Free Red Velvet Crush by Christina Meredith

a dollar store negligee.
    He smiles wickedly. “Short for Harlequin.”
    I groan.
    â€œYeah,” he says distractedly, bending over the sink, “Your mom was really into romance novels at the time.” He turns to grin at me, and a plate slips between his fingers and lands with a sploosh in the sink.
    I finish wiping, and he pulls the plug. While the water gurgles down the drain, he dries his hands.
    â€œHow come Billie doesn’t have a middle name?” I ask.
    I have always wanted to know but never asked before. I bet Winston probably knows.
    My dad’s eyes light up, and I hold my breath as he crosses his arms and leans against the edge of the sink. A moment like this, just the two of us talking about the past, is rare. He remembers so much and tells us nothing.
    I wish for a happy story filled with smiles and sunshine, instead of the darkness that I know. Does it hurt him to remember? Does he wish for a different ending? I’m not sure if I want to know.
    â€œI guess your mom just ran out of gas,” he finally says with a shrug.
    His eyes clear, and just like that—snap—he turns back into himself, a tired man with three kids, wrapped in flannel nine months out of the year.
    â€œMake it right with your sister, Teddy Lee,” he tells me, his shoulders moving in steady, small circles as he starts to dry the dishes. He hands me a glass and a plate to put away. “You know I count on you.”
    My plan is to sneak Billie out of school. I’m pretty sure that isn’t what my dad had in mind when he told me to make it right with Billie; but I know her best, and nothing will make her happier than skipping out.
    I wait for her outside the girls’ locker room after her fourth-period gym class. She is wearing striped tights and a long T-shirt pretending to be a dress and bounces on her toes as soon as she sees me standing against the windows, swinging my car key around and around on my finger.
    We walk down the hallway as fast as we can, trying to keep our boots quiet on the dark green tile, checking both directions for adults and slowing down for open doorways as we go.
    I do my best not to contribute to Billie’s delinquency, seriously I do, but if Dad had something else in mind last night, he should have been more specific.
    â€œBest idea of the day,” Billie says quietly as she ducks under my arm and we sneak out the doors closest to the gym.
    We crouch and run across the student lot, jumping over the crumbling parking bumpers and crooked feelers ofcrabgrass growing up through the cracks in the blacktop.
    â€œWhat are you missing?” I ask her while I pump the gas pedal in my car just to be sure all systems are go.
    â€œInterpolation.”
    She rolls down her window as we drive along the circular drive in front of the school. Billie is like a dog: she is always up for going anywhere, and she always has to have the window rolled down.
    â€œYou?” she asks.
    â€œAmerican government.”
    I drive through town, considering that there might come a time when I will regret skipping out on the electoral college. But the sun is shining today. The air is cool and fresh; and Billie is humming along to some tune playing in her head and leaning out the window. Right now it does not seem likely.
    We pull up into an angled parking spot at the drive-in. It has looked the same since we were kids: a dark brown hut with a bright orange stripe painted around the base of the square roof. The carhops wear old-time change belts and come right over to your car with your food when it is ready.
    I reach out to press the button on the illustrated menu/speaker so Billie can order.
    She leans past me and sticks her head out my window.
    â€œLet’s see. . . .” She studies the menu with her tongue poking out, like we haven’t been here millions of times before.“We’ll have two cheese nachos and two—” She turns to check with me on the soda