“It’s just oil,” I say, frowning.
“Just oil?!” he scoffs, trying to slap me again, but I avoid it this time. “Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? And you’re setting it on fire?”
I sigh. “Papa…”
“No. No excuses. I’m tired of you playing around with your friend here.” He grabs my arm. “It’s time you two got to work.”
“I’ve got to go back to the ranch, sir,” Hanson explains, backing away slowly. Coward. “My folks asked me to clean up the shed.”
“Sure they did,” I say, making a face.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you, sir,” he adds, scratching the back of his head, ignoring me.
“Fine, go. But I expect you back tomorrow, four o’clock sharp,” my papa says.
“Got it!” Hanson says, saluting him. He throws me a quick wink before running away.
The fucker got off easy.
I’m stuck with my papa always breathing down my neck, trying to control me.
“Let’s go,” Papa says, and he drags me back inside by my arm.
“Why can’t I just have some time off?” I say, shaking him off when we get to the counter.
“I told you to go eat your lunch. I didn’t say you could burn down the shop,” he shouts.
“I wasn’t,” I reply, trying to downplay it. “Me and Hanson were just having some fun.”
“Fun …? Blowing up the trash can is fun?” he shouts. “How many times have I told you not to hang out with that … Hanson boy? He’s nothing but trouble.” He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead, sighing out loud. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, staring off into the shop.
I don’t like it when he talks to me like that. It makes me feel as though something’s wrong with me, but there’s not. I’m just bored. Have been ever since we moved to this town. There’s nothing to do here, especially not when you have a limited number of friends. Hanson’s it, mostly. And he ain’t always around to do shit with.
The rest of the townsfolk … they don’t like people like me and my papa. With our long black hair and dark eyes, we stand out in a crowd of mostly blond-haired people. Sometimes I like to call them rednecks, but my papa usually smacks me in the back of the head if he catches me saying that word.
But they call us names too.
Indian.
Redskin.
I’ve heard all the terms, and my papa just ignores them. It’s like he doesn’t even care, and I don’t understand why. All he cares about is berating me for my choices. And for being friends with Hanson. As if he’s the worst friend I could have.
“You’ve been acting out ever since you became friends with Hanson,” Papa mopes. “Is he pressuring you?”
“What? No. Of course not,” I reply. “I’m just … bored, I guess.”
I don’t even know what to say. Part of me wants to explain it to him and tell him how I feel, but another part of me feels like he wouldn’t even understand.
I don’t like it here. This town, Springhaven, it’s like redneck central, and the people here …? Well, let’s just say they don’t like us very much. We’re outsiders. Even though I’ve lived here since I was a little boy, I still feel like I’m missing out on something.
“Papa, can’t we go to the reserve?” I ask. “I wanna visit Hanson’s place.”
“No.” The stern look on his face makes my skin crawl. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t understand why he hates that place so much. Why he doesn’t want me to interact with our own.
“But you’re all about tradition, right?” I ask as he opens the register and sorts the money as if he didn’t just do that ten minutes ago.
“Yes, and I try to teach you everything I know. I don’t need the reserve for that, and you don’t either.” He gives me another stern glance, ending the conversation.
This is how it always goes. I ask questions about our life before we came to Springhaven, and he shuts me off. It’s as if it’s taboo to even mention the place.
“What you need,” Papa says, pointing at me as if that will make me wise up, “is to get back to work.” He grabs a box of water bottles from the counter and shoves it into my hands.
At the same time, the bell above the door jingles, and we both turn our heads to see who it is.
It’s Dixie Burrell … and Derek Cooper is right behind her.
They’re holding hands.
I almost drop the box right there and then.
I fumble with the bottles of water while staring after her. Luckily, neither of them noticed me making a mess.
I swallow. I know Papa wants me to put these away, but I don’t wanna run into … her.
At least not while I’m doing stupid shit. And not with Derek around.
That motherfucker always tries to get under my skin. One of these days, I’m going to ram his face into a brick wall, and I don’t want it to be in my papa’s shop. Because if he sees me lose my shit, I won’t be able to sit on my ass for the next two weeks. That’s how mad he’d get.
However, the moment Dixie’s eyes fixate on me, I forget everything I was doing.
She lets go of his hand.
The few seconds our eyes connect seem to last an eternity.
“Got some cash on ya, doll? I forgot my wallet,” Derek asks Dixie, breaking the spell.
She clears her throat and looks away. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I guess.” She hands him some pocket change, after which he saunters off toward the fridge and takes out an energy drink. He stops at the rack filled with camping stuff and picks up one of the many Zippo lighters we carry.
He flicks one open and lights the flame. “Cool,” he murmurs. Then he puts the Zippo back after looking at the price.
Meanwhile, Dixie’s casually sifting through the shirts we have. Most of them have a Springhaven logo printed on them or some other catch phrase. We don’t sell a lot of them, but my papa keeps them around because he likes to stay in the town’s good spirit. Whatever the hell that means.
My papa sighs out loud. “Never mind. I’ll do these.” He snatches the box out of my hands. “You do the register.”