The Last Harvest(4)
3
CRANKING UP the radio, I drive the half mile to Midland High. All I get is some lame soft rock station from Tulsa, but it feels good to numb out even if it’s just for a few minutes.
I park in the back of the lot—last one in, first one out. That probably says a lot about my personality. Tyler Neely, on the other hand, parks front row, center.
He’s the biggest dick at school, or at least he thinks he has the biggest dick. He’s got this beautiful ’66 Mustang, and he had to ruin it by painting bright-yellow racing stripes down the middle.
As soon as I cut the engine, Tyler looks back at me as if on cue. Normally, I’d turn away, pretend not to notice, but I’m sick of his shit. I hold his stare. If he had anything to do with that calf, I want him to know he didn’t get to me.
Ben says something to him, probably some stupid joke, and when Tyler finally looks away, I let out a huge burst of pent-up air.
It’s the strangest crew.
Ben Gillman’s a good guy, decent tight end, but dumber than a bucket of gravel.
Tammy Perry’s one of those girls you’d be hard-pressed to notice. Never in trouble, hardly makes a peep. Beige clothes … beige hair … beige freckles. The girl practically screams oatmeal.
Less oatmeal but still no prize is Jimmy Doogan. I swear he’s scared of his own shadow. One time a bird flew into the window of our fifth-grade math class and he pissed his pants, like a river of pee.
And then there’s Ali Miller.
It’s complicated.
I watch her cross the parking lot to Tyler’s car—legs for days. She has this way about her, I mean, she’s so far above all these hicks, and she doesn’t even know it.
I’ve known her since Sunday school, hell, probably since I was born. I don’t remember anything without her. Catching crawdads in Harmon Lake, turtle races, riding our bikes all over the county. One time we found ten bucks on the side of Route 17 and bought a whole mess of penny candy from Merritt’s gas station. Just a bunch of stale baby-teeth bait, but when we tossed it onto people’s front steps, we felt like Santa in the middle of summer. We talked about saving the world, or at least saving ourselves.
I try not to go there, but I can’t help thinking about the last time Ali came to see me. It was right after the funeral. She sat on the edge of my bed and cried.
“Promise you won’t forget me,” she whispered.
To this day, I have no idea what she was talking about, or why she was crying. Maybe she was just trying to say goodbye and I was too stupid to notice. All I wanted to do was wipe the tears off her cheeks and maybe hold her and tell her it was going to be okay, but the smell of her skin, the softness of her long dark-brown hair, the feel of her body pressing against me was more than I could bear. I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were so warm and wet. She took in a tiny gasp of air, and when I went in for another kiss, she started crying even harder and ran out of the house. I wanted to tell her I was caught up in the grief, plead temporary insanity, but the truth was I really just loved her. I think I’ve always loved her. She hasn’t spoken to me since.
Tyler snatches the red hoodie tied around Ali’s waist and smacks her ass with it. She shoots him a lopsided grin as she grabs it back from him and pulls it on over her faded-tan shoulders. I wonder if he even notices her shoulders—that constellation of freckles on the right one. That’s the arm she was always hanging out of her mom’s Cadillac when they delivered Avon around town.
The only thing they have in common is they’re the eldest sons and daughters of the founders of our glorious Preservation Society—the six families who rode in together and settled this county in the 1889 land rush. The Neelys, the Gillmans, the Perrys, the Millers, the Doogans, and yours truly, the Tates. I guess it’s about as close to royalty as this town will ever get.
It wouldn’t have been so weird if they’d all been friends before, but it seemed like as soon as my dad died, as soon as they stepped up to take their seats on the council, they suddenly became inseparable.
I’d never admit this to anyone, but sometimes I envy them—their freedom, their wide-open futures. It feels like my fate was sealed the moment my dad walked toward the cattle ranch holding that crucifix.
“Mooder in Midland.” That’s what the newspeople called it.
Real catchy.
At first, I kept waiting for the council to reach out to me, offer condolences or something … anything. But no one said a word to me. Not a single word. And Tyler was more than happy to step into my shoes in every way possible. I thought it was only a matter of time before Ali figured out what a tool he was, but I guess I was wrong.
She used to make fun of the Preservation Society just as much as I did. Sometimes when I look at her like this, surrounded by sycophants and *s, it feels like I never knew her at all. Like I never knew any of them. Like I don’t even exist.
As I open my door, my cousin Dale jumps in front of my truck. “If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it. If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it,” he sings obnoxiously as he swivels his hips in front of me.
Three freshman girls walk by, giggling their heads off.
I slide out of my truck. “You shouldn’t do that. Ever.”
“Come on, loosen up, cuz. They love it, doncha ladies?” He shakes his hips again, and they all look back and laugh.