“Because I just do.”
“I bet there’s a high dive, like fifty feet in the air.”
“Do you know how high fifty feet is? You would die hitting the water. The impact would kill you.”
“You’re such a know-it-all, Jackson. Why can’t you let a girl dream? We’re never going to that pool because no one will ever take us. Plus, it costs money, and last time I checked you weren’t making any.”
He lay back on the blanket, propped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “I’m not a know-it-all—I just have cable. And as soon as I turn sixteen, I’m getting a job. I’ll pay for us to go to the pool. You’ll see. It’s just a big hole with water in it.”
I took the time to inspect every inch of him as he lay there, his eyes still closed. I was so curious about his body. My own body was changing, and I was terrified of it. Jax was getting taller, and I was certain he was going to be as tall as his father, but he looked more like his mother in his coloring and features. Jax’s mom was French, and they both had this creamy skin that looked sun-kissed year-round. His brown hair and brown eyes had strands of gold running throughout them. He was letting his hair grow longer because he’d been watching some show on TV that took place in California. He said everyone in California had long hair.
I was trying to grow out my own unruly brown locks. I didn’t know why since I always wore them in a braid. Maybe a part of me thought I would go to California with Jax one day, and I wanted to look the part. We both yearned for more than weeds and corn. All the books we read gave us silly ideas, filled our heads with things that might never be.
I lay down beside him and stared directly into the sun. He turned on his side and propped his head on his elbow.
“You’ll go blind doing that,” he said in a low voice.
“Leave me alone.”
“Why are you in such a bad mood? You PMSing?”
“What do you know about it?”
“A lot.”
“I doubt that, and even if I were, it’s beyond rude to talk to me about it.” I hadn’t started my period yet, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
In the distance, we could hear Leila calling Jax. “Shit. I better go,” he said. He grabbed the jar of applesauce and disappeared into the weeds. I lay back, closed my eyes, and fell asleep. I woke up just before dusk and realized I had been eaten alive by mosquitos. My stomach was in knots, and my head ached. When I stood, I felt a warmth between my legs. I tried desperately to clamp my legs together as I rolled up my sleeping bag.
By the time I got to my front door, I knew there was blood all the way down the back of my jeans. I closed the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed past the kitchen table into the hall.
“Emerson? Where in hell have you been?”
I tiptoed toward the kitchen, where I could see my father sitting at the table. “I was outside. I accidentally fell asleep.”
His eyes went first to the rolled-up sleeping bag and then to the crotch of my pants. He stood so fast that the force knocked his chair over. “Dad, no.”
Before I could do anything, he grabbed a handful of hair at the base of my neck and forced my head back so we were looking each other in the eyes.
“Emerson!” This time my name was like thunder in his chest. “What in god’s name were you doing?”
“D-Dad . . .” I could feel blood running down my leg at the same pace the tears were flowing. It was going to be a bad day. “I’m having my period.”
He blinked. His mouth dropped open then closed, then he blinked again, let go of my hair, and took a step back. His eyebrows furrowed. He brushed his hand down his mustache a couple of times while he stared off into space. “Go clean yourself up,” he muttered to the floor.
I ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, and turned the shower on. With my hand under the stream of water, I waited and waited and waited. Goddammit, why now? My father hadn’t paid the gas bill, so there was no hot water. Susan, my dad’s weird friend from the motel, told me a month earlier just to take a whore bath if I ever needed to. A whore bath is where you wet a towel and clean yourself with it. By that age, I was aware of why Susan knew those things. A whore bath is what I needed.
An hour later, the bathroom looked like a crime scene. My mother hadn’t even left one maxi pad on the off chance that the prepubescent daughter she had abandoned would start her period while she was at home alone with the whiskey monster.
I was sitting on the toilet in silence, wrapped up in a bloodstained towel, adding up the days in my head until I would be an adult, until I could leave this godforsaken town. Two thousand and seven days, fourteen hours, and twelve minutes until I was eighteen.
“Knock, knock.” A female’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Leila Fisher. Your dad asked me to come over.”