Trying to get an overweight (and extremely stubborn) cat out of a duffel bag is an impossible task; Tamra continued wrangling with Ajax, the cat in question.
Ajax had been and overall pain in Tamra’s neck since she had adopted him. That had been back when Ajax was just a scrawny orphaned kitten. In nine days, after school got out, and the last track meet was over, Tamra would be getting on a train. She would leave the big, noisy, desert town of Reno, Nevada, to go to Bear Paw, North Dakota to spend another summer with Grandmother and her two cousins, Brie and Lida. Ajax wasn’t a fan, so as usual; he was camping out in her duffel bag and holding a sit-in protest.
But if she didn’t remove her cranky cat from her bag, he would pee all over her jogging shorts and Lycra yoga pants. Tamra was thankful, despite earlier protest, that her mother had made Ajax wear those silly plastic claw covers, even if they were neon pink and aqua blue (colors that neither Tamra nor Ajax were very fond of).
“Tamra, we will probably leave early tonight,” her mother said as she walked into the room. “It’s been over a hundred all day, and your father wants to stay on top of the rush.”
Tamra yanked Ajax free from the duffel bag, receiving a yowl of complaint from the cat, and turned around. “Doesn’t anyone in Nevada know that alcohol and dehydration don’t mix? Jeez.” She said.
“That may be true, but cranky people love their beer. And, that makes us money, does it not?” Her mother replied. Tamra’s parents owned a local bar, and it was fairly prosperous.
“Yes, mom, and that is why you don’t see me running around telling the truth about booze.”
Tamra’s mom smiled, and took the pouting cat from her daughter. “That’s my girl,” she said. “So, how is it going with the packing?”
Tamra shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got the most extensive wardrobe.” She turned back to her duffel bag, and started straightening the pile of folded clothes Ajax had messed up while roosting in her bag.
Her mother sighed. She had not been planning to get into the same old argument one more time before the summer started. “Meaning you’re either dressed for a run or a night on the corner, right?”
Tamra spun around. “Oh my god, mom, I do not dress like a hooker!”
Her mother bristled. “Honey, your father and I run a bar, for god’s sake. Just because I spend most of my time in the office keeping books does not mean I do not know what trashy looks like.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I do not dress like a tramp, and I sure don’t act like it, either.” Tamra rose up to the balls of her feet, like the starter gun for the fifty yard sprint would go off any second.
“Tam, you are barely sixteen. You have no idea about the real world. That’s why you still live here, and I still get to make the rules.” Tamra’s mother turned to leave the room, and paused. “Oh, and by the way, you are grounded until you leave for Grandmother’s. Mr. Perez called and told your father and me all about your little problem with History. Maybe you wouldn’t need a tutor if you ever went to class.” With that, Tamra’s mother left the room.
Tamra was tempted to scream, and slam her door, but she refused to be some teen drama queen. Usually when Tamra and her mother disagreed, she would go for a long run, but she had packing to do. So, she went to the stereo that sat on her dresser, and called up the playlist she used when she was distance training. ‘Bodies’ by Drowning Pool cued up, and she resisted the reflex to start her stretches.
Tamra went to her closet, and got out all the clothes she wore when she was out with the gang. Her favorite cheetah pattern tank went into the bag first, and after that was the black silk skirt that Dia had made her. As clothes flew from their hangers to the now messy pile over her duffel bag, Tamra analyzed her clothes. That cut wasn’t that low, this skirt was almost knee length, that slit went all of two inches above her knee, those ripped up jeans didn’t have any holes in the wrong places.
