Reviving Kendall (White Trash Trilogy Book 1)

by Brandy Slaven

I shrug, and Mrs. Carpenter comes into my line of vision, “Was she the person you covered for the other day?”

  Staring her right in the eye, I tell her the truth, “No.”

  She sighs, and Mr. Brooks takes over again, “Well, god forbid there be a next time, but if there is, it’s best to tell someone instead of fighting amongst yourselves. Violence is never the answer. You of all people should know that, Ms. Davis.”

  What the actual fuck?

  “Are you serious right now?” I ground out before I can stop myself. “And why me of all people Mr. Brooks? Because of where I live? Because both of my parents are in jail?”

  “Stop blowing things way out of proportion Ms. Davis,” he replies in a monotone voice as if he hears the same teenage bullshit day in and day out.

  I sigh, “Can I please just have my punishment, so I can go back to class?”

  He shakes his head and hands me a pink slip of paper, “You need to gather your belongings and leave school grounds. You’re suspended for three days for fighting.”

  Feeling the shock on my face, I try to maneuver it into a more neutral ‘don’t give a fuck’ stare.

  “Is there someone we can call to come pick you up, Kendall?” Mrs. Carpenter asks softly.

  Staring at her for a second, I finally say, “No ma’am. My Gramps is probably at the doctor right now. I’ll be fine.”

  She nods, and I gather up my stuff that I was smart enough to bring with me from the bathroom. When I walk out of the office, it’s with my head held high. That only lasts so long, because it’s drizzling rain outside. I take a deep breath of fresh air and steel my nerves.

  Pulling out my phone, I send out a group text to the guys.

  I’m sorry.

  Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black if I stay pissed at Maverick for overreacting, when I just did the same exact thing. I’m not in the mood for their responses, so I turn the phone on vibrate and stuff it in my pocket. Thankfully, I’m not carrying much today that it will hurt to get wet. I tighten the leather jacket around my body and step out into the rain.

  It’s a long walk home and I’m soaked to the bone when I get there. The Malibu is missing from the driveway, so Robert must still have Gramps at the doctor. I’m worried fucking sick over his health. I know he doesn’t have much longer left, but he’s giving it every fighting chance. Any thought of it makes me want to puke.

  I let myself into the house and head straight to the shower. I need to get my temperature up pronto, and chase these chills away, or I’m going to end up sick as a dog. After my shower, I don’t bother doing anything other than crawling underneath my covers and falling right to sleep.

  It feels like it’s only been a few minutes when I hear Gramps calling out for me. I groan and twist myself up further into my blankets like a burrito.

  “Kendall?” he calls again.

  If I don’t get my ass up, he’ll have to come get me or what if something is wrong? I jerk up so fast that I go tumbling back to the floor again with an ‘oomph’. Unwrapping from my blanket, I stumble to the doorway where I promptly crack my pinky toe on the corner of the wall.

  “Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” I try to keep it quiet since Gramps isn’t a huge fan of cussing.

  I hop on one foot down the short hallways, “What is it Gramps? Are you ok?”

  For the first time in years, an actual smile passes over his face. “Everything is fine, but you may want to go put some more clothes on. We have company.”

  I’d been so focused on making sure that he was ok, that I completely miss Goose sitting on the couch across from Gramps’ chair.

  “Shit,” I say, back tracking down the hallway, but not before I watch him get an eyeful of me head to toe. I’m in my usual sleep stuff, a tank top and pair of boy shorts, so he doesn’t see more than if I was in a one-piece swimsuit, but still.

  Gramps is laughing too hard to correct me, even though wheezing and trying not to cough is more like it. I throw on the first thing that my fingers land on, an old Metallica shirt with holes all in it and a pair of cutoff jeans that I normally mow grass in. Fuck it. He knows I’m not rich, so why should I pretend to be. My hair probably looks like I have a whole family of rats living in it from not brushing after the shower, but I don’t care about that either. Having Goose in the house is making me anxious and I just want to rush him off as soon as I can.

  When I make it back to the living room, Goose is helping Gramps up from his chair. I stick out my arm on the other side to help.

  “Thank you,” he says out of breath from just standing up. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit, Kendall. You and your young man are welcome to stay here in the living room.” I take that to mean that I’m not allowed to have him in my bedroom, so I nod that I understand.

  “Need help getting there?” I ask.

  He smiles sadly at me and shakes his head, “No, but I would like to know why you were home from school early today. Were you sick?”

  I hate to disappoint him, but I have to tell him the truth, “No sir. I got suspended for three days, because I punched Stacey Marsh in the face.”

  In most cases parents would chastise a child for fighting. Gramps looks like he’s fighting a smile, “Did she deserve it?”

  I nod, “She’s a dirty twunt and wouldn’t quit saying bad shit about Nana.”

  He looks proud for a moment, then confused, “What’s a twunt?”

  My face turns red. There’s no way I’m going to explain that it’s a mix between twat and cunt, since I refuse to say either word. Goose has apparently put them together, because he’s fighting a smile. “It’s just a new age insult.”

  He shrugs and ambles his way to the bedroom, mumbling about kids these days. Stopping his door, he looks at me over his shoulder, “Proud of you for sticking up for her, Pea.”

  My sad smile follows him the rest of the way in the room, and then I turn to Goose to ask, “What are you doing here?”

  The grin he throws me could rival any of the other guys any day of the week, “Now that’s not very hospitable of you.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, “You could have at least called first. I don’t like anyone coming in here, because he’s not feeling too well.”

  “Ok, one,” he starts, “I did call. Not even an hour after you sent the text. And for two, he was feeling well enough to grill me on my intentions for about thirty minutes before he woke you up.”

  My mouth drops open in horror, “You’re kidding. I’m so freaking sorry.”

  He half shrugs and sends me another grin, “It’s ok. I was expecting it before I came over, because you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing,” I say. “He doesn’t need to be moving around too much. It’s hard for him to breathe right now.”

  “I’m truly sorry,” he repents. “I’ll make sure that I follow all the rules next time.”

  Next time? He plans on repeating this?

  “Thank you,” I say nicely. “Now what are you doing here.”

  He throws his head back and laughs and it brings a smile to my face.

  “This weekend sucked balls, so I just wanted to see if you’d like to hang out for a little while,” he admits.

  I take a second to think on it. I’m off work and if he leaves right now, the only thing I’m going to do is go back to sleep. “Only if there’s a promise of food,” I say causing him to laugh again.

  “I’m sure we can find something to whip up here,” he says, then notices my reaction, “Or we can go to my house. The folks are out of town, so it’s pretty quiet around there.”

  My hands motion to my clothes, “Ok, but give me a few minutes to change.”

  He does that crazy bowing thing again and I roll my eyes at him when he smiles up at me. I walk back towards my room and I’m almost there when I realize that he’s followed me down the hall. He’s scanning the pictures on the wall. Somehow that seems more personal to me than him seeing me half naked.

  “This
was your Nana?” he asks softly.

  When I move to stand next to him, he shifts, and our arms brush against each other. I ignore the tingles that jolt down into my fingertips, “Yep. That’s her and Gramps right before I came to live with them.” I point to one of the smaller ones next to it, “That was my first birthday with them.”

  His eyebrows crease, “Why do you look so sad?”

  I smile as the memory washes over me, “Because I had just finished crying. I’d never had a real birthday before, so Nana wanted it to be perfect, and she forgot the candles for the cake. You would have thought it was the end of the world with the way that she cried. Something not a lot of people know about me is that I’m a sympathy crier. It set me off, and of course that made her cry even harder. Gramps probably thought we were insane that day, but he was a good sport about it.”

  “I feel for him just hearing the story,” he says with a fake shudder.

  I elbow his arm, “I’m going to get dressed. Be right back.”

  One arm is propping up the other on his chest as he admires the rest of the photos, “Mmm hmm.”

  I roll my eyes again and go to find some clothes. I need to do laundry since I was a fucking bum all weekend, and haven’t done any in about four days. That’s about the extent of my pants. I’m down to my least favorite pair that’s shoved in the back of my drawer. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. I throw them on and search for a decent shirt without any holes. I find a school shirt from when we had to buy them for gym. It doesn’t have any holes, because I wasn’t stupid enough to wear it outside of school.

  Just as I strip my Metallica shirt off, I hear a small half choking half coughing sound behind me. I turn to find Goose standing there with his eyes wandering my exposed body.

  It puts chill bumps on the surface of my skin, “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” he smiles.

  I raise my eyebrow and he says, “What? I’ve already seen everything now. What’s the point in turning around?”

  My heart pounds almost out my chest and I don’t know what makes me say it, but I do, “Not everything.”

  I can’t help the laugh that springs from my chest at the look on his face, and I yank the shirt over my head.

  His expression quickly turns to disgust as he sees the name of my school on the front, “Yeah, we’re going to have to get you a new shirt.”

  I can’t help where I go to school, so I just shrug. He walks around the small space of my room, checking out what little there is to see. There are only a few pictures of Nana, Gramps and me. Plus the one of me and the VanPelt brothers before the accident. Goose doesn’t comment on that one, though. The rest are ones I took a while ago when my camera still worked. “Gramps would shit bricks if he saw you in here right now,” I tell him.

  He ignores me as he leans over to examine my water collage, “Did you take all of these?”

  “Yep,” I confirm. “A long time ago.”

  “Are there any recent ones?” he asks.

  I shake my head, “My camera broke a few years ago, and I just haven’t had a chance to get it fixed or replaced yet.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “You’ve really got an eye for detail. Are you going to major in photography in college?”

  I laugh, “You’re kidding right?” When he just looks at me in confusion, I throw my arms out, “I’m not going to college. I’ll be right here working and taking care of Gramps.” I’m not bitter about it, not really. I’ve always known what my fate would be, and the best I can hope for is to make good grades, get a small scholarship or loan through financial aid, and take a few night classes at the community college.

  He doesn’t say anything for a long while, and even though he’s not looking at me, it makes me anxious, “Are you ready to go?”

  After nodding, he leads the way to the door. I check on Gramps before we leave, and find him asleep. Once we get outside, my steps falter. Sitting in our driveway is an old Ford truck, completely restored down to its teeth.

  “Holy shit, that’s a nice truck,” I tell him.

  “You like it?” he asks. “I don’t know if you know this yet or not, but Lucas is from a family of mechanics. He and his four older brothers restore cars in their spare time. For fun.” He says the last like it’s the most horrid thing someone could do with free time. “But anyways, they finished this one last year and I bought it off of them.”

  It’s a cherry red in color and it shines in the sun. “Did they do the paint too?” I ask reaching to run my finger down the side.

  He shakes his head, “Nah, they paid someone for that.”

  “Well, she’s beautiful,” I say still in awe, not just over the truck, but to find out that Lucas works on cars. I could picture Goose doing it and possibly even Maverick, but not sweet Lucas.

  Goose comes around me and opens the door as he gestures for me to get in. I smile in thanks, and get one in return that makes my heart skip about three beats before it picks back up again.

  Life Isn’t Fair

  Goose is nice enough to swing by the restaurant to let me talk to Charles before we head over to his house. I am hoping that he’ll let me pick up an extra shift during the day since I won’t be at school, but I’m disappointed to find out that not only will he not give me the shift but he won’t let me work while suspended from school, either. Something about state laws for school kids, even if I am eighteen. He doesn’t want to get in any trouble and I get that. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself for the next two days.

  When I get back in the truck, Goose notices that my mood has deflated a little, “Everything go ok?”

  I shrug, “Charles says he can’t work me if I’m suspended from school, which I understand. Just sucks.”

  “At least you get some free time now,” he says with a smile.

  I take a second to appreciate how attractive he is. Standing in the quad, he may have a tendency to get overlooked. Yeah, definitely calling them the quad from now on. But, between Maverick and Teagan’s strong personalities, and Lucas taking on the nice guy role, Goose doesn’t really stand out at first glance. That face makes up for it. He’s what I’ve always called a pretty boy. Everything about his face is perfect, from the green eyes framed with long, light brown lashes, to a full set of lips, and on to a squarish jawline. All of the guys are on the bigger side to be in high school, but Goose seems even a little bigger yet. That might be because he’s taller than the rest. I’m five-five and he probably clears six foot four, easy.

  “Is there something on my face?” he asks, as he catches me staring.

  “Nope,” I say, scrambling trying to cover up my weirdness. “I was just wondering what your real name is.”

  He laughs, “How do you know Goose isn’t my real name?”

  I tick the numbers off on my hand, “Ok, for one, your parents would really have to hate you to name you Goose, and, two, I’m not too savvy with movies, but I’ve seen bits and pieces of some of them.”

  Putting his hand to his heart, he says, “Now, that just hurts me right here. How can you not like movies?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t like them,” I retort, smiling. “I just never seem to have the time.”

  He grins wickedly at me, “Seems to me that you’ve got the next couple days free. Nowhere near enough time to catch up, but you can squeeze some of the good ones in.”

  I don’t think that I’m coming away from this without at least agreeing. If I watch them or not, now that’s another matter by itself. “Ok, fine,” I say dramatically. “But only if you’ll tell me what your real name is.”

  “See if you can guess,” he teases.

  There’s a million names that it could be, “Don’t I get a hint?”

  He pretends to think on it for a second, “Ok. It starts with the same letter as Goose.”

  “Hmmm,” I watch his face as I start guessing, “Greg. Gerald. Gus.” I say the last one as a joke, and get the pleasure of watching his nose turn up at it. He definite
ly doesn’t look like a Gus. “Can I have another hint?” I beg.

  Laughing he says, “There’s a pretty famous actor that has my name as his last.”

  “That’s not fair,” I complain. “I don’t watch enough movies to know that.”

  He shrugs, “Keep guessing then.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I think really hard on G names. When I open them, I find Goose watching me with a look that says he wishes he wasn’t driving. Fidgeting, I tuck loose strands of my hair behind my ear. Shit. I forgot to brush it and put it up. I try to smooth it down and hope like hell there’s a brush somewhere in his bathroom.

  “Do you give up?” he asks.

  I narrow my eyes at him, “Never. I was just thinking. Gabriel. George. Glenn. Grant. Gordon.” One of the last ones makes him smile. Score! “Is it Gordon?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, and I try again, “Grant?”

  This makes him smile, “Yep.”

  “That’s pretty cool. I like that name,” I confess.

  He winks at me, and it makes the butterflies go crazy in my stomach, “I was named after my dad and he was named after my grandfather, so I’m Grant Michaels the third.”

  “Well, you do it justice,” I say without thinking.

  We come to a stop, and he turns to look at me, “Is that so?”

  I feel my cheeks get warm, “Well yeah, you’re a big football star, and I’m sure you’ll be giving the other guys in college a run for their money.”

  He grins over at me, and puts the truck in park, “We’re here.”

  Here, turns out to be a massive house right smack in the middle of the suburbs. I wasn’t too far off with my assumptions, even though I feel bad for that now. His house isn’t as big as Teagan’s, but it’s got this antique look about it that makes it just as impressive. It looks like one of those old Dutch Colonial houses.

  “Your house is beautiful,” I say meeting him at the front of the truck.

  He glances at it, and then turns back to me, “Yeah, it’s nice. I’m just ready to get out of it.”

  I know my face must show the confusion that I feel, and he sighs, “Sorry. I’m not trying to come off as this spoiled rich dick. There’s just a story behind it that I’ll tell you some day.”