by CJ Daly
ankle together. “I don’t want Andrew to look back and blame me for keepin’
him from movin’ up in the world. This ain’t some high-falootin’ prep school
we’re talkin’ about here—it’s the world’s most elite military trainin’ facility.
Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes, sir.” I wondered if he did.
Daddy shifted on the couch, a peculiar look taking hold now. Uh-oh.
Whatever was forthcoming was the real reason we were sitting here having
this little father-daughter chat.
“And that brings me to the next thing I wanted to say.” He straightened up
and gave me the kind of toothy smile usually reserved for game-show hosts. “I
was over at Tillman Mills this afternoon gettin’ feed. Ronald Tillman Junior
was there and made a special point in comin’ over to talk to me.” He paused,
waiting for my excitement to catch up to his.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I think I must have quite a reputation in this town,” he added like
it was a compliment, “because that varsity football player was more nervous
than a whore in church.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, the truth is Katie—you’re growin’ up and bein’ seventeen and
all—I can’t hide you forever, much as yer mama wanted to. So I went ahead
• 326 •
and gave my permission for Ronald Tillman to take you to homecomin’ next Friday!” Daddy blurted out the same way Mikey did when he was chosen star
student-of-the-week.
“What?” I rocketed up. Me avoiding him all week had been for not.
Daddy frowned at my tone, getting his first whiff of my feelings on the
matter.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’d love to go!”
I dropped back down, clapping my hands over my face.
“I know, honey . . . it’s excitin’ news,” he said, choosing to misunderstand
my horror for excitement. “Now you know why I was upset to see you breakin’
house rules when I was gone. I gotta be able to trust you to do the right thing
when I’m not around . . . like when yer out on a date.”
Daddy’s cheeks were two red apples, reminding me of where I got my easy
blush. An awkward pause, and more throat-clearing ensued. “Did . . . did yer
mama have a chance to talk with you about boys and maintainin’ your virtue
till marriage?”
OMG! I’d rather go muck those pens than endure a sex talk from my
father . So completely bypassed that last question like a landmine. “But, Daddy, I don’t even like Ron Tillman!”
“Why not? He’s a handsome enough young man . . . and plays football,”
he added as though it were a check in the “pro” column.
“Because I don’t like him that way,” I reasoned, sounding like a sixth-
grade version of myself.
I could tell, for him, he was trying to be patient. “That don’t matter much,
honey. You’ll learn to . . . he’s a good match for you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means that Ron Tillman is the eldest son of Ronald Tillman Senior,
owner of Tillman Mills, and therefore, will inherit his father’s business when
he passes away.”
“So?”
“So he will most likely stay right here in Clovis and marry a local girl.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
He sighed impatiently. “You could be that local girl.”
Are you friggin’ kiddin’? He was talking as if he were arranging a marriage instead of a date. Did he know what country we were living in? What century?
I found myself back on my feet. “Daddy, I ain’t gonna marry Ron Tillman!—
I’d rather die!” I added dramatically.
Daddy lifted himself up to his full height, in the same manner he did
• 327 •
before reaching for the paddle. “Now you listen up, young lady. This here is a good opp’rtunity—that family has all kinds of money. And this is your chance
to put yer God-given assets to good use. . . . A girl in your position could do
a lot worse for herself than marry Ronald Tillman Junior.”
I could think of nothing worse—not even drowning myself in the
cesspool.
“Now I do not want you to squander this opp’rtunity with yer mule-ish
notions of what you ought to be doin’. Do I make myself clear?”
“Daddy, I think you’re puttin’ the cart before the mule here,” I said
calming down. “One date does not a marriage make.”
“Yes, well, Mr. Tillman has told me, on more’n one occasion, that his son
speaks highly of you. It’s up to you to parlay this into a relationship . . . you
ain’t likely to do better for yerself in life than to marry well.”
Did a col ege degree and a career never occur to him for his daughter? I
snorted but kept my mouth shut. After all, Ron Tillman would likely blow
me off the second I didn’t let him get to first base, so this whole convo was a
waste of oxygen. And time. I decided to try a different tactic.
“Well, by homecomin’, I’m sure you realize that a dance is involved.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said. “As far as I can see, I’d rather my
daughter be at a chaperoned dance than—out who knows where, doin’ who
knows what, at night. Anything bad usually happens after eleven anyway, so
I let him know up front that that would be yer curfew. Yer to go to the game
and to the dance and back home. With no stops between.”
I guffawed at that one. “And he still wanted to take me?”
“He sure did. Said he understood perfectly, and that he respected that.”
I pictured Ronnie’s dopey face leaning in to kiss me and felt nauseated
immediately. “Daddy, I don’t have a fancy enough dress to wear to a
homecomin’ dance and no money saved up to buy one.” I’d never been so
happy to be broke.
“I already thought of that.” The proud papa fished around in his back
pocket for his wallet then counted off some bills with great ceremony. But I
refused to accept them, knowing both where they came from and what they
would be used for.
“That’s a hun’erd dollars, young lady,” Daddy said, impressing upon me
the seriousness of the matter while pressing the money into my hand. “Now
that’s a lotta money. I expect to see some receipts and a purty, but modest
dress . . . not too modest, I don’t wantja tuh look dowdy, but not revealin’
neither. Don’t want the boy gettin’ the wrong idear about you—you are the
marryin’ type, not the carousin’ type.” He leveled me with another look.
• 328 •
I growled in my throat. “Is goin’ to homecomin’ with Ron Tillman a direct order?”
“You know what? I’m tryin’ to do somethin’ nice for my daughter and
gettin’ spit in the eye for my trouble.” Daddy glowered down at my defiant
face a moment before snatching back the cash. “Suit yerself . . . you can work
yerself to the poor house down there at Norma’s for all I care. If yer too stupid
to take advantage of a golden opportunity like this, then I’ve raised up a fool
of a daughter . . . and you’ll reap what you sow.”
And so will you I wanted to spit, but kept my mouth firmly clamped as
Daddy stuffed the cash back in his wallet, sank down onto his recliner, and
released the bar to kick his feet back up. “Get to bed,” he dismissed, clicking
the TV back on. “Mornin’ comes early.”
I stomped off to my room in an even fouler mood than before. Ronnie
Tillman? Really? The best he thought I could do for myself in life was to marry a beefy, spoiled, small-town rich kid whose muscles would surely turn to fat
the moment he quit playing football.
Storming around the room, alternately flinging clothes into drawers and
my closet, I wondered if he was right. Is becoming Mrs. Ronnie Til man my best
option? My stomach turned over every time I pictured the blank canvass that was my future: living in the trailer with my brothers and Daddy’s tyranny,
starting on the basics at junior college then driving thirty miles to Portales
to get my four-year degree from ENMU. I imagined myself going to classes
during the day and working nights at the diner. Shuddered at the very bleak
picture.
A glint of navy caught my eye. It was the jacket Pete gave me the night
they’d been following me. It was juxtaposed in the closet next to a beat-up,
old denim one. I thought of Pete and his glossy world. I thought of my dreary
life waiting tables and taking English 101 at the JUCO in a couple of years.
Ugh! It wasn’t that I thought I was too good for that life. I didn’t think I was better than anybody else . . . except for that Ranger character, I thought
scathingly. But if you really wanna know the truth—deep down, I always
felt more like a Thoroughbred than a workhorse. I understood Andrew’s
frustration and resentment. He did belong in the world of the elite. Just not that Elite Academy. Come hell or high water, I was still determined to prevent
him from going.
Maybe I needed to rethink my strategy? So far I was getting shoddy results and punishing myself in the process. Daddy was half a wink away from
signing up, and Pete was barely acknowledging my presence anymore. Perhaps
I should go back to the old adage: Keep your friends close and your enemies
• 329 •
closer. Instead of pushing Pete away this whole time, maybe I should’ve been drawing him in as close as possible, see if I could get him to reveal his secrets.
This new plan would certainly be a whole lot funner anyway.
Using feminine wiles seemed to have worked for Mama with Daddy, and
it seemed to be working in Ashley-Leigh’s favor. I mean it had gotten her
pretty far so far. (A pang pierced my heart when I thought of her going the
distance.) Maybe I should give it a go, too?
Thinking along these lines, I reevaluated tomorrow’s ensemble like I
was arming myself for war. Since the fallout with Pete, I’d gone back to my
regular, drab clothes because it fit my mood. I reopened my jean drawer and
peered inside. Only three pairs, and that included my old work jeans. I pulled
them back out for consideration. They were faded and even had a couple of
tiny tears in the leg where the fabric had worn thin. I only wore them around
the ranch because they were so tight Daddy would never let me out the door
in them. I understood why a little more now after remembering Pete’s gaze
lingering on me in the pasture. . . . He seemed to approve of the country look
on me.
Technically, I was forbidden to wear jeans to school at all. Since I was
breaking house rules anyway, I decided to go for broke. So I set them out,
along with one of my button-downs. I could do nothing about the boxy shape
except maybe tie it into a knot around my waist. Last out I pulled a pair
of clean socks to wear with my trusty-dusty boots. I headed to the shower
whistling, the smile of a Cheshire cat spreading my lips.
Vigorously, is how I shampooed and conditioned my hair. My legs were
meticulously shaved then oiled up with lotion as though they were due for
inspection. Usually I just went to bed with wet hair and brushed it out in the
morning, too tired to bother trying to style it. But tonight I took the time to
blow dry it ruler-straight. It was time for me to bring my “A” game. So on the agenda for tomorrow afternoon was a little side trip to Walmart; it was time
for some overdue shopping.
I went to bed dreaming of what I could’ve bought with that hundred
dollars Daddy handed me.
• 330 •
30
CATCHING FLIES
Homecoming was exactly one week away. Reminders, in the royal
color, littered the halls, and announcements from perky cheerleaders
made the morning announcements. Everyone was buzzing with up-
to-the-minute reports of who was going with whom. It was first hour, so all
the hubbub was on mute for me.
I’d arrived early to avoid Ron and to zip out a quick email to Reese.
She kept asking what was going on with Andrew and his cute mentor, as
if she were really intrigued. I’d mentioned before that Pete had lied to me,
explaining the situation as best I could without divulging my strong intuition
that his academy was really some secret organization trying to snatch my little
brother up for . . . God-only-knew what purpose.
I didn’t want her to think I was weird. Or a witch, or anything like that.
I always went for normal. I’d simply stated their ambassador was too good
to be true and leaving town soon anyway, so wasn’t worth the effort. She
immediately responded back with a: Maybe it was just a misunderstanding?
And said I should definitely give him a second chance, because he was probably
just trying to impress me. I snorted. As if. It was kinda hard to describe Pete on paper. He was like a miracle—you’d need to see to believe. Calling him
cute was like calling the devil bad.
Reese also suggested again that a nice boarding school with a good
reputation would be a good place for Andrew, and I should consider giving
him my blessing if he wanted to go. That niggled me for some reason, though
I didn’t dwell on it too much. I mean . . . she was in the dark. Actually, it
was sweet of her to care. I knew she couldn’t get it—her life was probably the
demon-free kind.
The thought of losing Andrew was enough to put me into a tailspin. My
• 331 •
brothers were all that I had in life. All that mattered . . . until Pete crashed into my life. I bit my lip. My desire for him hadn’t waned one bit with the
knowledge he was a con artist. It felt like I was suffering from a sickness, and
it seemed to have spread like wildfire through the entire student body, turning
friend into foe and even brother against sister. I fervently prayed that Andrew
would change his mind and wait for Ivy League.
The latest gossip hadn’t caught up with me until I reached third-hour
English. I could tell something was up right away, because a smug-looking
Ashley-Leigh and Madison were jawing away in the area around my desk. I
started to automatically tune them out, taking out my notes to unnecessarily
go over before the quiz.
“Pete’s been droppin’ hints all week about special plans this Friday,”
Ashley-Leigh said so loudly she may as well have shouted it in my ear.
I had to admit—she got my attention. If not, her skirt would’ve. Didn’t
know they sold spandex in fuchsia.
“OhmiGod!” Madison squealed. “Do you think he’s gonna
ask you to
homecoming?”
Ashley-Leigh gave a high-pitched giggle. “I dunno cause the bell rang, and
he had to get to class. But he said he’d tell me after school today.” She paused
to let that sink in. “Sounded mysterious . . . that’s just like him you know.”
Couldn’t help myself, I snorted.
She looked down sharply. “Bitter much?”
“Sounds like a straight up blow off to me,” I shot back then ignored her
to focus my attention on what plans Pete might be referring to. I couldn’t
fathom him going to our ridiculous homecoming at all, much less with the
even more ridiculous Ashley-Leigh as his date.
Miguel slipped in after the bell, and we shared an eye-roll at Ashley-
Leigh’s expense. He leaned across the aisle. “Hey, I wanted to ask you . . . are
you actually going to homecoming with the Ron Man? Cuz that’s the word
on the street.”
I saw Ashley’s back stiffen and couldn’t resist a dig. “He asked my father’s
permission to take me, but I’m workin’ Friday night,” I said, giving Ron
an out.
“Oh.” Miguel’s face relaxed. “That’s good. Cuz I might’ve had to go along
as your chaperone.”
“Don’t you mean you and Jenn might’ve had to go along? I think that’s
what they refer to as a double date.” I smiled to take the sting out.
He smiled sheepishly. “Right.”
Class passed swiftly. I was in an especially good mood because I didn’t
• 332 •
purposefully miss any answers on the quiz today. It felt good. More than good—it felt right. I headed out the door with Miguel, who was chatting
a mile a minute about the subject of the week. He promised to stop by the
diner to cheer me up after the game, since I was stuck working. A pretend
smile lifted my lips, but I wasn’t too thrilled about a pack of crazed classmates,
wearing ill-fitting suits and dresses with enormous mums pinned to them,
sitting in my station feeling sorry for me. Not exactly a cheerer-upper, but I
didn’t say so.
“I’m lovin’ the boots, by the way!” He smiled at me a little too long before
disappearing into the crowd. The smile slowly faded from my face. I really
liked Miguel but would have to do something about him. Sooner rather than
