at Waylon who kept his gaze on the pansies. Silence lay on them like January snow.
“Well, the boys are gonna have to pay for that window. Davenport said he’d get a bill to all the parents, and you, too. Sorry about this, Lou.”
“Thanks, Harvey. Waylon will be calling Mr. Davenport to apologize, and he’ll take care of that bill.” Or she’d ride Waylon’s ass until the middle of next summer. Or until he stopped his irresponsible behavior.
Harvey turned to Waylon. “Look at me, son.”
Waylon lifted his head and stuck out his chin. Lou had seen that posturing before—scared little boy trying to be a man. Waylon’s brown hair gleamed almost red in the low porch light and she noticed he needed a haircut.
The policeman pointed a sausage finger at him. “You need to keep your nose clean. I better not hear about you messin’ around with that Holland boy again. He’s trouble, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Waylon said, shifting in his new Nike workout shoes. He sounded respectful, but Lou saw the rebellion in his eyes. She knew he’d been hanging out with Willie Holland’s boy for the last two weeks and couldn’t understand the fascination with the high school dropout. This was not good. Cy Holland worked at his father’s garage and rode Harleys on the weekend to biker bars all over the state. Cy was eighteen, tough and often in trouble with the Bonnet Creek and Ville Platte police departments.
“Go in the house, Way,” Lou said, her voice quiet but firm. Inside she still shook with rage, but she wasn’t going to show it to either of the two males crowding her driveway.
Her brother surged past, his unused backpack sliding off his shoulder as he pushed into the house.
“Thanks again, Harv.”
Harvey turned to her. “I know things have been tough on you, Lou, but you’re gonna have to keep a tight leash on that boy. He’s at an age where he’s gonna test you and everybody he comes up against. He’s got a lot riding on his shoulders. Better talk some sense into him. Maybe talk to Coach, too.”
Lou bristled. Waylon was a good kid, no matter what Harvey implied. Sure, he’d been ill-tempered and difficult lately, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t handle, and she didn’t need David Landry inserting himself even more into Waylon’s life. As it was, he spent too much time hanging around the coach’s office and sometimes at the Landry house. “Again, I appreciate your doing this. I’ll take care of it from here.”
“Night,” Harvey nodded and walked toward the cruiser still flashing its lights. She winced as her neighbor popped her gray head out the kitchen door and stared at the departing police car. The nosy old woman would have something to gossip about over coffee the next morning.
Lou walked into the house and shut the door.
It was 10:15 p.m. Nearly forty-five minutes past Waylon’s school-night curfew.
Lori appeared in the hallway, clad in an old T-shirt and pajama pants. “What’s going on?”
Lou shook her head, swallowing her aggravation. “Nothing to worry about. You finish that geometry assignment?”
“Yeah, but I had to call someone for help on that last problem. Hey, is Way okay?” Lori’s curls bobbed as she glanced at the closed bedroom door behind her. Her sister had light brown hair, blue eyes and a sweet disposition, and though Lori often sniped with her older brother, she worshipped him.
Lou shook her head, locked the front door and set the security system. “Not if I kill him for being stupid.”
“What happened?” Her sister sank onto the worn sofa and grabbed a quilted throw pillow. “You need to talk about it, Lou? Can I help you with anything?”
“No, but will you double-check you have all your homework packed up so I don’t have to bring anything to you tomorrow?” Lori had turned fifteen last month, and since then, had tried to maintain a very adult-like demeanor. She asked to set up the bills online, used her babysitting money for a few groceries and jockeyed to become Lou’s sounding board on everything from work to dealing with their wayward brother. In one way it was amusing, in another almost a relief to have another person to lean on, even if it was an absentminded fifteen-year-old. “He’s under a lot of pressure and looking for a way to blow off steam. No need to worry. Everything’s fine.”
Lori picked at the stitches on the pillow. “Things are going to change. I heard about that ULBR coach being at school this morning. Waylon’s a good player and everyone’s going to want him to go to their school. I don’t want him to leave, Lou.”
“Well,” Lou said, picking up a throw blanket, folding it and tucking it away in the hollow ottoman. She also picked up a few soda cans and gum wrappers, tidying the house as was her habit every night before she went to bed. “I can understand not wanting things to change, but that’s how life is. It moves whether we want it to or not. But we have to remember, these programs wanting your brother is a good thing. Most guys only dream about what Waylon has.”
“What if I don’t want it anymore?”
Lou turned around to see her brother standing in the hall doorway, both hands braced against the door frame. He looked big…and sort of sad. “You no longer want to play football?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired of it. Maybe I’m sick of being the school’s hero—everybody watching me, examining my grades, timing my runs. Maybe I want to be normal.”
Lou tossed the matching throw pillow onto the couch next to her sister—maybe a little harder than necessary. “Well, normal isn’t going out drinking and destroying other people’s property. It’s not lying to your family. Or failing American history tests. None of those things you’re doing are normal, Way.”
“Whatever,” he said, walking past her toward the kitchen.
So he was going to give her attitude after coming home in a cop car? No freaking way was he getting away with acting like a shit. Lou followed him into the kitchen. “What is your problem, Waylon? You’re close to getting everything you wanted and you’re trying to throw it away.”
He opened the refrigerator, pulled out the milk and took a swig straight from the carton because he knew it ticked her off. “Nothing’s wrong, and you don’t know what I want. No one ever asked me what I want. Maybe I don’t want to play football in college. I may not even go to college.”
“The hell you aren’t.” Lou walked over and plucked the carton from his hand. “And stop drinking from the carton. It’s gross.”
“You can’t make me go to college, and you can’t make me play football. I spend day and night lifting weights, doing cardio and running drills. That doesn’t leave me time for anything else except homework and bed. Think I want to live that way? With no fun in my life?”
Lou tilted her head. “Oh, so you want to have fun?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, then, let’s have fun.” She spun toward the purse she’d set on the kitchen desk and yanked it up. “Here, I’ll give you a twenty and you run to the Handi-mart for beer. Hey, Lori, put on music and call some friends. I’ll score the pot so we can all get high and drunk and trash the house Mom and Dad worked so hard to build. I’ll probably lose my job, but you two
