Any Red-Blooded Girl by Maggie Bloom Page B

“It’s
pretty obvious that your behavior has slipped into a destructive
pattern,” she went on. “You need guidance. And your father and I
are certainly not going to let you get involved with some character
who we know nothing about, some boy who travels around with a bunch
of weirdoes doing God only knows what. It doesn’t look good.”
    “A bunch of weirdoes?!” I screeched. “My God,
you’re so superficial!”
    I guess I should have left out the direct
slam, because it really seemed to have pressed the Mental
Hygienist’s buttons. “ I’m superficial? Ha! That’s funny,”
she said. But she wasn’t actually laughing. Instead, she was
glaring daggers at me. “Obviously, Flora, you know nothing about
this boy,” she continued. “Yet you’re willing to stand here and
insult me? Well, I just have one question for you, smarty pants.
This boy—your new boyfriend —what is his name?”
    “His name’s Mick,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Sheesh.” And I was supposed to be the dumb one here.
    “I mean his full name,” she demanded.
“Unless you know so little about him that you don’t even know that . Because if you’re standing here arguing with me over a
boy whose name you don’t even know—well, that proves my point
exactly. You’re definitely not thinking straight, so…”
    I hate to admit it, but the name thing
totally blindsided me. I glanced back at Mr. Tightwad and Golden
Boy, hoping for a last-minute reprieve from my mother’s
irrationality. But of course they were no help.
    So I took a single step toward my mother. And
when she didn’t move, I shoved her aside with my forearm, which
made her stumble a little before she caught her balance.
    And the crazy thing was, nobody stopped me.
In case my dad and Will just had delayed reflexes, though, I darted
around our tent and broke into an anxious jog down the dirt
road—and away from Tupelo-9.
     

Eight
    WHEN I rounded the corner toward Mick’s, his
compound was again busy with activity: The redheaded twins (and a
young boy I didn’t recognize) sat cross-legged before a crackling
fire, spearing marshmallows with sharp twigs; two middle-aged women
strung laundry on a makeshift clothesline; and a trio of beautiful
young ladies huddled together over trays of polished stones.
    I wondered about the three beauties. Were
they Mick’s cousins? I couldn’t remember what he’d said about them,
but they seemed very approachable.
    I conjured my happy-to-meet-you smile.
“Ahem,” I croaked, hoping to draw the girls’ attention. But
apparently they were so entranced by their work that my existence
didn’t register. I tried again, “Ahem.”
    In unison, the girls jerked their heads in my
direction, which was kind of jarring, really, since it made them
seem like puppets instead of real people.
    “Um, hi. I’m Flora,” I squeaked. “I’m looking
for Mick. Is he here?”
    The girl in the middle perked up. “Oh, Flora,
it’s nice to meet you,” she said, hopping up and offering me her
hand. “I’m Mick’s cousin, Penny. And these are my sisters, Helen
and Abby.”
    “Hi,” the sisters chirped in harmony, as I
clutched Penny’s outstretched fingers.
    But just then a curious sight in the distance
caught my eye. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” I mumbled, distracted. “Um,
are those Mick’s parents?” I asked, pointing out an attractive
woman with lush red hair and a hot older guy with Mick’s raven
locks and lean, muscular build.
    “Uh-huh. That’s Stella and Cy…and Jo-Jo and
Kat and Sean,” Penny confirmed, rattling off the list of names with
a little laugh.
    “Sean? Is he your brother?” I pried, still
trying to arrange the labels on Mick’s family tree.
    “No. Sean is Cal’s brother,” Penny explained.
“They’re Billie’s kids. Our brother is Donny. But he’s not
here right now. He went fishin’.”
    My mind was swimming with names, but I was
still pretty sure I’d connected a few dots. And if I’d connected
them