Free Fangirl by Ken Baker

help Connor accept the new arrangement, to sell him on something that she didn’t herself want to buy. So she told her brother the truth.
    â€œDefinitely seen better days with work.” Her dad broke the silence as Josie stared out the passenger window at the perfectly lined rows of crops angling off into the distance. “They cut my hours down. Economy’s hurting everyone—just the way it is these days. But I’ve got some projects lined up. It’s all good, hon. One door closes and another door . . .”
    â€œOpens,” she finished.
    He smiled. “I taught you well.”
    As clumsy as her dad was in marriage (and car conversation), Josie never worried about him A, finding a girlfriend (at last check, he was currently dating three women, or, as he called it, “playing the field”) and B, making money. Through his various hockey connections made by being a local sports legend, and his boyish charm, he always seemed to be able to find a way to pay the bills. The problem? He also found way too many ways to spend it: cars, boats, gadgets, family trips to a condo at Pismo Beach.
    The pickup truck rolled to a stop in the gravel driveway in front of a Spanish-style farmhouse, a cloud of dust puffing up from the giant wheels.
    When her dad moved into the house it was white, but blowing dust from the rectangular expanse of fields surrounding it had given the stucco a brownish hue. Her lungs, allergic to whatever it was that blew around the clay-rich fields, weren’t the only victims of the dust clouds. “I got you some new pillows. I know you didn’t like the old ones. And I have a little surprise.”
    Josie slung her backpack over her shoulder and followed him inside. The tiny living room and kitchen were tidy, but not clean. Obviously, her dad had tried to clean up quickly, probably by stuffing loose junk under the couch and into the closet. At least he was trying. Baby steps. Progress.
    The old hardwood floorboards creaked as Josie walked into the bedroom. The room was bare but for two twin beds, one each for her and Connor, and an antique desk next to the window that looked out on a carrot field. This time of year, the lush green plants sprang from the dirt like organic pillows. By winter, after the harvest, the miles of farmland would turn to a sandy moonscape. A wooden swing hung from a thick branch of a lone oak tree by a thick but tattered rope. Josie stared at it and smiled. She had passed many long boring Saturday afternoons humming tunes as she swayed back and forth on it.
    A mile down the road sat the Frito-Lay plant, from which wafted the scent of pretzels, corn chips, and potato chips at all times of the day. Her dad’s house was almost always downwind from the plant. And while Josie had at first hated the greasy stench that soaked into her clothes by the end of the weekend, she had come to like it. At least it was something that reminded her of her dad when she went home for the week.
    Josie unpacked the extra pair of shorts, sandals, a pair of Capris, underwear, and shirts she had stuffed in her backpack for the weekend. She pulled out her phone from the side pouch and saw she had four text messages since she left school.
    Josie. Call me. Xo
    I really wanna explain. Wud u just call/txt me?
    Josie then checked her Twitter for Peter Maxx updates. She had hoped he would post a pic from his visit to Lawndale High. But nothing. She saw that a couple of friends had already uploaded stalker pics of Peter onto their Facebook pages, but nothing from Peter. Josie thought it was odd, as Peter normally gave daily fan updates to his social media sites.
    Just then, a text message popped up from Christopher.
    Hey amigo. Cheer up
    She typed a quick thanks back to Christopher but still kept Ashley on ice.
    â€œTit for tat?” Josie’s dad said as he stepped into her room.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œKnowing you, you’re probably plotting how you can get back at