Page 92 of The Love of My Next Life
He was supposed to take us out to dinner for her birthday, but I got my ass beat at school over a freakin’ dodgeball game, and he got mad and cancelled.
He’s been doing that more and more since we moved out. I mess up, and he punishes us both. It’s not fair. Claire hates me because of it. She doesn’t understand that I can’t help it.
I can’t sit still. I can’t keep quiet. It’s better now that he’s not here smackin’ me around anymore, but it’s still notgood.
I just get so angry...
I run my fingers over the raised, red scar on my wrist. It’s been almost a year, but it still hurts sometimes. He can’t hurt me now, so he hurts Claire instead. And Mom. I grit my teeth at the sound of her hiccupping sobs on the other side of the wall.
I tried to apologize, but she screamed in my face. I wanted to scream back, but I threw an action figure at my wall instead. His head popped off and the drywall dented and I felt a little bit better. But now she’s crying again, and my skin is tight and that angry feeling is swirling around in my head.
I turn on my stereo to try and drown her out. Sometime later, I hear my mom knock on Claire’s door. And then I hear squealed laughter and footsteps running through the hallway. I sit up and creep to the door.
Did Dad change his mind? Did he come to get her?
I crack open the door to my room and the rumbling of a man’s low voice drifts toward me. It’s not my dad. The voice is warm. Kind.
I walk to the top of the stairs and hear my mom talking. I hear her laugh. I walk down the stairs, so I can get a look at who is at the door. When I round the corner, I see a large man. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His hair is cut short. He’s smiling at my mom. When he sees me over her shoulder, he smiles.
“You must be Macon,” he says, but his voice isn’t hard.
He doesn’t say my name how my dad says it. Or how the teachers at school say it. Like my name is a curse word, or the word for something gross you step in. He says it how Mom says it. Like I’m worth something.
I give him a tight smile and nod, and he walks toward me and holds out his hand. I take it, and he gives me a firm handshake. I’ve never shook anyone’s hand before.
“I’m Trent,” he tells me when I drop my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I mumble. I glance at Mom, and she’s smiling at me. Her one arm is hugging her tummy, and the other is propped up with her hand on her chest.
“My daughter is staying over this weekend, Macon,” he says slowly. “Could you do me a favor and look after her? She’s pretty quiet, but I’d feel better knowing someone like you is keeping her safe.”
My chest puffs up and I nod.
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly. “I can do that.”
“Great. I appreciate it.” He turns to my mom and smiles. “I’m glad you called, Andrea,” he says softly. He says her name different than he said mine. Shakes her hand different, too. He kind of cradles it with both hands like it’s a fragile baby bird.
“I’ll be back on Sunday but call if you need anything. And tell Claire happy birthday.”
My mom shuts the door behind him then puts her arm around me. I’m already almost taller than her.
“He’s nice, isn’t he?” she says. I don’t answer. It sounded like she was talking to herself, anyway.
We walk into the living room where Claire is yammering on a mile a minute about that stupid boy singer she likes, and sitting on the couch next to her is Lennon Washington.
The new girl with the fake smile and stupid hair and perfect dress.
The one with the forest eyes and the pretty face.
The one who moved here with her dad right after my family split up.
I fist my hands. Trent washerdad. And he’s way better than mine. I told him I’d look after her, though, so I walk into the living room.
“Hey, Lennon,” I say to her, and she flinches a bit.
She eyes me warily, like she thinks I’ll bite. I don’t blame her. I haven’t been nice to her. I’ve been jealous and angry.
“Hey, Macon,” she says slowly.
