Page 2 of Barbed Wire Fences
“I don’t want to spend my summer babysitting some weird, quiet, new girl,” I grumble under my breath but still loud enough to be sure she hears it.
“We’re doing a good thing helping them out,” she retorts, crossing her arms. “She needs someone to watch her daughter, and I have the time. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it.” And with that, she spins back around, effectively ending the conversation.
I sigh and follow inside after her, peeking through the blinds to watch Mrs. Braddock and Jael disappear down Whispering Pines Lane.
Slumping down at the kitchen table, I take a bite of my sandwich. One bite of it tells me it’s not nearly as satisfying as it should be. Guess the looming dread of hanging out with the new girl has killed my appetite.
How the heck am I going to get out of this?
My mom has always been the unofficial mayor of our trailer park, helping anyone and everyone. Sharing meals, watching babies, lending a hand. It’s like her personal mission to save the town, one struggling family at a time. Which usually meansIget roped into her charity projects too.
After chugging two Capri Suns and licking my plate, I decide I need to scope out the new neighbor for myself. Maybe if I scare her badly enough, she’ll tell her mom she doesn’t want to come over and they’ll find someone else to bug.
I hop on my bike and ride the short distance to Whispering Pines Lane. Her trailer’s easy to spot. It’s old, with peeling paint and a sagging front step. Right next to my friends Molly and Maverick’s place. Not hard to remember, though I don’t plan on ever coming back.
As I pull up, I hear raised voices inside. Someone’s yelling, and a dish shatters against a wall followed by a loud thump.
Jael is sitting on the front lawn, cross-legged, staring at the grass like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. She doesn’t look up as I approach, her fingers idly brushing through a patch of clovers and weeds like she’s looking for something important.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hello.” Still no eye contact. Her fingers keep moving, raking over the ground gently, eyes sweeping back and forth.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for four-leaf clovers. We used to have a bunch in our yard back in Charlotte.”
I snort. “Doubt you’ll find any here in the trailer park. Not exactly a lucky place to live.”
She sighs, then finally lifts her green eyes to meet mine. Something about the way she looks at me makes me feel small, even though she barely takes up space.
I kick at a loose stone on the pavement, unsure what to say now that I’m here. The voices inside her home have finally stopped and the quiet of a humid, summer day fills the space around us. Until that peacefulness is abruptly destroyed when seconds later, the front door flies open, and a tall, burly man exits like a bull from a chute.
Stomping to a beat-up car, he flings open the door and slams it shut behind him as he backs out of the driveway and speeds off, kicking rocks and dust behind him in his wake. He doesn’t notice or acknowledge Jael and I standing on the lawn, seemingly blinded by his own rage.
“That your dad?” I ask.
She nods.
“My dad left a long time ago,” I respond.
“That sucks but I bet it’s better than having one like mine.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I barely remember my dad, but I know he was a bad man. Judging by what I just saw, she’s probably right—I’m better off.
“So, what kind of name is Jael?” I ask, suddenly curious about this strange newcomer with an angry father, a harsh mother, sad green eyes and a small voice. “Your parents mean to name you after a place they send criminals?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s pronounced Jay-Elle, not jail. And no, I was named after a woman in the Bible.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “My mom’s been dragging me to church since I was five. I don’t remember no Jael in the Bible.”
“Well, you must have not been paying attention to the preacher then.”
Ooh. Feisty.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Enlighten me then. What’d Jael do in the Bible?”
She stands and brushes the loose clovers she pulled out of the earth from her body. Most of her five-foot nothing frame is covered in tan legs peeking out of loose, denim shorts. Her wild, brown hair looks like it needs a good brushing. Probably a wash too.
