Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I could do that.
My first vivid memory was at four years old when I told my mother I didn't want to be called Louell anymore, that I was Lou. And that Lou wore jeans and t-shirts, not the frilly pink and purple dresses that Louell was known for.
At five, I had the bone-deep desire to fit in with my brother and his friends more than play with my sister who was closer to my age.
The boys did the cooler things - skateboarding, tree-climbing in the park, baseball in alleys, tackle football. The stuff that made your heartbeat speed up, made your belly feel funny, but in a way that was both bad and good at first, then just good at the end.
My sister just liked having tea parties and playing with dolls.
I hated tea.
And no matter how many times I played with dolls, they never gave me that swirly good feeling in my tummy.
So I was going to be Lou.
And I was going to hang out with the boys.
The only flaw in my plan, of course, was that Monty was nine. And nine-year-old boys didn't want their five-year-old little sisters playing with them and their friends.
His rejection was a stabbing, burning betrayal because, after all, this was the boy who came home at night and played cops and robbers with me in the house. When his friends weren't around to see and judge him.
I had been a stubborn kid, though.
Just because he told me he didn't want me didn't mean I didn't keep trying, didn't keep barging my way in.
By the time Monty was a teen, though, he managed to hand me the slip more easily. Being older, being trusted more by our parents, allowed to wander out into the big, bad world in a way I wouldn't be allowed to do for many years.
I was fourteen when my parents pulled me and Sammy into the kitchen.
We knew before we even walked in that this was one of those serious talks.
That kitchen table with the scratched surface from us carving in it with forks as kids, covered with a brown and white plaid tablecloth to hide the sins, was the place all our serious talks took place.
The peer pressure, no drugs talk.
The sex talk.
The playing with matches is dangerous talk.
The your grades have disappointed us talk.
I remembered searching my mind for a possible screw up, for something that could mean the talk would focus on me and my punishment. I was sure Sammy was doing the same.
"Sit girls," our father had demanded, a tall, thin man who was too kind for the world he was born into beside our mother, shorter, stockier, but equally as soft. It was a quality Sammy inherited, but Monty and I had avoided somehow.
"This is very important," our mother added, wringing a dish towel between her hands.
"We're just going to get right to it," my father launched into it. "Monty is not going to be living here anymore," he told us, the words like a punch straight to my core.
We hadn't been close as of late, him staying out all hours with his friends, being shorter with me, but I still had a childish idolization of him.
"Why?" I asked, hearing an accusation there, sure the only reason was because they had kicked him out.
I hadn't been wrong.
"You know how your brother has been out with his new group of friends," our father went on. "Day, night, when he was supposed to be in school."
He'd been flunking out for months, having finally decided to drop out just two weeks before. I remembered being awoken by the fighting about that.
But me, naive, a hater of school as well, had loved the move, had wished I could pull it off myself.
My parents - of course - were of a different mind on the matter.
"Yeah," Sammy answered when they paused, waiting for one, needing the confirmation that we had noticed.
"Well, those new friends are some very bad people," our father went on. "They're part of a street gang. And Monty wants to join."
Gangs were a prevalent thing in our lives, our parents keeping us apprised of all the turf wars going on, wanting us to stay clear of bad areas.
"We know this is hard to hear," our mother chimed in. "But we want you to understand why we have done what we have done, why Monty can't be around here, why we think he is a bad influence for you girls. He could put you in danger."
I held my tongue at that.
Monty would never put us in danger.
He loved us.
Well, me more than Sammy.
And not so much recently.
But we had a bond.
He wouldn't let anyone hurt me.
I was sure of it.
Too sure.
It would eventually be the biggest mistake of my life.
Not heeding their warning.
Not understanding that people I thought were good could be bad.