Page 15 of Crybaby

Nonna is our next-door neighbor, and if it wasn’t for her, ringing me countless times to let me know my mom wasn’t answering the door or her calls, June would be dead. I owe Nonna everything, which is why I look after her.

I buy her groceries. And I make sure her cats get the organic cat food she insists they like. The money I make from stealing, I give to her to help pay her bills—even though she never wants to take it.

I do what I can to help because the truth is, she’s helping me just as much as I’m helping her. I know one day, I will need to call on her. One day, when I can’t be here, Nonna will be the only person who can be.

She knows where I keep my hidden stash. And I’ve told her, if anything were to happen to me, she is to take the money and look after my mom.

I don’t have anyone else.

An eighty-year-old woman is my saving grace.

“She’s all right,” I reply, not wanting to worry her. “She’s sleeping it off.”

Nonna purses her lips. “I’ll bring over a tuna casserole.”

There’s no point in arguing or reminding her that I fucking hate tuna because Nonna is a part of my fucked-up, dysfunctional family—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Idecide to cut through the forest on my way home from school. I’ve always felt safe feeling lost and surrounded by trees. When I was little, maybe five years old, I strayed from a camping site where my parents and I were staying for the holidays. I remember wandering into the thick trees and turning to watch their campfire get smaller and smaller in the distance.

Eventually, I turned to see blackness. Only the sky split into pieces through the trees lit my way, and I felt nurtured by being taken by the woods. Looking back now, I realize this wasn’t a regular response because most kids would probably be screaming.

But I never felt more alive.

I was gone for eight hours as search parties looked for me, but it felt like only minutes as I was hypnotized by the sticks and creatures that crawled around my tiny steps.

So now, I find myself in familiar territory, walking through the woods. It’s very cold and wet with a soft mist circling my movements. My breath is frosted in the air, and the only sounds are the steps I take and the birds crying out above, enjoying the sprinkle of rain.

I feel I’m in heaven until the serenity is broken by some laughter echoing in the distance and the sound of glass breaking. It pisses me off to think someone is destroying this beautiful place.

I head toward the sound and see some broken-down furniture arranged in a circle and a dirty space cleared in the center. A weak fire has been lit but is struggling to roar under the spits of rain.

Boys are goofing around under some kind of influence. I can see Foss, the dumb surfer with curly long hair from school who doesn’t stop laughing all the time. Happy idiot. The big one, I don’t know his name, but I heard them call him Buckets. I think they use him to mow down players on the football field. And lastly Blake, who is just sitting like a corpse on one of the chairs, looking like a fashion model in his blazer and slick black hair to match his black eyes.

I don’t know about him. He doesn’t fit the footballer mold, but I’m guessing he’s athletic and perhaps strategic.

He’s watching the fire while ignoring the other two.

I’m at quite a distance so as not to be seen. I begin to back away to conceal myself further behind a large tree trunk when my body hits some kind of wall.

“Little girls should never walk alone in the forest.”

It’s Carson, and the wall I hit is his big, muscled chest. I spin around to face him, and those icy-blue eyes leave me dumbfounded. His thick shock of blond hair falling down over his face is pure sex, if I’m honest.

“Darcie.” He’s amused by my stunned face as he stares down at me.

His jawline is perfection, with a light blond shadow dusted across it. I refuse to let myself become another chick who just falls for his appearance and status. That’s not who I am, and it never will be. But damn, my body is making it hard for my brain to control the situation.

“Carson,” I respond.

“Yes?” His charm is revolting, and I feel like I’m on fire.

“What are you doing here? And why are your boys fucking up the forest?”

“I’m hunting rabbits, baby.”

“Rabbits?” I’m horrified, and I feel my blood begin to boil.

Just then, a wiry shirtless pale-skinned boy bursts through the clearing, squealing like a pig as he must have stepped through the fire in his haste to escape. He bounces headfirst into me, panting, and I swear his eyes are bloodshot as they plead with mine.

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