The Stillburrow Crush

"At least you ended up with a cool brother. Look what I got for a sister."

Sending him an arch look, I sweetly said, "Give me a ride tomorrow or I'm telling Mom about that time you broke her—"

"OK, OK," he broke in a little too quickly. "Geez, brat, you win. I'll give you a lift. Just shut up already." We rode home in silence until Marty pulled to the curb in front of our family home. He left the engine ru

I paused. "Coming in to say hi?" He shifted on the vinyl seat like it had suddenly become too uncomfortable to sit on.

"No."

I lifted my eyebrows in mock surprise. "Why not?" 20

The Stillburrow Crush

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He glared. "I wouldn't want to get mud on the carpet with my dirty shoes."

I shrugged like it didn't matter what he did, and opened the door. "Well, Mom wants to see you." When Marty snorted out a dry laugh, I turned quickly to stare at him. His head fell back and rested on the back of the bench seat. My heart broke a little when he said, "Mom doesn't know what she wants."

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21

The Stillburrow Crush

by Linda Kage

Chapter Two

Our town, Stillburrow, is surrounded by Kansas wheat fields. With a population of just under seven hundred and decreasing, it's the type of town where anyone living here was born here. People don't move to Stillburrow. They move out.

A throwback to the fifties, it still has a Mom and Pop Store called Getty's General, run by John Getty himself, whose granddad started the place back in 1944. Across the street, his brother Fredrick runs Fred's Diner. Both of these establishments sit on Main Street, which is the only paved street in town and stretches a total of six blocks long. Geographically, Stillburrow is built in a simple layout. It's located in the flattest part of Kansas, thirty miles north of Paulbrook (what we called the city—Paulbrook has a university, a hospital, an amusement park and everything else Stillburrow doesn't). North of Paulbrook on Highway 23, there's a turn off heading east, called Still Road. That's our road.

After three miles as Still Road, its name changes to Main Street—the official "city limits" of Stillburrow begin—and the gravel roadway becomes asphalt. On the main drag, there's the gas station, then Getty's General Store and Fred's. Georgia's Barber Shop, The First State Bank and one of our four churches are all located on the next block. We also have the funeral home, dentist office, post office and City Hall on Main Street. At the other end of town, where the city limit 22

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ends and Still Road starts up again, pavement changes back into gravel. There we have a bar and grill across from the city pool, before wheat fields crop up once more as if nothing had disturbed their space.

All the streets ru

I live on the northeast edge of Stillburrow, right across from the park on the corner of Oak and Jackson. Jackson Street's a weird road because when it crosses Main, it curves around until it intersects with Quincy and becomes Birch. But that works out well for me because the school's on Birch and it makes my walk to class easier.

Almost everything's on Main Street, except for a few biggies. We have three churches not on Main as well as the park (which is deserted ten months of the year), the library, Dean's Auto Shop—that also serves as a used car lot—and the school.

The school's the heart of the town.

Stillburrow focuses its attention on its children. Stillburrow Education Center, also known as SEC, holds classes from kindergarten through twelfth grade. The grade school is on the east end of the building and the high school is on the west. Years ago, the city built a sports complex, with a track, football field, gymnasium, and ball diamond for the school. It's not next to the school building but is located just outside 23

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town on Still Road. Most towns have a sign introducing their city with a population number under it. But not us. We have the SEC Sports Complex with its manicured lawns and impressive, lighted stadium.

Like I said, Stillburrow prides itself on its younger generation.

But we don't start our education at SEC. Mrs. Eggrow, the principal's wife, runs the preschool across the street from SEC

in a yellow two-story house, where many children learn to read and write before they walk. Actually, all the parents in town seemed to be in one big competition to see who'd end up with the brightest kid.

Mrs. Wallace was sure her daughter, Theresa, would become a famous actress. Theresa was a senior when I was in third grade. I can still remember how she glowed on stage. That was the year the drama club had six plays and sold out every seat in the auditorium each production. And Theresa did get pretty far. She made it all the way to Hollywood before she fell in with the wrong group of people and died on an acid trip. I remember how school was let out that day, as well, and everyone in town attended the funeral. Up until this year, she was our big tragedy.

After Theresa's death, the competition over star children died off for a while. Most kids graduated and stuck around Stillburrow, or went off to Paulbrook.

Then a couple of years ago it all started again. It seemed a few kids around town showed special talent in their field of expertise. There was Timmy Newell, the football coach's son, who could play the trumpet like he was a member of the New 24

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York Symphony. His twin sister, Brenda, had a singing voice that could make you cry to hear. Coach Newell was a little put off when his kids turned out to be more musical than athletic but that didn't stop his thick chest from swelling each time someone complimented him for his children's abilities. Rick Getty—who was going steady with Brenda—could paint like Andrew Wyeth. Jill Anderson, the late Theresa Wallace's niece, tried her hand at acting though she wasn't as talented as her aunt had been. And Luke Carter was the best quarterback the town had ever seen. His dad was president of the bank and most town folk had their hopes set high on Luke.

Mom tried to talk me up for being the editor of The Central Record. It was only the school's paper, but since the town didn't have a newspaper of its own, everyone subscribed to The Central Record and read it like it was the town paper. Mom thought I'd make it big someday with my writing. And that was my dream too, to be a star investigative reporter in some big city, becoming nationally famous. But I was only the town mechanic's girl and not too widely known. I didn't mind who I was. I was proud of my father. He was honest and owned his own business, which was impressive in my eyes. I didn't care if the mortgage on the house was maxed out or if the bank owned over half his shop. Most people still looked down on my parents because they had married right before my mom graduated from high school, when she found out she was pregnant with Marty. But that's a small town for you. People give out their gossip and their snooty opinions like they're the Word of God. 25

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Once upon a time, I thought such prejudices against people were so old fashioned they no longer existed, but then I grew old enough to hear and understand more. And yes, they're still around. They are in Stillburrow, anyhow. Mom tried to overcome the "scandal" by being the perfect housewife, like she could scrub away her past. So I grew up in a clean home. Well, OK, maybe clean is too mild a word for it. Sterile would fit better. I didn't know what dirt was until I was five and asked my dad what all that brown stuff was in the grass outside. Mom also thought if she attended every PTO meeting, if she had her hair done every week at Georgia Anderson's Hair Salon, or if she volunteered to bring food to every potluck di