THE BOY I GREW UP WITH

4. Heather

4

Heather

First grade

“What’s wrong?” Channing asked me.

One of Brandon’s old Trapper Keepers dropped to the ground with a thud. I had shoved it at him in the hallway earlier. A bag dropped next. A jacket. Then Channing himself. He slid down next to me, his back to the little lockers we were given.

I was sitting against mine, far enough down the hallway that I could still see the principal’s office.

I gestured to the office. “My dad’s in there. He’s fighting.”

“Why?” Channing kicked the Trapper Keeper out of the way, his knees pulling up. He leaned forward and locked his hands around them, staring at me.

All the girls in school liked him.

I mean, I guess I could understand why.

He was cute. Dark blond hair. I don’t know—how do you describe when you know a boy is cute? He’s just cute. But he was a pain in my ass. (Another phrase my mom liked to use.) He didn’t throw things at other girls, poke them, laugh at them, get their names put on the board. He only did that to me.

Pain. In. My. Ass.

Though maybe I should stop thinking like my mom. I mean…

I frowned at him. “They want us to go to Fallen Crest.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “We moved there. My mom wanted to open a restaurant.”

Should I tell him? We were, like, mortal enemies—like in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles way. I was a kick-ass turtle, and he was Shredder.

I dropped my head toward my lap and whispered, “She left last night.”

I tensed, waiting for…something. I didn’t know what. Questions? For him to blame me, maybe?

There was quiet instead, and I lifted my head to look at him.

He stared at me, his face totally blank, and then he shrugged. “Is it wrong that I wish she’d taken my dad with her?”

Um… I don’t know.

He shrugged again. “Don’t sweat it. Parents aren’t that super, in my opinion.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like my mom, but…” He shook his head. “Don’t get like other kids and start thinking the parent who left is Santa Claus or something. Your mom left. Get over it. Stick with the one who stayed.”

“Channing—”

He stood, grabbing his bag, his Trapper Keeper. He looked down at me. “I’m sorry about your mom, but if she left, she’s a b***h. She’s not worth remembering. If they hurt you, they never are.”

He turned and went to his locker, my brother’s Trapper Keeper tucked under his arm.