Junebug • TWD

15. Persistence.

"Good idea," T-Dog says, nodding his head. 

"Can I help?" I ask, raising my eyebrows up at Dad. 

"No," he says, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He starts walking off without another word, but I follow him 'cause I know where he's going. He's going to the stables. 

"Dad, I can help you. I know I can. I want to," I say, quickening my steps to try and catch up with him. He's walking off like he can't hear a single word I'm saying. "Dad, I don't like you goin' off on your own," I admit to him. 

Dad scoffs loud enough for me to hear it good. "And you think you bein' out there with me is gonna make it safer?" he asks like it's all funny. 

"I can help. There's a reason everyone else is goin' in pairs," I reason. Dad doesn't seem to care about himself very much. But he's gotta. He's gotta because doesn't he know that he's my dad? That he's gotta stay alive and be my dad?

"June, bringin' you out there would only be another person for me to look after," Dad says. We reach the stables and he gets a saddle. Saddles are much heavier than you'd expect, by the way. 

"You don't gotta look after me," I insist. He ignored me, putting the saddle on one of the horses. Beth told me one of these horses is called Nervous Nelly, but I can't remember which one. I hope it ain't the one he's picking out. "Dad," I say. 

"Ya look like a fool walkin' 'round wearin' that. Know that?" Dad asks me, gesturing to my outfit. The same clothes I was wearing yesterday. The same clothes he said made me look kick-ass, but only because of the shirt. 

I cross my arms, furrowing my eyebrows. "Lori and Carol think you ain't good at lookin' after me. I heard 'em talkin' 'bout it this mornin'," I tell him. I know right away, I shouldn't have said that. It was mean. It was rude. But he hurt my feelings, so I felt like hurting his. That's a stupid way to go about things, though. Makes me no better than him. 

"Yeah, well, neither a' their kids are doin' so hot right now either," Dad mutters. That's even more rude to say than what I just told him. 

"Dad," I say again. 

"No, Juniper. Go. Now," Dad tells me. 

"But Dad-"

Dad turns to look at me so fast that it makes me flinch. "You wanna fuckin' test me right now, Juniper? I'm goin' out there to find a little girl, not lose another one. Go back. Now," Dad growls, his voice tense and low in warning. 

I want to tell him that I'm just trying to help, that I love him and I don't want him to get hurt, that I wanna find Sophia, that I just wanna be with him. But I don't tell him any of that. I look down at my stupid, ugly cowboy boots that make me look like a fool and start walking back to the farmhouse. 

When I get to the farmhouse, I sit on the porch steps and start pulling at the grass. I used to do this at recess sometimes if no one would let me play with 'em. I'd pull at the grass and sometimes, if it was the right season, I'd make dandelion chains. They always fell apart, though, because dandelion chains are another thing I'm bad at. 

I'm bad at lots of things. I'm bad at math and reading and dandelion chains, and I'm bad at eating and helping and making my dad happy. I'm bad at picking clothes that don't make me look like a stupid little toddler. I'm bad at-

"Now, what'd that grass do to you?" a gentle voice asks in a joking tone. I look up above me and see Hershel standing at the top of the porch steps. 

"Sorry," I murmur. He probably doesn't want me tearing up his nice, green grass.