Free If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo Page B

blotchy.
    â€œThat’s not very healthy,” I said, wondering what happened to the Dad who ate salad for practically every meal.
    â€œHangover,” he replied, his voice groaning like an old door. “Greasy food helps.” He cracked his eyes and stared at me for a moment. “What’s with the outfit?”
    â€œI’m going to church,” I said, leaning against the counter and checking my phone. Dad let out a hoarse laugh but cut it short when I crossed my arms and looked down.
    â€œOh,” he said. “You were serious.” He tore a strip of bacon in half and popped it in his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just I can’t imagine you sitting in with a bunch of holy rollers.”
    â€œMy friend Anna invited me. Why can’t you see me there?” I asked, though of course I knew why. I still believed in God, and for a long time my faith had been the only thing keeping me afloat. But I could never forget the day Mom had come home from seeing our pastor, red in her eyes from weeping and rage. I asked her what was wrong and heard a stream of curses, so strange in her normally sweet little voice, as she told me he’d had some suggestions : that I should be sent to a camp to fix me, that I should spend more time with a male role model, that I should maybe take some time away from the congregation until I found a way to fit in. We never went to church after that, though I did continue to pray.
    â€œThe text’s pretty hostile to people like you,” Dad finally replied, chewing slowly.
    â€œBut they don’t have to know everything about me, do they?”
    â€œJust be careful,” he said. “This ain’t Atlanta, and it ain’t the suburbs. People around here seem nice, but you gotta be careful with who you trust.”
    â€œI know,” I said flatly, feeling the scar above my ear. My phone buzzed and Anna’s name appeared above a message: we r outside
    â€œMy ride’s here. I gotta go.”
    â€œReally, though,” Dad said. I turned as I was heading out the door and saw both bloodshot eyes open, a look of concern in his face. “Really. Please be careful.”
    I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling a sudden, shaking wave of anxiety. “I know, Dad,” I said. “I will. Bye.”
    I hurried downstairs, where the same van Anna had driven a few days ago stood parked outside the breezeway. I took a minute to actually read the bumper stickers this time, out of morbid curiosity: JESUS WAS A CONSERVATIVE , one read, and RIGHTS COME FROM GOD NOT GOVERNMENT; ILLEGAL ALIENS ! EXACTLY WHICH PART DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ? and I CAN’T HELP THAT I’M HOMOPHOBIC … I WAS BORN THAT WAY ! I stood in place and swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. The side door slid open and Anna leaned out, smiling.
    â€œWhatcha waitin’ for?” she said. “Hop on in.” A small copy of Anna with freckles and missing teeth leaned into view and waved excitedly.
    I forced a smile as I climbed in the backseat, between a pair of short blond boys in matching white short-sleeve dress shirts. Their legs were both spread so far that their knees met in the middle and neither seemed interested in moving, leaving me to clamber awkwardly over them and squeeze myself in the space left over. Something touched my butt during the maneuver. I made myself assume it was an accident.
    A rail-thin woman with blond hair sprayed into an updo that defied physics turned and beamed at me from the passenger seat.
    â€œAnna, hon,” she said without breaking her perfect smile, “you’re being rude. Introduce me to your friend.”
    â€œOh!” Anna said, practically jumping out of her seat. I wondered again why she was acting so strangely. “Uh, Mom, this is my friend Amanda. Amanda, that’s my mom—”
    â€œCall me Lorraine,” she bubbled, her smile still statue-perfect.
    â€œAnd that’s my dad.”
    A