100 Days by Nicole McInnes

made a sarcastic “Oooo” sound, showing me how unimpressed he was with the quality of the party favors being handed out around here. Agnes and her mom waved at him from the lawn, but he didn’t get out to say hello or anything. Instead, he turned his head away, scowled through the windshield, and pretended he didn’t see them.
    â€œYou could have wished her a happy birthday,” I told him once we were headed home. Probably I was emboldened by cake and punch. Normally, I’d just shut my trap.
    â€œWatch it, boy,” he said.
    I stared straight ahead.
    â€œThat little freak makes me uncomfortable.” I figured he was trying to make a joke, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t funny. At that moment, it felt like our matching father-son tempers were completely in sync.
    My jaw clenched. “She’s not a freak.” I thought about shoving open the passenger side door at the next stop sign, flipping him off, and walking home. Or maybe just jumping out of the truck and running back to Agnes’s house to stay at the party longer. Her mom seemed nice. I bet she’d let me stay until my own mom could come get me. But that would only cause trouble, and I’d wake up later in the middle of the night to the sound of my parents arguing. Even if they made up afterward like they always did, I wasn’t going to put my mother through that if I could help it. A hot, dull ache rose behind my eyes. I closed them hard to make it go away and let out a slow, steady breath.
    Neither of us said anything more for the rest of the drive home.
    *   *   *
    Heading toward the Delaneys’ lawn now, I spot Moira Watkins standing on the top step with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing old Doc Martens that have been painted bloodred. She’s also wearing black-and-white-striped tights that look like they were issued by the county jail. Seeing her, I feel like I’ve arrived early for my appointment with death.
    Agnes is sitting on the step below Moira with her arms crossed over her birdlike chest. The two of them stay where they are, watching as I come closer. Nobody says hello.
    It’s a small yard. I know I’m going to have to listen to their conversation whether I want to or not. At least the weather’s dried out a bit. Otherwise, the carpet of oak leaves and pine needles would be too soggy to rake efficiently. The only way out is through, I tell myself, starting on the first pile. Thank God the girls make a show of ignoring me completely.
    â€œSo, how was your weekend?” This from Moira.
    â€œMy dad wants me to go to a chastity ball with him.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œA chastity ball,” Agnes repeats. “It’s a thing they do where a bunch of churches get together and host a dance for fathers and daughters.”
    â€œIs that like a chastity belt?”
    I do not allow myself to smile.
    â€œKind of,” Agnes says. “Jamey thinks it would be a good bonding experience for us.”
    â€œJamey also keeps a display cabinet full of Precious Moments figurines. Clearly, her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œDefinitely,” Moira says. “And no offense or anything, but does your dad really think he needs to worry about your purity?”
    Agnes smacks Moira’s arm. “Thanks a lot.”
    Wow, I think. Harsh. I use a corner of the rake to perfect the edges of one pile so it will be easier to bag.
    â€œI’m just saying.” Moira’s laughing now. It’s a surprisingly pleasant sound. “So what did you say?”
    â€œI asked if maybe we could just go see a Disney movie instead.”
    â€œTalk about birth control,” Moira says.
    A short laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. To cover it up, I pretend to cough. I can feel Moira’s eyes boring into the back of my skull.
    â€œWhat a piece of work,” she mutters.
    At first