Free Last Train Home by Megan Nugen Isbell

was a wild mess and it spilled down my back in sloppy, dark mats.  My grandma was playing solitaire at the kitchen table and my mom was washing dishes in the sink .  I still couldn’t believe my grandma didn’t have a dishwasher.  Who didn’t have a dishwasher in the 21 st century, or a computer for that matter?  I was beginning to go crazy with only having internet on my phone.  I’d open my laptop and stare at the icon at the bottom, searching for any unsecured networks I could bum a ride on the web from, but was always unsuccessful.  My mom had assured me she’d be calling the cable company to get the internet set up, but she’d yet to do so. 
    She turned and stared at me, her hands full of su ds when she heard me walk in. 
    “We’re going to Mike and Debbie’s for dinner tonight,” she said as she dried her hands on a flour-sack dish towel on which my grandma had embroidered a chicken wearing an apron.
    “Can’t make it,” I said, walking over and pouring myself a bowl of Lucky Charms.  I’d loved them as a kid and my grandma had filled the cupboard with them once she’d learned I was coming.  There had to have been at least ten boxes on my first morning.  The count was now down to eight and half.
    “What do you mean you can’t make it?” she asked , looking at me with obvious disappointment.
    “I’m going out tonight,” I answered carrying my bowl over to the table and sitting down next to my grandma.  She smiled at me and patted my shoulder.
    “You went out last night,” my mom pointed out.
    “I k now.  But I’m going out again.”
    “With who ?”
    “I’m going out with Alex Bettencourt,” I said, giving her a first and last name before she could badger me for more details.
    “Alex Bettencourt?   Is he Joe Bettencourt’s son?”
    “I don’t know,” I said and as I heard the words come out of my mouth I realized they were much snottier than they needed to be , but that didn’t stop me. “I just met him.  How should I know?”
    “I was just asking a question,” she said , throwing the dish towel on the counter and walking out of the room. 
    I sat in silence, eating cereal and watching m y grandmother’s solitaire game.
    “You could try being a little nicer to your mother,” she said as she added the six of hearts to the pile at the top of her game. “She loves you and she’s a good mother.”
    I just looked over at her and frowned.
    “I ’m mad at her,” I said quietly.
    “I know you didn’t want to come here, but you need to give her a break.  Sometimes things which seem awful at first really turn out for the best.”
    “How could this be what’s best for us?  How’s this best for me?”
    “There are jus t things you don’t understand.”
    “You know, my mom said the same thing.  Why doesn’t some one explain it to me so I can understand?”
    “Things aren’t always that simple , Riley.  You’re seventeen.  You think life is easy and making decisions are easy.  But they aren’t always.  Your mom struggled with the decision to come here.  She didn’t want to upset you, but she needed to do what was right for her too, for both of you, and this is what she thought was the right thing to do.”
    “But she made that decision without even talk ing to me,” I said resentfully.
    “That’s becau se she’s the parent.  Not you.”
    My grandma’s voice was serious and curt.  I’d never heard her voice like that and I knew she was getting fed up with my attitude as well.
    “Just cut her some slack and be nice for goodness sakes.  You were always such a good little girl,” she said as the usual sweetness returned to her voice.
    “But I’m se venteen now and I’ve grown up.”
    “Then start acting like it,” she said again and patted my hand.
     
    ****
     
    I managed to avoid my mom the rest of the day.  She was out running errands and was just coming home as I was getting ready to go out with Alex.  As I stood in the mirror running