“Nobody knows you failed, and I won’t tel.”
A voice crackled through the speakers, and Devin quickly ordered. Puling out a few bils, he asked, “Want anything?”
“A driver's license," I snapped, changing songs.
Devin tooled around the corner to pay and pick up--two Big Macs, one large fry, and a soda. I shook my head as he drove and wolfed a burger. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”
He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “You know me. I never kid about food.”
You're right, I thought. The guy could eat fifty times a day and never get ful or fat. Considering Devin's 6'4" height, maybe the food never reached his feet.
While he finished his snack, he drove me home. Both my mother’s car and Warren’s sat in the drive. I gritted my teeth, frowning at Warren’s Stealth.
“New car? A present from your mom?” he teased.
“No,” I replied. “The Mockingbird Man's here. She’s home earlier than usual. That’s Warren’s car,” I whined.
Devin parked behind my mother’s white Accord. I pushed open the door; he made no move to get out. “Aren’t you coming?
Don’t you want to see the Mockingbird Man?”
Devin arched his eyebrows. “Okay,” he finaly replied.
“That way, I guess you can help me with adverbial clauses.” He grabbed his spiral and grammar book.
“You need help, al right,” I quipped. “I just wasn’t thinking of homework.” Together we walked to the front door. I went first, and Devin ambled behind me.
The living room was vacant save for what’s-his-name’s tweed jacket draped over the couch. From the kitchen, I heard laughter--the warm heartiness of his and the equaly happy sound of my mother’s. It halted my steps. How long had it been since my mother had laughed, let alone like that? Go away! I thought savagely. Make it easy and get the hell out like everyone else.
“The kitchen is that way.” Grabbing my shoulders, Devin steered me toward the doorway as he leaned close from behind me.
“Yeah,” I muttered. The smel of burgers cooking wafted across my nostrils. I pushed open the swinging door where my mother stood with the latest “Mr. Wonderful,” talking and laughing, their backs to us--at least until I smacked my books on the table.
Wide-eyed, Devin gingerly set his next to mine.
Mom and “Mr. Wonderful” whirled. “Skye, Devin,” my mom said, waving a spatula as she spoke. “How about a hamburger?”
Devin had once said my mother looked too beautiful to be anybody’s mom, and, at that moment, wearing the most radiant, carefree smile I’d seen in years, he was right. Like me, she wore her hair long, and the natural curl waved her auburn tresses, radiating blonde and red highlights. She must have been a gypsy or a Bohemian at heart, considering the bright clothes she wore. Stil, she knew how to be stylin', and the untamed wardrobe accentuated her hair and features.
Just slightly taler than my mom, Warren stood beside her.
Athletically built, he seemed younger than he probably was, much like Mom, but his blonde hair grayed at the temples. He wore a button-down shirt, a tie, and cotton Dockers. Thin, gold-framed glasses perched high on his nose.
“I’m not hungry,” I snapped and pointed at Devin. “And neither is he. He just demolished two burgers.”
“Good afternoon, Skye.” Warren smiled and extended his hand to Devin. “Devin, is it?” Devin nodded and shook his hand. “Warren--Warren Jacobs.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Devin said, offering a genuine smile. Gritting my teeth, I brushed between them, breaking the handshake.
“Skye,” My mother said, placing the spatula on a spoon holder. “That was realy rude.”
I batted my eyelashes exaggeratedly at Devin and said,
“Oh, excuse ‘moi.”
Devin frowned, but I ignored it and opened the fridge. I bent and puled two sodas from the door and returned to the table.
“Have you started that book yet?” Mr. Wonderful asked , shoving his hands deeply into his pockets.
A voice crackled through the speakers, and Devin quickly ordered. Puling out a few bils, he asked, “Want anything?”
“A driver's license," I snapped, changing songs.
Devin tooled around the corner to pay and pick up--two Big Macs, one large fry, and a soda. I shook my head as he drove and wolfed a burger. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”
He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “You know me. I never kid about food.”
You're right, I thought. The guy could eat fifty times a day and never get ful or fat. Considering Devin's 6'4" height, maybe the food never reached his feet.
While he finished his snack, he drove me home. Both my mother’s car and Warren’s sat in the drive. I gritted my teeth, frowning at Warren’s Stealth.
“New car? A present from your mom?” he teased.
“No,” I replied. “The Mockingbird Man's here. She’s home earlier than usual. That’s Warren’s car,” I whined.
Devin parked behind my mother’s white Accord. I pushed open the door; he made no move to get out. “Aren’t you coming?
Don’t you want to see the Mockingbird Man?”
Devin arched his eyebrows. “Okay,” he finaly replied.
“That way, I guess you can help me with adverbial clauses.” He grabbed his spiral and grammar book.
“You need help, al right,” I quipped. “I just wasn’t thinking of homework.” Together we walked to the front door. I went first, and Devin ambled behind me.
The living room was vacant save for what’s-his-name’s tweed jacket draped over the couch. From the kitchen, I heard laughter--the warm heartiness of his and the equaly happy sound of my mother’s. It halted my steps. How long had it been since my mother had laughed, let alone like that? Go away! I thought savagely. Make it easy and get the hell out like everyone else.
“The kitchen is that way.” Grabbing my shoulders, Devin steered me toward the doorway as he leaned close from behind me.
“Yeah,” I muttered. The smel of burgers cooking wafted across my nostrils. I pushed open the swinging door where my mother stood with the latest “Mr. Wonderful,” talking and laughing, their backs to us--at least until I smacked my books on the table.
Wide-eyed, Devin gingerly set his next to mine.
Mom and “Mr. Wonderful” whirled. “Skye, Devin,” my mom said, waving a spatula as she spoke. “How about a hamburger?”
Devin had once said my mother looked too beautiful to be anybody’s mom, and, at that moment, wearing the most radiant, carefree smile I’d seen in years, he was right. Like me, she wore her hair long, and the natural curl waved her auburn tresses, radiating blonde and red highlights. She must have been a gypsy or a Bohemian at heart, considering the bright clothes she wore. Stil, she knew how to be stylin', and the untamed wardrobe accentuated her hair and features.
Just slightly taler than my mom, Warren stood beside her.
Athletically built, he seemed younger than he probably was, much like Mom, but his blonde hair grayed at the temples. He wore a button-down shirt, a tie, and cotton Dockers. Thin, gold-framed glasses perched high on his nose.
“I’m not hungry,” I snapped and pointed at Devin. “And neither is he. He just demolished two burgers.”
“Good afternoon, Skye.” Warren smiled and extended his hand to Devin. “Devin, is it?” Devin nodded and shook his hand. “Warren--Warren Jacobs.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Devin said, offering a genuine smile. Gritting my teeth, I brushed between them, breaking the handshake.
“Skye,” My mother said, placing the spatula on a spoon holder. “That was realy rude.”
I batted my eyelashes exaggeratedly at Devin and said,
“Oh, excuse ‘moi.”
Devin frowned, but I ignored it and opened the fridge. I bent and puled two sodas from the door and returned to the table.
“Have you started that book yet?” Mr. Wonderful asked , shoving his hands deeply into his pockets.
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