Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) by Hilarey Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

mad—your church.”
    “No.”
    “Then what?”
    “You’re under-age.”
    “I’ll be eighteen in two days.”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “I need money. I have to move out as soon as
possible.” I sound like I’m whining when I mutter this. He starts walking back.
    “The point is,” he speaks like English is my
second language. “The Wild Lily broke the law. They’ll break others. The laws
are there for a reason.”
    I don’t want to admit this makes sense, because I’m
the one who lied about my age.
    Back from our walk, we both stare at the trailer.
I don’t want to go inside; I want to continue walking with Hayden until I’m happy,
even if it takes days…or we cross states.
    “I’m obligated to say something, to tell someone.”
    “Am I going to jail?” I meant it as a joke, but it
comes out as a plea.
    “As a police officer…I’m obligated…”
    I hear movement at the door behind me. I grab
Hayden’s shirt with my hands and come to him to whisper.
    “Please. I don’t work there anymore.” I didn’t
mean to lean so close. He must’ve leaned in toward me as well. My heart is beating
faster than his. I know because I press against his chest. We could kiss. But
I’m sure we won’t because he has left his arms at his sides—not moved to touch
me at all.
    I step away. Hopefully, my face is not as red as
it feels. I lift the hair off my neck to share the weight of it with my hand
and cool wind chills my back. He watches me. I let go and fold my arms.
    “Don’t…” I tighten my crossed arms. “Don’t let
your religion get in the way of this.”
    He laughs, but then looks at something in the
distance. We say an awkward goodbye.
    I watch him leave. I know behind me, Thom watches
too.

Chapter 8
    This isn’t real. I fold the check with shaking
hands.
    Sunlight gleams from the Sir Car Wash sign on the
side of the building. Two weeks of bending and dipping pruned fingers into
lukewarm water in sixty to seventy degree weather. Two weeks of wet, dirty,
sore feet, ashtrays, rust, grime dripping. Two weeks of minimum wage.
    The manager, Cal, stands there—waiting like he’s
the one who paid me.
    “Thanks for handing this to me.” I wave the check,
sure that my sarcasm floats just above his oily comb-over.
    The folded check fits in my back pocket; I hope it
doesn’t get wet. It’d be worth even less.
    “Uniform switches to shorts next week. I can’t
wait.” Cal peruses the length of me for emphasis.
    I stand and put my hand on my hip and shield the
sun from my eyes. This Lorna pose comes in handy.
    Cal clears his throat. “Because it gets mighty hot
out here.”
    Nice save on his part, really. If I hadn’t worked
at the Wild Lily, I might not be so adept at distinguishing his innuendos. I
feel sorry for the other eighteen-year-old girls, the unsuspecting ones who
attend churches like Hayden’s.
    Hayden.
    What did I think? I would get a job I could be
proud of? Go to church and become Hayden’s lover? I bend, wipe, reach and lean
for eight hours a day while the manager ogles me. And now, I have my reward: seven
dollars and twenty-five cents an hour. A week of taxed income amounting to less
than what I made in two nights at the Wild Lily.
    Hayden, you didn’t even call.
    “That would bring in more business.” Cal folds his
arms and focuses on a group of girls across the street. They dance around in T-shirts
and shorts, waving signs that advertise their cheer team fundraiser.
    One particularly bubbly girl pulls off her T-shirt
and bobs up and down in a bikini top. She must move like that because she’s
freezing. Cal raises his eyebrows at me as though I might share his enthusiasm.
Another girl pulls off her top as well—they’re getting braver with the passing
cars’ honking encouragement.
    They dance for free—well, maybe not free. They’ll
get new uniforms or something. Why is working at a place like the Wild Lily so
much worse? Getting paid makes me the smarter one. How