Shift

12

Sometimes it feels as though I’m watching the Judge family through a pane of glass. As if I’m stuck on the outside, always forced to look in. Though they’ve never made me feel I don’t belong here, I still very much do—often.

It’s hard knowing you’re a charity case. Hearing those words from Tommy’s own mouth last night really settled things for me, too. In the back of my mind, I’ve had this hunch that for Tommy, things were temporary. Our dream was really my dream, and the steps we were taking to reach a goal were, for him, pretend.

I felt Ha

Never intentionally; I fear it’s just in my nature. And more than anything, I’m afraid of the emotional damage that comes with being with me.

The Judge family rushes around the kitchen, their dad popping bread in the toaster as their mom fills coffee cups. They slide one on the center island for me, and Tommy takes it for himself before I can get myself up from this couch. I’m much happier watching them than actually participating anyhow.

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to land on Ha

She kisses her mom’s cheek and snags a piece of toast from her dad’s plate, the one with more peanut butter. Her favorite.

“Hey!” He pretends he doesn’t always make two just to share with her.

Tommy stands from pulling out two energy drinks from the bottom drawer of the fridge. He tosses one to me and I catch it as I stand, letting the blanket that Ha

I twist the cap and turn my chin to my shoulder for a quick smell test. I wasn’t much in the mood for getting up early this morning to shower. Not that I wasn’t awake. I was pi

No. I’m meant to grow up and become something despite my family. That’s my lot.

I gather my school bag and hover by the door, taking sips from the energy drink while Ha

“Dustin, I expect you’ll leave your folder for me to take care of?” She’s using her business voice, which is hard to say no to.

“Yeah, of course. I think it’s in my car. I’ll bring it in tonight. It’s not due for a week yet,” I say, knowing full well that I plan to dodge her offer to buy my cap and gown and be my surrogate parent at some stupid ceremony on our football field later next month.

She points at me, her nonverbal way of putting me to task. I nod and cross my heart. I’ve gotten used to lying to myself, but I don’t ever lie to Tommy’s mom. I figured I would be out of here by the time all that pomp and circumstance time came around. Now that I’m two grand short and possibly going out on my own, well, maybe a cap and gown isn’t the worst thing to indulge.

I manage to slip out the door before Ha

“Hey, can I get a ride with you? Supra’s got a fu

“Yeah, sure,” he says, his tone clipped.

I climb in the passenger side and scan the driveway in the mirror when I shut the door. Ha

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Tommy mumbles, climbing in and starting his engine. His lips are set in a smug line.

“Exactly what are you talking about?” I ask but really, I know. He means drama between me and Ha

Instead, Tommy shakes his head, pushing his sunglasses on as he cranks the wheel to back out of the driveway. He peels out, a little aggressive for him, and all I can do is chuckle. I should have gotten in the car with Ha

We get to school minutes before Ha

I’m about to gripe about it to Tommy when I realize he’s disappeared about a dozen feet to my left and is pulling some bullshit rolled-up poster out of his backpack to show to some girl I swear he’s hooked up with twice and dumped as many times. She should slap him for assuming she’d go to prom with him, but no. She’s covering her mouth. And here come the fake tears. And . . . she’s hugging him.

“Wow,” I mutter to myself.

“You know, doing the in thing isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Ha

I didn’t even get a chance to get myself out of the hole I made. Serves me right, I guess.

My morning is a blur, and I’ve run my phone down fifty percent by obsessing over underground races north of the city that I might be able to get to in the next few weeks. I don’t like racing in the city. Empty streets are never truly abandoned, and it’s barely worth the gas it costs me to get there just to pull in a win or two. But I’m out serious cash now, and my shifts at the yard have basically dried up. People won’t be betting big at the Straights for the next few weeks, not after last weekend’s race. If I can find a race or two that have a little buzz, maybe I can turn them into something worth my time—and rubber.