Million Dollar Road by Amy Connor

underground in a plywood box with only an air hose connecting them to the world above. With an aggrieved sigh, Lireinne crossed into the kitchen area, heading to the refrigerator to look for something cold to drink.
    And could this crap get any greater? The fridge was empty except for a lone bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a half-empty jug containing orange juice of a dubious age. Wolf and Bolt had drunk up all the Coke. The empty liter bottle was on the floor next to them, as well as a crumpled bag formerly containing chili-flavored Fritos.
    The rest of the results of their foraging expedition lay on the sticky countertop in a debris-field of dirty Tupperware, lunch-meat packages, an empty bag of bread, and an open jar of mayonnaise with a fly in it.
    â€œYou’re a freaking slob, Larry.”
    Lireinne’s half brother’s given name was Larry Duane Hooten, but he wouldn’t answer to anything but “Wolf” anymore, not since he’d been a freshman. That was when he’d started hanging with the Goth kids at Covington High and had gone all black clothes, Doc Martens, and death-obsessed. Lireinne called him Larry whenever she was pissed off at him and wanted to get his attention.
    Well, she was getting pissed now. With rising indignation, Lireinne began to clean up the mess. Looks like somebody’s gotta be the girl in the house, she thought. That’s me.
    â€œDid you remember to check on Mose?” she snapped, gathering up the trash and stuffing it in the garbage can.
    The Xbox thundered in response. On a mountaintop somewhere in the land of Norrath, an army of orcs fell upon Wolf’s sword-waving avatar and arms and legs flew. Wolf grunted. Whether that was a reply to her question or a reaction to being vastly outnumbered, Lireinne couldn’t tell.
    â€œSo be that way, Larry . Hey, Bolt,” she said, feeling snide. “I can see your ass-crack.”
    Without looking away from the TV, greasy-haired Bolt yanked his black T-shirt down to cover his Crisco-white buttocks.
    â€œBite me, Scar-face,” Bolt sniggered, his hands busy on the control pad. “I can see your tits.”
    What a loser. At least he couldn’t call her fat anymore. Whenever he wanted to mess with his big sister, Wolf swore Bolt had a huge crush on Lireinne. Some freaking crush.
    â€œLeave her alone,” Wolf muttered, fingers flying on his own control pad. Orc body-parts scattered across the TV screen like wood chips from a giant buzz saw.
    Lireinne shrugged. She’d risk a glass of OJ since the Coke was finished, but when she looked in the cupboard she discovered all the glasses were used and dirty. “You two make me sick.” Piling everything into the sink, she squirted dish detergent on the mess and ran the faucet to cover it.
    â€œHey, Wolf?” Without much expectation, Lireinne tried again. “Hey—like, Mose’s water ? Hello?”
    Purple lightning erupted in answer. Lireinne gave up. Be fair, she thought. It’s not like it’s Wolf’s job anyway. She stomped back outside into the heat and humidity to go check on Mose. Sure enough, the old horse’s buckets were dry and dusty. She filled them from the swimming pool, wishing for the thousandth time she had a hose long enough to reach.
    â€œStill haven’t gotten your fly spray yet. Sorry, boy.”
    By the time Bud got home this afternoon from work, the feed store would be closed, probably. Poor Mose. The flies were like a disease this time of year, a buzzing summer head cold. Lireinne slapped at a big horsefly biting the old Thoroughbred’s shoulder while Mose sucked the water down in big gulps. The bug was reduced to a smear, her palm coming away bloody. Hah! she thought. Take that .
    â€œOne down, a zillion to go. See you later, Mose.”
    Back inside the trailer, Lireinne gathered her own bag of shopping—some more dog biscuits for Snowball, cotton balls, and nail polish. She