Chapter 1
Let me ask you something: Have you ever felt like you're the punchline to a joke you never agreed to?
Here I am, standing on the back of my truck’s tailgate, telling a group of drunk assholes that I can totally do a backflip off this thing. Because, of course, that’s what a responsible person would do when they’ve had too many beers. But that's not what I really mean.
Everyone knows me as the local train wreck—the redneck trailer trash who can’t seem to get it together. But hey, at least I’ve got a hot sister, so there’s that.
I do the backflip. I stick the landing. Barely.
“Whooooo!” My friends cheer, probably because the fact that I’m not dead yet is a gah damn miracle. You ever noticed how when you're drunk, everything you do seems impressive? Even breathing?
I take a second to steady myself, my head spinning more than usual. That’s when I see him—Shayde Hunt.
He’s walking through the crowd, his eyes darting around like he's looking for something. Or someone. “Ben?” he calls out, his voice a little shaky.
Now, here’s the thing: Shayde’s got some stuff going on. Schizo shit. He’s 16 but acts way younger, like a kid who still believes in fairy tales.
And me? I’m 17, but it’s hard not to notice the lost look on his face. He looks like a guy who forgot how to breathe in this world. I’ve heard about him, though—never really talked to him. People don’t like different. Especially not at our school.
But then Kevin Taylor walks up to him. And I’m not surprised. Kevin’s the type of guy who’s got an opinion on everyone else’s life, especially the lives of people who don’t have money.
I nudge Jason and nod toward them. “Here we go…”
Jason looks back at me, his expression unreadable. “What’s your plan?”
“Let’s see what happens,” I mutter. We start walking toward them.
“What are you looking for?” Kevin sneers at Shayde.
“My brother… Have you seen him?” Shayde asks, barely making eye contact.
“Mm. You check the trailer park?” Kevin asks, and that’s when I lose it. I laugh a little too loudly, a little too obviously.
“Damn… you got jokes?” I flash a grin. “Well, here’s one for you. I rob folks.” I pull out my pocket knife and flick the blade open just enough to make my point.
Kevin stares at me, caught off guard. “Do you think you're funny?”
Jason steps in. “Funny?” He shrugs. “Nah, ain't nothing funny. I’m like a pothole on a trailer park road. You keep running your mouth, and you’re gonna fall right into me. Now, shut up before I send you back to the ditch.”
Kevin, probably realizing he’s not gonna win this one, walks away. Shayde just stands there, watching us like we’re the circus.
I put the knife away. “I’m…” I pause when I see Shayde starting to walk off.
Jason shrugs again. “I’m going back to the party,” he says, like I didn’t just nearly get into a fight for no reason.
I watch as he walks off calling out his brother's name. Well shit...did I make that shit up in my head or something? I turn around and walk off.
_________
Nothing screams "trashy" more than walking in on your sister and her boyfriend banging.
"Uh oh, God, oh fuck!" Ansley moans.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" I spin around. "Really?! Now I have to burn the fucking couch!"
I hear them scrambling around. "You dick! You could have knocked!" Ansley snaps, like this ain’t my fucking place too. "I thought you were gonna, I don’t know... pass out at the party!"
"Oh, you wish..." I turn back around when they tell me I can. Ansley and I are pretty much roommates, and we’re parents to our mom, who’s probably out partying harder than me. Instead of being a drunk, she’s a pillhead.
I think Ansley and I are doing terrible at this whole "parenting" thing.
Struggling with bipolar depression, there are days when I just don’t care... I just don’t. And then there are other days when I care a little too much. "Where’s Brandie?" I ask, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge.
"Hell if I know... Probably off not being interrupted by her bonehead son!" Ansley walks into the kitchen, wearing a pair of booty shorts and a tank top. Her nipples poke through the fabric, causing my nose to scrunch.
I pull a soda out of the fridge.
"Sorry you had to see that, kid—" Derek walks in behind me and collapses into the chair at the kitchen table.
"Shiii... I hate to break it to you, man, but I didn’t see shit—"
"Watch it..." Derek points.
"Just keepin' it real." I bring the soda to my lips. To sum it up, we're trashy as fuck, but we’re really good people. You don’t find too many folks not living in high-class society talking about some damn goochie, mispronouncing coochie and shit...
That's not me.
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I wanted to go ahead and post! I hope you enjoy this story!
