She sighed. “Yeah. I have...a little tucked away.”
I winced. From her reluctant tone, I knew she’d have to take from her private stash she’d probably been hiding from Mom. That was what I’d always had to do.
“What were you saving for?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
“Caroline.” The warning in my voice made her sigh again.
“I just…there’s a sweetheart dance coming up at school. And Sander Scotini asked me go. I was hoping I could afford a new dress—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I shook my hand to stop her. “Hold up. Sander who? Do I know this kid? Why have I never heard of him before? Is he your boyfriend or just a date for this dance?”
“Noel.” I could practically hear her rolling her eyes, but I didn’t care. It pissed me off that this was the first I was hearing of her and some guy. I didn’t like the idea of any horny dick sniffing around my pure, innocent little sister.
“And did you say Scotini? As in Terrance Scotini, the tire king?” A visual of the commercials I’d watched on TV when I was growing up flashed through my head. Terrance Scotini liked to stroll through his store, wearing a dorky cape and crown, telling his audience to shop at his place for all their automotive needs.
“His son,” Caroline quietly admitted.
The hairs on the back of my neck spiked with concern. I knew my sister was nearly eighteen and almost legally an adult, but she was still my little sister. Always would be. I didn’t want some rich prick’s son thinking she handed things out for free just because she was Daisy Gamble’s daughter.
“Is he—?”
“He’s nice,” she stressed. “And he likes me for me, okay. I know what you’re thinking.”
“What? That no piece of slime ball shit bag will ever be good enough for my little sister?”
She laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“What about his parents?” I pressed, still not liking the idea in the least. “Are they okay with all this?” Because if they treated her with anything less that absolute respect, I’d snap. I’d just...snap.
After a quiet pause, Caroline admitted, “I don’t think they know.”
I groaned. “Car—” Her situation already had trouble written all over it.
“Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please. It’s just one dance. He’s nice, and fun, and I know we’d have a good time together. That’s all.”
That wasn’t even close to being all. I hadn’t been born yesterday. I knew if some punk, high school douche was defying his parents to take the poor, trailer park girl to a dance, there had to be a hell of a lot more going on. I was ready to borrow my roommate’s truck and drive the eleven and a half hours back home so I could kick some rich Scotini ass.
But I didn’t want a miserable sister. I wanted her to have as much fun in her worn-down, hopeless life as possible. Forbidding her from attending a dance wouldn’t put a smile on her face. Besides, she’d probably go anyway, and since I was seven hundred miles away, I couldn’t exactly stop her.
Rubbing one side of my aching temples, I forced myself to cool it. It was better to play friend than asshole big brother; that way, she’d come to me if she did get herself into trouble. “Okay. All right. But you’ll let me know if anything happens, right?” Damn, I was such a pushover.
“Of course.” I could tell she was smiling, which helped loosen the knot in my chest.
I nodded and turned back toward the campus, not ready to face the obstacles in my own life but determined to do so anyway. “Let me know how much you have to spend today too. I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed before the dance. All right?”
“Okay. Thank you. You’re the best big brother ever, Noel.”
Chuckling, I moved toward the sidewalk. “And don’t forget it. Take care of Colton for me.”
I smiled as I hung up, even though a heavy ache pierced my chest. Talking to one of my siblings always made me miss home.
Okay, I didn’t exactly miss the hole-in-the-floor single-wide trailer where I used to sleep each night, always worried what kind of trouble my mother might bring home—if she even bothered to come home—but I sure as hell did miss the three underage kids still stuck there. My smile faltered.
Shoving down the gnawing guilt and not-for-the-first-time feeling that I’d abandoned them, I realized I’d forgotten to ask about Brandt. In her previous what-do-I-do phone call, Caroline had been freaked about a couple ruffians who’d been hanging around the thirteen-year-old. The last thing we needed was for our middle brother to get caught up in drugs or a gang. Or both. Jesus. That would be my luck.
“Hey, Gamble. Wait up.”
At the call, I cringed, wondering what catastrophe was going to strike now. My bad-shit karma usually came in threes, and since I needed something else to even up the score, I braced myself for the last item to get in line with my D essay and worrisome siblings.