Emily sat in the chair at the tattoo parlor with her hands in her lap, staring out the window where Eric Watson walked his golden retriever. It had always been curious to her the way people began to reflect the temperament and look of their pets. Eric had dark brown shaggy hair, but he walked with the same happy manner as his loyal companion, his feet bouncing off the pavement. They could not have looked more in sync if he walked with his tongue out the way the dog did.
Perhaps it was jealousy that made her hate him so, but she was fairly certain it was good old-fashioned cynicism; no one could be that happy.
"You sure about this one?" Joe, the scary-looking thirty-something who ran the tattoo parlor, stepped in front of her, blocking her view.
"Yep." She nodded once, her limbs loose and relaxed. Joe had done all her piercings from the very first time she walked into his shop with a forged note offering her parents' permission. Joe knew the notes were fake, of course, but it didn't matter much to him. He had a real fight-the-power vibe, and he often talked about how he thought kids were old enough to make their own decisions by her age. But at seventeen, the state of Maine felt it was too early to make her own decisions about something as critical as body jewelry.
Needless to say, they had an unspoken agreement about the notes. He simply needed plausible deniability in case her parents ever came calling—which of course they never did; they would have to acknowledge her existence to notice the five, soon to be six, piercings in her right ear, or the four that she wore in her left. Whoever decided to grant middle children invisibility probably thought it was a gift.
Joe pulled his little metal table over and donned a pair of latex gloves.
"I see you're letting your hair grow out," she commented. Joe was bald, with a big, curly, red beard that was exactly the same length it had been the last time she was in.
"Thanks, I get tons of compliments." He ran his hand over the smooth skin on his head and winked. Joe was a walking contradiction. He wore square glasses over his soft, round face. On his left arm he bore a full sleeve of tattoos, the most impressive piece an intricate tiger that he designed himself. At well over six feet, he was hard to miss. But he was blissfully unaffected by his intimidating appearance.
"Your ear is filling up. Might be time to find a new canvas."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not getting the eyebrow ring." Raybrooke, Maine, was a small town, full of small-minded people. The circular barbell in her septum had garnered quite a response from her parents, but soon enough they stopped talking about it. Silence was their specialty. Another small moment of panic wasn't worth an eyebrow or a lip. She had sometimes considered piercing her tongue, knowing it would cause a stir with her mother, but even the thought of metal in her mouth was annoying.
Joe chuckled. "Hey, I'm no expert. But it would be badass."
"My luck I'd catch it on my shirt and rip it out in a week."
"Well, scars can be badass too." He set out his instruments on the tray and pulled his rolling stool toward her. With practiced, fluid movements he cleaned her ear, drew his dot, and put the clamp on.
"It's okay to cry." He waited, shooting her a meaningful look with the hollow needle in hand.
"I'm going to find a new artist." She smirked.
"You'd never find one as good as me." He tipped his head up, looking through the bottom portion of his glasses. It took less than a second for him to slide the needle through her ear. It was a small change, inconsequential in the scheme of things. She could always take out the ring and let it heal. But it would be new skin. In some ridiculous, tiny, insignificant way, she was forever changed. The slight pain was so familiar she didn't even flinch.
"Not as good as the eyebrow," he situated the ring, "But I like it."
"Thanks."
"Got any plans this summer?"
She shrugged. Summer hadn't felt like summer since she got her first job. "Just working."
"Yeah, me too."
"How's Eli's startup going?" Eli was Joe's husband, and the two couldn't be more different.
Joe laughed. "He's still looking for investors. He's persistent, though."
"Has to be if he put up with you this long." She smiled, slipping her Yankees cap over her head.
"You'll get jumped wearing that thing."
"Probably. Later Joe." She picked up her skateboard and waved on her way out the door.
"Stay out of trouble!" he called after her.
She couldn't help the smile on her face as she rode home. Small towns were just caricatures of big cities—not that she would know. There was still a lower, middle, and upper class, except in Raybrooke you could visit all of it in a single afternoon. With two working parents, she lived in a modest three-bedroom in an aggressively middle-class neighborhood. Aggressive because everyone who lived there was either complacent, jaded, or too enamored with the upper class to realize they were outsiders. There was nothing worse than a bunch of soccer moms pretending to be Posh.
Her brother, Cooper, sat at the island when she walked in, playing a game on his phone.
"Hey, Coop."
"That's my hat." He didn't look up from his game. At thirteen, he oscillated between worship and contempt when it came to his sister. Dad, along with the rest of the state, worshipped the Red Sox. So, naturally, when Cooper was six or so he became a die-hard Yankees fan. It pissed their dad off to have a traitorous son, but he liked Coop so much it had become somewhat of a loving rivalry.
Emily plucked an apple from the bowl on the counter and took a bite. "Mom call to cancel dinner yet?" she asked through her chewing.
"Dang it!" He tapped his thumbs furiously at the screen, dropping his phone on the counter when he lost.
"Hello?" She raised her eyebrows.
He looked up at her, his green eyes bright and unhindered by the brown that muddied her own hazel eyes. Their older brother, Hyrum, shared the same intense green irises as Cooper, but she had taken after her father in that department.
Cooper drummed his fingers on the counter. "She hasn't called. But I think they'll make it tonight."
She crossed her ankles and leaned against the counter. "I give it an hour."
"Have a little faith."
"Five bucks."
"Ten." He raised the bet, narrowing his eyes at her.
She finished her apple, dropping the core in the trash can. "You're on."
By seven-thirty, there was still no word. Emily busied herself in the kitchen, throwing together a quick meal of stir-fry for the two of them. Hyrum was in California—as far away as he could possibly get in the continental United States—and they hadn't had regular dinners with their parents going on two years, but each night they played the same game. Each night they found the same result.
Emily was becoming quite the cook with all the practice. When macaroni and cheese became too repetitive, she set to learning how to make real dishes. If it weren't for the constant reminder of their parents' absence, she might even enjoy it.
"Dinner!" she called when the food was ready. Cooper set out plates for them and took his place beside her at the island. They chewed in silence for a while, each caught in their own thoughts.
When his plate was empty, he gulped his glass of water and sighed. "Thanks. It was good."
"Sure."
Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she turned it over to find a text from her mother.
"You owe me ten bucks." She cleared her plate from the table, and he followed. He wouldn't pay it. And she wouldn't ask.
After her shower she plopped onto her bed, dreading the thought of work the next day. It would be her second summer at the Smoothie Shack, and she was still adjusting to the responsibility. She had the last week of school off, a fake vacation while she studied half-heartedly for exams, but the days of long summer vacations with nothing important to do were far behind her.
"You can come in." She kept her eyes on the ceiling, sensing Cooper in her doorway. He entered silently, perching on the bed where he looked down at her, his gaze zeroing in on the fresh swelling in her ear.
"Mom's gonna hate it." He shook his head.
"Mm-hm."
"Want to play Super Mario Brothers?"
She sat up on her elbows. "You looking to get beat?"
He rolled his eyes. "There's no winner in a co-op."
"Oh. There's a winner." She smirked, hopping off the bed.
He chased her out of the room, squeezing past her down the stairs. "Dibs on Mario!"
"Not a chance!" She pushed out from behind him and leaped over the couch, but he grabbed her legs before she could reach the controller. Army crawling over her, he grabbed the controller and switched on the system.
"You're getting better at that," he breathed, still sitting on her back.
"Get off me," she groaned through half-inflated lungs. He slid off her onto the couch. She punched his shoulder on the way up, smoothing back her damp hair as she sat beside him.
She hid her smile while she watched him play. He was beginning to lose the roundness in his face, fast on his way to acne and girls, but he still had some of the markers of a child. She thought back to a time when they would play cowboys with Hyrum in the backyard, shooting toy guns and burying each other alive. Life was simpler with Hyrum around. Without him, no one in her family knew how to function.
"Hey. Remember that time we made the mud pit in the backyard?" She nudged Cooper's shoulder.
He was focused on the game, but he still managed to answer. "Mom and dad were so pissed."
"Till Hyrum threw that mud ball."
Cooper's body shook with laughter. "Oh yeah! Hit dad square in the chest."
"You and I never would have gotten away with that."
"Only Hyrum," he nodded. It had always been that way. Her dad used to say that Hyrum could see through people, right down to what they needed. He had a talent for diffusing tension.
"You talked to him lately?" Cooper gave her a sideways glance.
She shook her head. "No."
"I wish he would visit more."
"Yeah. Me too." She sighed. Next year she would leave for college, and there was no telling what would happen to them. Despite modern technology, she'd had only a handful of conversations with Hyrum in the two years since he left. Maybe someday Cooper would be another brother she hardly saw.
"Crap. Your turn." He passed her the controller when Mario died. She smirked and took it from him, shaking out her shoulders as if preparing for a fight.
"Watch the master."