Small Town Famous (The Small Town Trilogy Book 1)

by Alison Ryan

  Wow.

  “You know, before you get into all that,” Grandma said pointing her chin towards the door, “You might want to put some shorts on.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Are you ok? Do you need me to make you anything?”

  “I’m just fine, angel. I’ve got my tea and a bagel is already sittin’ on my stomach. I am fine as wine.”

  I smile and lean down to kiss her papery cheek, “You’ve got that right. I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Might want to take a shower too. You smell like Kyle Joel’s house.” Grandma grins.

  The night’s memories come flooding back to me. I must have looked dazed for a moment.

  “Was it that fun? You’ve got a silly smile.”

  “It was a lot of fun. But I wish I had stayed here. I’m mad Mom left you.”

  Grandma waved her hand at me, “I was asleep, angel. Nothin’ you could do but watch me snore. I’m glad you got out. That Kyle Joel is a mess. Did you meet any other friends?”

  “I did,” I said, “Let me grab some shorts and I will tell you more about it.”

  I glanced outside and Mom was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open. Aunt Shayla was waddling back to the porch. The argument was in a cease fire for the moment.

  In my room I pulled on a pair of Umbros and headed back down just as Aunt Shayla swung the screen door open.

  “That girl,” she said, “Is going to kill someone. Or herself. I’m not going to watch history repeat itself-”

  “Shayla.” My grandma’s voice was sharp. She jerked her chin towards the stairs I was standing on and Shayla turned.

  “What history?” I asked. Shayla’s eyes seemed caught in something for a moment but the look quickly disappeared.

  “I meant I am not going to watch someone hurt themselves driving drunk. Which is what your momma did last night. Too many deaths on the news about stuff like that.” Shayla huffed and puffed her way over to the recliner.

  I look outside at my mother. She sits slumped in the driver’s seat smoking a cigarette. Her hair is all over the place.

  I walk outside. The heat smacks me and I immediately wish I could tie my hair up. I saunter barefoot to the car.

  “And how did this happen?” I ask. Mom has one leg up on the dash and another on the ground. It’s not a ladylike pose. But that’s my mother. She’s no lady at all.

  “How do you think? I must have run into something. I didn’t realize it was that bad. I was pulling out of the parking lot and thought I was in reverse. I drove home fine. So it can’t be that bad. Just looks it.”

  “Mom, there’s fluid leaking all over the driveway,” I step back to avoid it, “You really banged this up. And Aunt Shayla found you in the car?”

  My mother says nothing. She exhales smoke and rolls her eyes.

  “You’re supposed to be helping Grandma,” I say through gritted teeth, “You’re also supposed to be a mother. My mother. And as usual, you’re acting like this is all just happening to you. Grandma doesn’t need this and I don’t need this.”

  “Who do you think you are?” She is indignant. “I’m the adult. You are the child. If I want to leave and have a drink and get my mind off things, I can. I’m allowed. I made sure she was okay. I couldn’t stay in that house.” My mother slurs everything she is saying. She is still drunk and I am disgusted.

  “You’re only an adult chronologically,” I say walking away. She hadn’t heard me. As usual, my mother could only hear herself.

  Aunt Shayla left to go to the store and Mom eventually came in. She didn’t bother to apologize to any of us or even talk to Grandma. She stumbled straight to her room. I heard the shower running for a few minutes and then nothing.

  “I seriously hate her,” I said as I sunk into the couch next to her, “She’s the worst human being ever. Who goes out and gets drunk while their mother lays at home with cancer? And does it so unapologetically, like she is completely entitled to do it.”

  Grandma holds my hand, “Your mother is in pain. All pain is tolerated in different ways. Try to remember that.”

  I shrug. Grandma has always cut Mom every break. Even after all these years I don’t think I have ever heard my grandma say anything bad about her. Not since our conversation in the bath tub a decade ago or the one I had overheard later that night. Otherwise, my Grandma said nothing. It both annoyed and mystified me.

  We sit in silence for a moment. I know she will speak first and will say the perfect thing to get me in a better mood.

  “Angel, you have to tell me about last night!” she suddenly says and as I predicted, it pulls me back into the memory of Ryan.

  “Oh, Grandma. It was really fun. It just felt like the normal kind of night a girl is supposed to have. I like McKenna and Rhiannon so much.”

  “Ah you met Rhiannon Lowell,” Grandma sat up as she said this, “Now that’s a good girl with a tough past. The Lowells are a bit infamous around here.”

  “Yeah? Has Rhiannon been in trouble?” I ask this and really can’t imagine it being true. Not the Rhiannon I met.

  “Oh no,” she says leaning to pick up her mug, “Never Rhiannon. But her siblings, yes. She has five of them. Maybe more, but I only can think of five. Her mother is a bit of a mess. She’s been to jail a couple of times for shoplifting and credit card fraud. Her dad left a few years back when the youngest was born. He comes back around when he needs money and attention. Rhiannon is in the middle, age wise. They live over on Pritchett. Out in the trailer park.” She takes a long sip of her tea, “She’s a good girl with a lousy start. But Rhiannon will rise above it. She’s just that girl. The girl you root for.”

  I remembered what Rhiannon told me about her dad. How he was drunk a lot. I thought about my mother passed out in the front of the car. I wondered if Rhiannon resented him. It wasn’t something you brought up. It wasn’t even something I would want anyone to be able to relate to but knowing someone did, was a relief. I would never have to worry about Rhiannon looking down on me like the girls in Texas had. It was good to know Rhiannon existed.

  “Well, I also met someone named Jackson. I think Rhiannon likes him. I didn’t talk to him much but he seemed nice.”

  Grandma nodded, “Jackson Cosgrove. He’s from the same area as her. He lives with his grandma, Elise. She’s in my mission circle. Jackson plays basketball at Rutledgeville High School. I don’t know much about his parents, he’s always lived with Elise as far back as I can remember. But he’s a good boy, never any trouble. Shy. Elise has done well with that one.”

  “Well there was someone that came with him.” My heart quickened just thinking of him, “Ryan Kidson? He said he knows you.”

  Grandma nodded, “Oh, yes. I know Ryan and his mother, Charlene. His daddy works up at the tobacco plant. Ryan is a wonderful boy. Kind of the catch of the town, I guess. Star basketball player. Richmond is looking at him. I know he wants to stay close to home, be near his momma. That boy loves his momma.”

  “He says he cuts your grass,” I said casually, “That’s very nice of him.”

  “Oh yes, well. Ryan is a nice boy. Even with the small town glory that would turn most boys his age into jackasses, he has stayed sweet. And despite having a jackass for a father.”

  My grandma so rarely speaks ill of anyone that I am shocked by this admission, “You’re not a fan of his dad, I’m guessing. Why?”

  Grandma shakes her head, “I’m no gossip, angel. That’s between them. But Ryan is lucky to have Charlene. She comes by and brings me some very delicious casseroles. Her green bean one is my favorite. She puts bacon in it.”

  “Sounds pretty good.” I admit. “He hugged me when he found out I am your granddaughter.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t such an unpleasant thing to happen to you,” she winks at me.

  “Ha! I have definitely been in worse situations.”

  “See? I have my perks. Being my angel gets you hugs from cute boys.”

  “That perk sits about in
the middle of a million of them,” I say leaning over to grab her now empty mug, “I’ll get you more.”

  Grandma waves her hand, “No, I think I’m done. I’m feeling mighty tired. Think you can help me to the bed? I think I’m gonna nap.”

  I lift her up by her incredibly bony elbow and we slowly walk to her room. Even with all her weight against me she is so light. It startles me that she is disappearing so fast. I push this thought out of my head. That is not something I can think about for long. All I can think for now is how grateful I am to have her and to be here at all.

  8

  Before Grandma falls asleep she tells me there is a twenty dollar bill on the kitchen table.

  “Give that to Ryan when he comes to cut the grass today,” she says, her eyes closing, “He never accepts it but offer it anyway. And then put it in his backpack when he’s not looking. He usually keeps it on the steps while he works.”

  I assure her that I will do this as I close her door. Ryan Kidson will be here today I think.

  Holy hell, what will I wear?

  Normally I would roll my eyes at my own self but I can’t help but think about it. How many chances does one get to make an impression? The old cliché says just once. Today he will be sober and awake and I need to make sure he remembers me. He lives in a town where McKenna Holt is apparently not the prettiest girl, something I can’t even fathom. I need to look good without looking like I tried too hard to look good. This would be difficult. I had hair that frizzed the second you left the confines of modern air conditioning and legs that could have used the help of months of thigh-mastering. I was not someone that beauty came easy for. I always felt like I could be improved upon. Having a mother that constantly confirmed this notion had not helped me.

  I throw open my suitcase. Jean shorts, chinos, overalls, a couple of long skirts, two jean skirts, a dress I wore to a dance last year, sweaters, t-shirts, tank tops, a couple of flowery blouses; these are the things I have to choose from. Everything looks wrong. I wish I had time to run to a mall or a TJ Maxx or something.

  I turn to the vanity behind me. The image of me and my massive hair is not the best of greetings. My hair is tawny. It’s incredibly thick and naturally wavy and coarse. It’s always been the bane of my existence. When I lived in Texas all the girls had long, fine, straight hair. Their smooth tresses always looked the same no matter what the weather was. My hair is a natural forecaster. You can look at it and immediately know how much humidity is in the air. If it looks decent, it’s only for a moment. It’s unruly and unstable. It’s a metaphor of my life and I have never loved it. Older women appreciate it but girls my age look at it with morbid fascination. Like how one looks at the bearded lady at the fair.

  I collapse onto the bed. It was useless. I was not the girl who gets Ryan Kidson. Maybe that’s why McKenna said what she said.

  I’d never had a boyfriend. I’d had moments with boys, but nothing like an actual relationship. In eighth grade I kissed a boy named Mario at a party my friend Marisol had in her parents’ garage. We were playing Truth or Dare and he was dared to kiss me. He scooted over to me on his knees and leaned into me without even touching my shoulders. He had thin lips and I was nonplussed. Later on he asked if he could have my phone number and I gave him the number to my mom’s work. Looking back, that wasn’t very nice but I thought not giving him any number seemed more mean.

  I think about Rachel Lawson. The girl who dumped Ryan Kidson for modeling camp in New York. Just that sentence alone intimidated me. Who goes to modeling camp? I pictured a leggy blonde with an Alicia Silverstone face. Probably the kind of girl who can wear midriff tops and has those enviable dimples on her lower back that all the models in YM magazine seem to have. Her teeth are probably constantly Crest white and she looks sexy in flannel pajama pants. They probably ride low on her narrow hips. What am I even doing thinking about a guy who gets dumped by models? And how does one even apply to modeling camp? Do you send them school photos? They’re able to tell you have modeling potential from the shoulders up?

  Too many thoughts. I needed to let go of this Ryan Kidson fantasy. I didn’t even know him. And I had enough to think about this summer. I didn’t need to be chasing a fairy tale.

  I look over at the mountain of clothes on my floor. Even so. It wouldn’t hurt to look nice.

  Ryan Kidson shows up right after lunch. Grandma is still sleeping and I haven’t heard a peep from Mom’s room. He pulls up in a blue Ford truck, music blaring from tinny speakers. He has on a Braves cap, grass stained khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and Nikes without socks, a Jansport backpack over one shoulder. I watch him nervously from my bedroom window.

  I glanced in the mirror for the fiftieth time. I had decided on jean shorts and a t-shirt that rode up my midriff a tasteful amount and pulled at my boobs just enough to show him I had something going on in that location. I painted my toenails pink. My mop of hair was pulled up into a messy bun because really? That whole situation was hopeless in this heat. So was makeup.

  I paced the floor in front of the window watching him work. He pulled a push mower out of the back of his truck. Bless his heart, a push mower? My grandma had almost an acre of grass. He walked over to the front steps and threw his backpack. It hit the steps with a heavy thump. Reconsidering, he then retraced his steps and grabbed it again. Water. He had forgotten to chug water and pour it on his head. My heart raced. I felt like I was in a Coke commercial watching the boy next door pour water all of over himself.

  I walked downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed the pitcher of lemonade I had made about an hour ago. (So cliché) It had been chilling in the fridge. I grabbed a couple of plastic cups and try to look casual and nonchalant as I walk out the screen door onto the porch.

  What I see almost makes me drop the entire thing.

  Ryan Kidson had taken his shirt off. He was yanking on the lawnmower’s pull cord and all I could focus on are the tanned muscles of his naked shoulders and back. His forearms flex in the sun and he has a determined look on his face. As the lawn mower finally turns over and the deafening sound pierces the air around us, he smiled, content. I wanted to jump into his arms. I wanted him to swing me around and then only stop to kiss me passionately in the shadow of his Ford truck. It was the scene out of a movie playing in my head which I finally had to shake myself out of when I realized he had noticed me and was speaking.

  “Addie!” he says jogging over, “You made lemonade? For me?”

  “Well, I made it for everyone,” I say, “But I thought you might want some. I can leave it on the steps. I don’t want to distract you.”

  “I don’t mind being distracted. Especially by a pretty girl and a pitcher of lemonade.” Pretty girl? I can feel myself blushing. Compliments are hard for me.

  “Oh. Well. Good.” I am an idiot. I sound like a Neanderthal.

  He pours the drink and immediately gulps it down and pours another, “This is great. Just what I needed. It’s hotter than hell today.”

  I just nod watching his Adam’s apple move as he gulps. I want to kiss him in that spot.

  “How’s your grandma doing” he asks looking me right in the eyes, concern marking his gaze. God, I love this boy.

  “She’s ok. She’s sleeping right now. Oh,” I say grabbing the twenty out of my back pocket, “She wanted me to give you this.”

  Ryan refuses to touch it, shaking his head, “No way. She knows I won’t take it. Keep it.”

  “She said you always turn it down,” I say putting it back in my back pocket. “You know, this is really nice of you. Thanks for helping her.”

  We lock eyes for a moment and he smiles, “It’s no big deal at all. Your grandma has always been so good to my mom and me. It’s the very least I can do. I should probably get started though.”

  “Oh, of course,” I say taking his cup, “If you need anything else, just holler.” Holler? Ugh.

  “Hey,” he says calling back to me from the still running mower, “Don’t even think abo
ut sneaking that into my backpack! I know all her tricks!”

  I laugh stiffly and nod, “Okay. You got me there.”

  We both stand awkwardly until I finally turn my body around and walk back to the porch. All I want to do is watch him but I know that is completely stalker-ish and inappropriate. So I do what any normal teenage girl in lust would and watch him from the confines of my bedroom window.

  It takes him about an hour to finish up. He mows in diagonal lines while listening to a CD Walkman that’s tucked into one of the pockets of his shorts. I wonder what he’s listening to and what he’s thinking of. He doesn’t seem so brokenhearted. Maybe Rachel Lawson is an anchor he is glad to be rid of. An albatross, something he is relieved to not have to be attached to anymore. Without knowing a single thing about any of these people it’s the delusional thought that enables my fantasy of being his new girlfriend.

  I am a lunatic. Even I know this.

  As I watch him drink the last of his water and start putting the lawn mower away I hear the worst possible sound in the world.

  My mother. She is awake and she has spotted him.

  “Why, hello there,” I hear her croon. I cannot run down the stairs fast enough.

  My mother stands on the steps wearing only a very short, silk robe. That she has not tied tight enough. Ryan stands there staring at her both confused and what I sense is a little uncomfortable.

  “Mom,” I say sharply from behind her. She turns, startled.

  “Yes?” she says in her fake sweet voice that I have heard her use on men my entire life. I hate that voice.

  “Shouldn’t you get dressed? Normal people are dressed by the afternoon.”

  Ryan stands frozen, not sure what to do.

  “I was just introducing myself,” she says to me. She turns back to Ryan, “Aren’t you a handsome thing?”

  Ryan chuckles nervously, “Uh. Thank you, ma’am.”