The Tracks by Sally Royer-Derr (ebook reader for pc and android .TXT) 📗

signs of dusk. A pink-hued display gradually getting darker. My heart beat quickly as I stole a glance behind me to see if Tommy was watching me. He was and waved to me. I waved back and walked faster. I was off the track now, and my feet pounded the muddy earth. The only thing I wanted was the warm safety of my bedroom.

A few minutes later, minus my brother’s muddy boots, which sat on the kitchen floor, I curled up on my faded pink Hello Kitty comforter. I knew I was too old for such a babyish character, but I liked it. Plus, no extra money for things we didn’t need.

My brief encounter with Tommy rattled me for some reason. He was just a kid, like me. I felt strange knowing he watched me when I thought I was alone. But I had done that with people before. People-watching had always been a favorite activity of mine. I loved when we were driving past houses at nighttime and curtains hung open. To spy on them sitting at the dinner table or watching TV was somewhat creepy and fascinating at the same time. Sometimes watching others gave you a clue as to who they were as an individual. Did they pay attention to detail or were they sloppy? Did they pet the dog or kick it when nobody was looking? All clues to the inner workings of an individual’s mind.

So what if Tommy watched me? I was so boring I doubted he saw much that interested him. But two could play that game. Tomorrow I’d stay in the woods and spy on him a little bit. Just to see what he was like from a voyeuristic view.

Satisfied with my decision, I sprang from my bed and headed out to the kitchen. Sam wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. He worked at a grocery store about a mile from our house. He had dreams of buying a car next year when he turned sixteen. Mom wouldn’t be home until after ten once her shift at the restaurant was over. I opened the almond-colored refrigerator, an obvious remnant from the early nineties, and surveyed its contents. Leftover pot roast and carrots I’d had two nights in a row didn’t appeal to me. I considered making an omelet but didn’t feel like cooking anything. I opened the lunchmeat drawer. Some cheese and that disgusting mince bologna my brother loved. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich would have to do.

I opened the wood veneer cabinet and took out the peanut butter. The cabinet contents were sparse. A half-empty jar of peanut butter, a box of saltine crackers, and two cans of chicken noodle soup. Mom would have to go food shopping soon. I grabbed the peanut butter and put it on the worn Formica counter. The tight quarters of the galley-style kitchen always made me feel claustrophobic. I hurriedly spread the bread, applied grape jelly, and poured a glass of milk.

Placing my dinner on the coffee table, a pretty honey oak we’d brought from our old house, I seized the remote and scanned the channels. I considered doing my homework. I had a persuasive paragraph to write for English and a page of algebra. The paragraph would be a breeze. I loved to write. The math would suck, which was probably why I knew I’d put it off until the last minute.

I eased back into our comfortable cranberry-colored sectional couch. It barely fit in this cramped living room, but we made it work. I skipped over news channels and talk shows. Boring. I settled on one of those reality shows that featured a bunch of twentysomethings all living together in New York City. They had an awesome loft in Tribeca and they all worked in a trendy nightclub. I could see myself doing something like that when I was older, especially in NYC. I loved to watch the personalities clash on the show. Everyone fought a lot, especially the girls. Usually over some guy they both liked. I would never be so into a guy that I’d actually fight over him. I thought that just screamed desperate. And loser. Two things I didn’t want to become.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted my reality show thoughts. I stood and walked over to the beige-colored door with a frilly white lace curtain. Mom loved frilly white lace curtains. I pulled it back. Aunt Holly smiled at me.

My mother’s elder sister. Ten years older to be exact. She worked as an accountant and had never married. Although, as she was quick to point out, not that she didn’t have marriage opportunities. She lived about ten minutes away and often dropped in.

“Aunt Holly.” I opened the door, eying the large box of pizza she held between French manicured nails. I sniffed the appealing aroma. “Come in.”

“I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” Aunt Holly said. She spied the half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Well, at least you haven’t eaten much.”

We sat at our tiny round dining table in the space between the sofa and the kitchen. Mom bought it at the thrift store when we moved here. The six-chair oak dining table set from our old house would never fit here.

“How was school today?” Aunt Holly bit into a slice of extra cheese pizza. My favorite.

“Okay.” I savored the tangy sauce and melted cheese. Pizza was the perfect food in every way.

“Anything new?”

“Not really.” My thoughts traveled to my earlier encounter with Tommy. No, I didn’t want to talk about him. Not like I had anything to say anyway. “Well, I did get invited to a slumber party this weekend. At Lanie’s house. It’s her birthday.”

“Are you going?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to get her a present. Probably be boring anyway.”

“Might not be. What if I pick you up Thursday at school and we go shopping