Free Thicker Than Water by Kelly Fiore Page A

know I said denial is a refuge, but it’s also a time-share. I could vacation there anytime I wanted when guilt threatened to steal what little righteousness I had left.
    I started sifting through a stack of mail piled at one end of the table. My eyes skimmed the bills until one long, creamy envelope stopped me short.
    Edenton University Alumni Foundation.
    I hadn’t expected an answer so soon—I’d been accepted at the end of last year, but I only recently applied for their academic scholarship. I ripped it open like it was an Emmy nomination.
    And the award for “Most Desperate for Scholarship Money” goes to . . .
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Dear Ms. Price,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Thank you for your recent application. We received many highly qualified entries; however, we regret to inform you that you were not selected to receive an Edenton University Alumni Academic Scholarship . . .
    I didn’t bother reading the rest. Instead, I crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the garbage. It landed on a Styrofoam meat tray slicked with blood. I wished it were mine.
    Suddenly the kitchen felt crowded. It was impossible to see the bright side. That, or there wasn’t a bright side. I got up quickly and gripped the back of my chair, a little dizzy. I didn’t wait for my head to clear before I clambered out the screen door.
    Normally, spring evening air would be refreshing. Instead, I felt like a wet blanket suffocating in a plastic grocery bag. It was almost too humid to breathe. Maybe that’s why my tears came quick, like a late summer rainstorm. I wished they were hail, that they were hard enough to throw at something. As usual, my tears couldn’t hurt anyone but me.
    After-school activities, honor roll—all of it was for nothing. I could have been working, earning money, saving for my future—instead I had a “well-rounded” academic profile. What a fucking waste.
    I sat alone in the dark until my eyes were dry enough that I could pretend I was just tired. My nose was still a little stuffy and I reached into my jeans’ pocket, hoping I had a tissue. I didn’t.
    But I did have $150. And then, I had an idea. It bloomed in my head like one of Dad’s perennials—all at once and kind of like magic.
    I’ll swipe three or four pills a week—Cyrus is clearly too blitzed out to even notice.
    That’s at least $750 a month—better than I could do at a part-time job.
    By September, I’ll have enough money to enroll in a few classes.
    Enough to pay for my books.
    I won’t have to worry anymore about paying for groceries or gas or prescriptions.
    I won’t have to worry anymore about waiting for money to come to me.
    The back porch light suddenly flickered on and I stepped back into the darker space behind me. Cyrus came through the basement sliding-glass door, pausing to light a cigarette, then inhaling deeply. I wondered when the last time was that he took a deep breath like that of just air. Just then, a car pulled up and, after a few seconds, the driver flashed the headlights. Cy tossed the cigarette into the grass and walked toward the passenger’s side.
    If you had asked me two years ago if I could steal from my brother, I would have balked. We were close. We were honest with each other. On a night like tonight, I might have made spaghetti with sliced hot dogs like Mom used to when we were little, then Cy and I would have eaten it straight from the pot with forks while we watched TV. Two years ago, my encounters with my brother would have been as innocent as pasta and SportsCenter .
    And, two years ago, Cyrus didn’t have anything I needed.
    I waited until the taillights faded away, the red glow splashing against the bank of trees at the end of our driveway. Then I walked toward the basement door. When I got there, his cigarette butt was still smoking, a tiny ember flashing against