Free Where I Belong by Gwendolyn Heasley Page B

pictures?” I ask.
    “Your mom never told you?” Bubby asks back.
    “Told me what?” I reply. This kid is beginning to weird me out.
    “Your mom. My dad. They dated, like, all of high school, and then some,” Bubby says, and drains the rest of his beer.
    The thought of my mom dating anyone, let alone this hick’s dad, makes me almost spew my beer. I swallow hard to keep it down.
    “Um, my mom doesn’t talk much about Texas. I never visited Broken Spoke before, like, ten days ago,” I respond. “And it wasn’t exactly something I planned on ever doing.”
    “Yeah, I know that part of the story too. Some banker guy swept your mom off her feet when she was modeling in New York. The story goes that she always thought she was too good for this town. Or at least that’s what my dad says, but he could just be bitter.”
    Yes, my mom is too good for this town. So am I, but it’snot exactly like I have anyone else to talk to here, so I filter.
    Or rather, I semi-filter.
    “Hold on. I am not usually in the business of coming to my mom’s defense since she’s the whole reason that I am in this hellhole. But it’s not your place to be talking about someone you don’t know.”
    “So what happened, then, Corrinne?” Bubby says, making eye contact.
    “I said she doesn’t talk about Texas, and I am beginning to see why.”
    I scoot toward the edge of the tailgate so I can hop down, find Kitsy, and get out of this place. So much for this party!
    But Bubby blocks me by sticking his arm out. “Why exactly are you here, Corrinne? It’s obviously not to make friends.”
    “I don’t know if you guys have newspapers other than your silly school one, but the country’s in a recession. New Yorkers are having a particularly tough time. We are the home to Wall Street, after all.”
    “Oh yes, that recession. Go ask a couple of kids over by the fire if they’ve heard about it,” Bubby says, pointing across the field. “Farming’s been in recession for decades. And they closed the farm equipment factory over two years ago. It used to be the biggest employer in town. But there are no plans for a new factory. Our economy is notlike the stock market; it can’t just bounce back up when people hear some good news. We’re used to bad news here in Broken Spoke. Not that a princess like you would know anything about Main Street and how it is.”
    “Excuse me, my father lost his job because of the recession and we lost all of our savings in a scam, so don’t say I don’t know anything about bad news,” I say, crossing my legs to face away from Bubby.
    And it’s the first time, I realize, that I have said the truth out loud. To Waverly, I only implied it, and I lied to everyone else. It feels strangely cathartic, so I continue. “And my father had to move to Dubai—that’s, like, practically in Iraq—for another job.”
    “Tough life, Corrinne. By the way, Dubai is in the United Arab Emirates. It’s like the Las Vegas of the Middle East—not exactly a war-torn country. Not that I would expect you to know that since you obviously don’t have any idea about anything aside from your Prada shoes and Gucci sunglasses. You only see the small picture, the self-portrait.” And with that, Bubby releases me. “Go ahead, go. You’ve already made up your mind about this town and its people. No need for you to be here.”
    At least we agree on something, I think, before I quickly shove off the edge. I want to add that they aren’t Prada heels, they are Cole Haans, and I am not wearing any sunglasses, much less my Gucci pair. I decide not to bother.

    Just because I have to live in Broken Spoke doesn’t mean I have to mix with its locals.
    Marching to the keg, I pour myself another beer.
    I am so angry, my filter has disappeared, so I decide to go for the final last word. “The reporter act is lame, by the way,” I say from the keg. “Go back to just playing football.”
    “Actually,” Bubby says as he comes down from