Free Roadside Assistance by Amy Clipston

going to throw Logan in and then let him go. Logan jogged back toward the deck, unscathed and still dry.
    The group laughed in response.
    A flash of headlights glowed in the driveway, and I tossed the bottle into the recycling bin and then stepped out onto the deck.
    “Hey!” Whitney called. “Where are you going?”
    “To the movies,” I said, my cheeks heating as the group of kids focused on me.
    “Oh,” Whitney said with a smile. “Have fun.”
    Zander grinned and nodded at me, and I gave him a weak smile before trotting off to Chelsea’s car, with my face on fire and my stomach in knots.

chapter five
    F or the first time in probably six months, I found myself biting my nails. I didn’t realize I was doing it until the nail tore off between my teeth. Grimacing, I discreetly fished it out of my mouth and dropped it onto the ground while following my dad up the stone steps of Cameronville Community Church. I hadn’t been to a church in eight months.
    I jammed my hands in the pockets of my white sweater, which I’d pulled on over a green sundress I’d found stuffed in the back of my closet. Since I rarely bought or wore dresses, I felt gawky and awkward, like a little girl wearing panty hose and heels for the first time. I’d thrown my hair up in a French braid and brushed on a little bit of lip gloss. I’d hoped that my outfit would fend off Darlene’s criticism. Luckily, we were running late, so she barely gave me a once-over before we dashed to Darlene’s SUV and my dad’s Suburban.
    In comparison to me, Whitney looked confident and put together, clad in her gray designer skirt and satin camisole top and jacket. It must’ve taken her hours to form the perfect French twist at the back of her head and get her makeup just right. Whitney entered through the doors to the church first, followed by her parents and brother.
    My dad hung back and faced me, frowning. “You all right?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” I said, examining the straps on my white sandals.
    “I just wanted to be sure.” He looped his arm around my shoulders and steered me up the stairs. “You look beautiful.”
    “Thanks,” I mumbled. Truthfully, I wasn’t even close to all right. Being at a church brought back memories I wasn’t ready to face.
    We stepped through the doorway and into a large hallway crowded with families dressed in their Sunday best. A man who I’d guess was in his midthirties wearing a white robe with a colorful stole weaved through the knot of people, shaking hands and sharing pleasantries about the beautiful weather. The pastor approached my aunt, and she gestured toward my dad and me and then waved us over.
    “This is my brother, Brad, and my niece, Emily,” she said, with a proud smile.
    “Welcome,” the pastor said, shaking my dad’s hand. “I’m Pastor Keith. We’re so glad you’ve joined us today.” He turned to me. “It’s nice to see you, Emily. We have some youth programs you may enjoy. Whitney could tell you about them.”
    “Cool,” I said with a nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Whitney chatting with a group of high school girls.
    The pastor moved to another family, and the crowd in the hallway began to file through the large doors to the sanctuary.
    My aunt, uncle, and father followed the line of people, stopping to receive a bulletin from the usher, a friendly looking gentleman in a nice suit.
    I moved through the line and took a bulletin. Stepping through the doorway, my knees wobbled. I hung back, trying in vain to stop the images swimming to the surface of my mind.
    My eyes moved to the altar and I shuddered at the memory of the casket sitting up front at our church back home. The sanctuary had been packed with the hundreds of people who’dbeen touched in some way by my mother. The overwhelming crowd had spilled out into the hallway.
    During the service, the sound of sobs and sniffs had echoed in my ears, drowning out the pastor’s description of my mother’s short life.