Chapter Four. Winnie

"Can we get chocolate shakes and fries?" my ten-year-old sister, Garrett, asks, shoving my bag to the floor and dropping into the passenger seat before slamming the car door shut. She stares straight ahead, tossing her long, auburn french braid over her shoulder without bothering to wave goodbye to any of the other kids waiting for their rides.

"Hello to you, too."

She grins, her freckles scrunching together. "I mean," she says, "hello, Win. How was your morning?"

I smirk at her redirect, easing away from the curb. "Eventful. Mab was in rare form."

"Fun," is Garrett's polite response, though she couldn't care less about horses. If I didn't remember the day she was born, I might question our relation. "Can we get fries and shakes from McDonald's?"

I slip my sunglasses down over my eyes and do the mental math. My dad was paid this week and I immediately took care of the mortgage, so that took most of that. I don't get paid until next Thursday, but I budgeted for groceries. I can't afford the snack on top of a trip to the Piggly Wiggly, but if we use it in place of an early dinner, I could probably make it work, then meal plan starting tomorrow for breakfast.

Except I have work tomorrow.

I could get up super early. Walmart is twenty-four hours.

"Make it linner," I say, using our word for lunch and dinner combined, "and you're on."

"Can I still get a small shake?"

"On two conditions." I hold up two fingers and drop one. "You have to eat your chicken nuggets first. A six—make it a ten-pack. Linner," I repeat. It's late afternoon, and I want to make sure she's eaten enough to last the day. I think I might have some mealy apples left over. I could cut them up and make cinnamon-sugar apples later tonight for dessert.

"Deal," she agrees easily.

"And you can't rub it in Jesse's face," I warn, talking about our fourteen-year-old brother. "I have to get him two Big Macs these days, he's growing so fast."

"You got it!" She reaches forward and turns up the radio volume on some song I've only ever heard in sound bites on TikTok and starts dancing in her seat.

After getting my dad's text with his order, I pull through the drive-through, double-checking the screen and grabbing my debit card as the cashier confirms my total.

I hand my card through the window and eventually pass the chocolate shake to my sister. She frowns, taking it.

"What? You said chocolate, right?"

"I did," she insists. "But you didn't order anything for you!"

I press my lips together and reach for the bags the cashier is passing to me, tucking them on the floor near Garrett's tiny feet. Her shoes look nearly worn through. I want to say something like, "We can't all eat chocolate shakes and two Big Macs apiece," but that's not helpful, and it's not Garrett's fault we're broke.

Instead, I shrug lightly and gesture to my empty hot cocoa cup between us. "Camilla bought me lunch. I'm full."

Which isn't a total lie. Anxiety can be very filling.

I climb the cinder block steps of our front porch and swing open the door. "Linner is served!"

Garrett flicks on the lights, and I drop the deliciously greasy bags of food onto the clean Formica table that triples as our office, kitchen, and dining room. A minute later, my dad comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his damp, receding hair with a worn towel.

He smiles at us tiredly. "You two are a sight for sore eyes."

"Hi, Daddy," Garrett chirps.

"Where's Jesse?" I ask, emptying the bags and setting the table.

My dad sighs, and I tug out my cracked iPhone 6 to text my brother.

I brOUGHT HOME DINNER. WHERE R U?

Thirty seconds later, he writes back: FREDDIE'S. PUT IT IN THE FRIDGE, I'LL EAT IT LATER.

I bite back a frustrated growl and slap my phone down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

"He comin' home to eat?" my dad asks.

"Apparently not. He's at Freddie's. He wants me to throw it in the fridge for him."

My dad whistles low between a gap in his teeth that matches mine. "I remember when I was fourteen with my head up my ass."

"Anyone else want his burgers? Have at them. They won't be any good cold, and the microwave is on the fritz."

"I keep meaning to have someone look at that…" My dad trails off. We both know he doesn't mean it, though.

"I'm good," Garrett says, and I notice she's watching me with that wrinkle between her brows again. It's easy to see my little sister and assume she's just like every other ten-year-old, but she's not even close. She's like ten going on Einstein, Freud, and Marie Curie rolled into one precocious package.

I hold the sack out to my dad. He shakes his head.

"You should eat it, Win," Garrett presses.

I take out one of the burgers because she's right, and then I stuff the other in the fridge before slamming it shut.

I slump down in a chair and try not to notice the empty one across from me. Jesse's been MIA more and more lately—staying out late with his group of friends, exploring all the new freedom that comes with being in high school. It would be helpful if he'd get a job, but with my dad working third shift and me needing my car to get to both the ranch and Garrett, I can't be driving Jesse to a minimum-wage job, too. Plus, he's only a freshman. He should be focusing on his grades. And being a kid. Just because I got a job at his age doesn't mean he should have to.

But it would be nice if he were around some. If he could take on a little responsibility for Garrett. Or clean up around the trailer. Or be the one to shake my dad awake for work every day at four when he leaves his phone on silent.

As usual, I can't tell if I'm angry at Jesse for being irresponsible or if I'm just jealous.

I graduated from high school early, over a year ago, and the idea of me leaving town for college was never even considered. It's always been a foregone conclusion I would stick around. I turned eighteen, and no one aside from Garrett even acknowledged it.

That's not to say I don't love my dad and brother. I do. I get things are hard. My mom ran out after Garrett was born and never looked back. That's some real baggage-building shit right there. Jesse has gobs of resentment toward everyone: At me, for trying to mother him so damn much. At my dad, for being absent 95 percent of the time. At Garrett, for being the golden child accepted into the gifted programs of her choice on a full scholarship. The hard truth is Garrett's special without even trying, and there's no way she's gonna end up stuck in a trailer park for the rest of her life.

The rest of us can't claim the same.

Well. That's not entirely true. Camilla offered me a place to rent on the ranch. Bless her heart, she even phrased it as if I'd be doing her a favor being on-site. But even as reasonable as it is (and it was a steal), I can't afford the rent when every penny I make goes toward robotics camps for Garrett and a smartphone for Jesse so he can call home and let us know where he is. Plus, who would take care of these guys? All the day-to-day stuff that needs doing?

I mean, Garrett's ten, so what are we talking here? Eight more years? I'll be twenty-seven by then. That's not too old for college and a career, right? Lots of adults go to college later.

Like single moms and dads, but still. And here I am, never even had a real boyfriend. A few quick hookups this last summer with tourists on solo trail rides. But making out with a guy you were hired to hang out with isn't exactly worth bragging about to your friends.

If I had friends. All the friends I might've had in high school left for college last fall, leaving me behind.

My forehead drops forward on the table with a groan. I'm pathetic. Worse than pathetic.

I need a friend. And a boyfriend. Unbidden, a smooth, full-lipped smile, bracketed on one side by a deep dimple, intrudes into my thoughts, and I whimper.

Not cute. Not cute. Not. Cute.

"You okay, Win?"

I raise my head and crack open one eye. My dad's gone, but Garrett is still sitting at the table, her remaining nuggets lined up in a neat row in front of her.

"I'm good, kiddo. Just thinking of someone."

"Someone?"

My breath catches. "I meant something."

Her expression twinkles. "I don't think you did. Whoooo were you thinking about?"

I sigh, casting a glance at our dad's bedroom. The low buzz of a college basketball game filters under the door. I guess I should be grateful he hasn't left us for the VFW yet, but it's still early. Monday through Friday nights, my dad works at the tire plant. Saturdays and Sundays, he sleeps most of the day to remain on his third-shift schedule. And after, he belongs to the Church of Stale VFW Hall and Darts.

"I met Case Michaels today."

Her eyes widen. "The bull rider?"

Garrett might not care about horses, but she knows her rodeo. Some of the events, anyway. She's intrigued by the mechanics of bull riding. Or is it the physics? I don't know.

"Yeah, I think he was in trouble or something and his dad made him do chores."

My sister's eyes are little half-moons of humor. "Did he have to clean up the manure?"

This makes me laugh, and it feels nice. "As a matter of fact, he did."

"Did he hate it? I would hate it."

I think back to this morning. I wasn't around him long, but it didn't seem like he was bothered by the stalls. "I don't think he hated it. He doesn't seem to like early mornings much, but he worked hard to charm Queen Mab with some apple slices."

And maybe it charmed me a little, too. Unfortunately. I stuff down the feeling.

"Is he a horse boy?" Garrett asks, her tone singsong.

"Maybe," I offer, refusing to take the bait. "Or more likely, he just likes the adrenaline rush. Mab'll bite your hand off."

"Did she bite him?"

"Not today," I say in a tone that implies, But there's always next time!

I take a bite of my burger, and Garrett watches me with that thoughtful expression on her face.

"Hmm."

I raise a single brow at her. She shakes her head. "Do you have to go to the grocery store tonight?"

I sigh. "I should. It's either tonight or early tomorrow before work."

"I'll come with and help if you'll let me braid your hair and watch Downton Abbey with me after."

I pretend to consider this. I don't need the help and don't love Downton Abbey, but I can see the offer for what it is—a chance for sisterly bonding—and accept it.

"Finish your nuggets," I tell her, "and I'll grab my coupons."

"Can I add the totals in my head as we go?"

"Can I have the last sip of your chocolate shake?"

"You have a deal."

"And you're easy to love, kid."