“All the way out here, Rhett,” she says sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
With an exaggerated sigh, I slam the screen door behind me and stomp over like the petulant kid I kind of am. She’s by our weathered picnic table, the one so chipped and splintered it’s barely holding together. Rebuilding it’s been sitting on my mental to-do list for months, but free wood and nails don’t exactly fall from the sky.
“Rhett, this is Mrs. Meredith Braddock and her daughter Jael,” Mom says. “Jael is going to be in the eighth grade at Whitewood Creek Middle School next year and will be in your class. They just moved here from Charlotte and live in one of the trailers off Whispering Pine Lane.”
I glance at the woman, then at the girl half-hiding behind her. She’s tiny, with messy light brown hair and big green eyes thatdart everywhere but me. She looks like a scared rabbit, shifting like she’s ready to bolt. There’s no way that she’s my age. She still looks elementary-school small.
“Hi,” I state flatly.
My mind drifts back to the sandwich that I left inside and my mouth waters and grumbles. This town’s got a serious fly problem due to the farms that surround it, and if my mom doesn’t hurry up, I’m coming back to a sandwich crawling with them. I’d rather be anywhere else than having this conversation.
The girl squirms, ducking further behind her mom.
“Jael, say hello,” Mrs. Braddock orders firmly, gripping her arm and tugging her forward like she’s presenting her for official inspection. Jael looks as uncomfortable as I do.
“Hello, Rhett,” she mumbles, barely above a whisper.
“Well, great. Then it’s settled,” Mom says, clapping her hands together like she’s closing a deal.
“What’s settled?” I ask, suspicious.
“Mrs. Braddock just got a job at the bank sorting cash after hours,” she explains. “So, she’ll be working evenings. I’ll be watching Jael during the summer and after school until her bedtime when her mom gets home from work.” She says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, as if she didn’t just sign me up for summer-long babysitting duty with a girl who looks like an actual kid still.
“What?” My voice spikes into panic.
“That means you and Jael will be spending lots of time together,” she says with a pointed look, ignoring my question. She turns to Mrs. Braddock, shaking her hand like they’ve justbrokered some life-altering treaty. “We’re happy to help with Jael.”
We’re happy to do none of this.
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Braddock says before ushering Jael away.
And just like that, my mom is already heading back inside, closing the door behind her like the conversation is over.
“What the heck, Mom?” I demand, storming in after her.
“Watch your tone when you speak to me, Rhett,” she snaps, spinning around to jab a finger in the air.
I might be close to six feet tall and still growing, but my tiny mom is terrifying when she’s mad. That doesn’t stop me from glaring.
