Fallen Crest Public(31)

I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy at all.
But when Friday came around and I found myself in an empty house, I was ready to admit defeat. I had no idea where anyone was, but I had a shift at Manny’s. The evening would go fast, or that was my hope.
When I got there, there was no one. Crickets.
The door shut behind me and sent an echo throughout the place. Brandon stopped wiping the counter and lifted a hand. “All hail, Strattan.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Not you, too.” His grin vanished.
“Not me what?”
“You’re crabby.” He gestured inside the kitchen with a glass and towel in hand. “You and my sister. What’s in the water at that school? She’s been crabby all week.”
“Shut up, Brandon!” I heard through the door. “Just be happy you’re still getting dates.” Her voice became clearer as she stood in the doorway. Her hand was in her hair; it looked stuck there. “You’re almost a has-been, tending bar for a living.”
“Screw you. I own this side, remember?”
She rolled her eyes, stalking past him and shoved open the screen door. When it banged shut behind her, she plopped down in one of the lawn chairs. The smell of cigarette smoke soon drifted inside.
The usual sibling camaraderie had vanished.
Following her outside, I took one of the other chairs. “What’s wrong?”
Flicking the end of her cigarette, she got up and shut the solid oak door. Letting the screen door shut after it, she sat back down and took a long drag before she shook her head. Her voice trembled. “Have the Tommy P.’s done anything to you this week?”
I frowned. “What? No.” And I was surprised by that. They’d been so grrr and threatening before, I had expected something. “Why?”
Taking another long drag, she reached inside her pocket and held her phone to me. “They’ve been sending me texts all week.”
“About what?”
She snorted. “Can’t you guess?”
I could, but I didn’t want to. They were starting with my friend. I knew this was the beginning. The first one read: First warning, bitch.
I rolled my eyes at their originality and clicked on the next: Second warning, cunt. Again. So original. The third and fourth were the same, more warnings followed by an expletive. Then they started getting interesting. The fifth read: Ditch the bitch or you’ll be sorry. Something new. The sixth was different: You used to cut. The word is out. Wanna know who told?
I paused and glanced over. Heather was on her second cigarette already. I held my tongue and read the next one: We know about your mom. Want that out too?
Heather told me her mom left when they were kids. I wondered what more there was to the story, but went to the eighth text: Fire Strattan. If you don’t, we’ll destroy your daddy’s livelihood.
I couldn’t read the rest. A sick feeling took root in my gut. “I’m sorry.”
Heather ground out her second cigarette, and lit a third right away. As she settled back again, she shook her head. “Brad plays ball with Natalie’s cousin. Never considered warning my oldest brother not to say a word. I’m guessing that’s where she learned all that stuff.” Her voice quivered.
“You used to cut yourself?”
She inhaled a long deep drag before shaking her head. “In the seventh grade. That’s when my mom took off. I was an idiot. She was a horrible person, but I didn’t want a dad that first year. I wanted her back. I blamed him for everything, even though she was the one that cheated, and she was the one that left us. He stayed. She didn’t, but I wanted her.”
There was more to the story. I heard the pain in her voice. “Your mom cheated?” Something we had in common.