The Lonesome Young by Lucy Connors Read Free Book Online

spine told me that some part of me might just believe it.
    During the rest of the class, while Mr. Gerard handed out project assignments and droned on and on, Mickey didn’t try to talk to me again. When the bell rang, I was up out of my seat and on my way to find calculus before he could follow me.
    Not that he even tried.
    I couldn’t figure out if the realization made me disappointed or relieved.

CHAPTER 6
    Mickey
    H ypocrisy was always a featured side dish at the United Methodist Women’s after-church potluck. The very people who gossiped with gleeful viciousness Monday through Saturday pretended that they gave a shit about their targeted victims on Sunday.
    “Hypocrisy salad ,” I muttered.
    “Excuse me?” Mom said, blinking at me.
    “Why is it always called salad?” I pointed at the tables that were practically collapsing under the weight of the food. “Ham salad, potato salad, macaroni salad, even Jell-O salad. None of those have anything do with lettuce, so why do they call it salad?”
    “I have no idea, but you’d think some of these people were allergic to vegetables, to look at their plates,” Mom said disapprovingly, right on cue.
    She was the Kentucky version of a health nut. We never had bean sprouts or tofurkey, or any of that crazy California stuff, but you’d never catch her within shouting distance of a deep-fried Twinkie, either, and there were always at least two veggies and a fruit with dinner. She’d almost passed out in shock the day in third grade that I’d come home with an empty Lunchables package in my lunch bag.
    I’d traded my PB&J and apple to Lincoln Finn for it, I’d told her, proud of my bargaining abilities. She’d grounded me for a week, and I’d had to read a kids’ book about the evils of junk food. To her. Out loud.
    I grinned at her. “I’m going to get a piece of Mrs. Finn’s store-bought cake.”
    Mom sighed and shook her head. “Chemicals and sugar, topped with frosting that’s more of the same. Go ahead, rot your stomach. I’m off to rescue your father.”
    She headed over toward the far side of the room, where Pa and a few men stood near a window that had a group of partially deflated balloons taped to it, probably from a wedding reception the day before. The orange and green balloons made me feel a twinge of sympathy for the bridesmaids. I’d been to lots of weddings—Mom and Pa knew a ton of people, and they used to drag me along all the time, before I’d gotten old enough to put my foot down. It had always seemed to me like weddings were an excuse for brides to make their best friends look as ugly as possible, but I wasn’t a girl, so I probably just didn’t get it.
    I headed for the desserts, since it would probably be a while before Mom could drag Pa away. As the sheriff, he always had plenty of people who wanted to talk to him about “important” business, even when he was off duty. We’d once been trapped at Dairy Queen for an hour and a half while some old guy complained about his neighbor’s tree dropping branches on his lawn. On the bright side, Pa had let me have a second ice cream cone while we waited, after the familiar warning: “Don’t tell your mother.”
    I smiled a little before the memory soured for me. Pa and I didn’t go out for ice cream these days.
    I worked my way through a slice of homemade apple pie and a cinnamon roll and was contemplating a plate of cookies when somebody poked me in the back.
    “Hey, bro,” Jeb said, staring past me at the dessert table. “How’s it going?”
    I automatically scanned the reception hall for Ethan, but my brothers had quit attending church several years before, when their mother had stormed out in a huff over an insult to her chocolate cake recipe or something like that.
    “It’s going. Surprised to see you here, though. Were you in church?”
    He laughed, and a few girls in the vicinity looked over with interest. When Jeb laughed, he was one of the best-looking guys around,