Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
But then, the Turkey Incident had occurred.
Afterward, Junior had never apologized. Never explained. Livid and betrayed as I’d been, I’d still expected him to try… and I might even have forgiven him. But days had gone by… weeks… a whole month, with us passing silently in the hallway at school or standing awkwardly on a sidewalk while our mothers chatted outside town events, and every time Junior refused to meet my eyes or open his mouth, I got angrier and angrier.
Then one day in late December, my mom finally got tired of my attitude and sat me down for her unique version of a maternal come-to-Jesus. “Hunter, baby,” she’d sighed. “My patience is worn through, so you gotta let this go. Who knows why Junior did what he did? Maybe he took a wild hair and tried to play a joke. Or maybe he’s taking after his daddy and got above his raisin’ once he knew he was going off to his chichi private boarding school next semester.” She’d rolled her eyes. “Don’t matter either way ’cause it’s over and done now. Junior and his mom left town yesterday. They moved on to greener pastures, and it’s time you moved on too. So no more stomping around the house. You’re riling the dogs to barking, and it’s working my nerves. Hear me?”
I’d heard her… at least, up to the part where she’d said Junior was gone. After that, I’d been too choked with red-hot emotion to take much in. Junior had left me—I mean, left the Thicket—without making things right or even muttering a “goodbye and good luck”? The boy I’d considered my friend would never have done that. So… maybe my mom had hit the nail on the head. Maybe Junior thought he was better than the rest of us. Maybe Junior had never cared about me—I mean, the Thicket.
Maybe I’d never actually known the real Junior at all.
Over time, it became clear I was right because Junior never returned to the Thicket, at least that I knew of. He’d shaken the dust of the town off his feet for good and leveled up to his fancy private boarding school, his fancy college, his fancy life, where I’d bet he never worked up an honest sweat for an honest day’s work like the rest of us did or spent a single minute thinking about the people he’d left behind.
Until now.
The more I thought about this, the madder I got, so that by the time the auction had gotten underway and Junior had, to my surprise, taken his place onstage with the other volunteers, I was so consumed with the injustice of it all that I couldn’t stop staring at him.
You couldn’t just leave that way and then come back all these years later like the Thicket’s own prodigal son. Sure, Brooks Johnson had done it, but that was different. Brooks had reasons for going and reasons for coming home. Brooks was an upstanding guy who cared about people. Brooks wasn’t up on the auction block, smiling his big, fake smile, parading his strong shoulders and luscious ass in front of the whole town, making the old men laugh at his antics and the ladies—including my own damn sister!—swoon and sigh and reach for their debit cards.
Junior Nutter needed to be taught a lesson. A lesson that did not involve him spending his “date” shooting the shit with Skeets Miller about the Bears’ chances of making it to the playoffs, or letting Dot Johnson force-feed him pumpkin pie while she crocheted him a lap blanket, or—worst of all—taking my sister to the Steak and Bait for tater tots, which was exactly the scenario my mother would engineer if Alana actually won him. No way was I going to let that happen.
So when Amos Nutter opened the bidding for Junior at a buck, I grabbed the placard from Alana’s hand, raised it as high as I could, and bid my entire two thousand dollars all in one go.
The moment I spoke, a stunned hush fell over the entire community barn, and all heads turned to gawp at me. My face went burning hot, which momentarily stopped the angry whooshing of my pulse in my ears, my throat went dry and itchy, and all at once, I came back to myself…
And very much wished I hadn’t.
“Lurleen, is that your boy?” someone demanded in a hushed voice.
“What’s Hunter want with Junior Nutter?” someone else muttered.
“Picked him like a pumpkin in the patch,” a voice I strongly suspected was Brooks crowed. “Now, that’s some town excitement.”
“Oooh, wait, wasn’t there bad blood—?”
“Mmmhmm. Must be fifteen years ago now, but who could forget—?”
“The Incident!” a voice stage-whispered. “The Great Thicket Turkey Incident.”
“I always said it was a foul prank. Get it? Because turkeys are fowls—”
“I don’t understand. What was the Incident?” a sweet, bewildered voice asked.