Sliding On The Edge by C. Lee McKenzie Page A

neighbor, but the clothes
subject rears up when Kenny Fargo asks what we did all
day.
    “ She’s going to give us a
fashion show a little later. Right?” Kay levels her eyes at
me.
    “ Why?”
    “ Because Kenny and I want to
see what you chose.”
    “ I got good
stuff.”
    “ I know you did, but we
still need to see the things you bought.”
    “ Hell.”
    “ I thought you understood
about the language, Shawna.”
    “ Sh . . .”
    “ I wouldn’t push it,” Kay
interrupts. “I mean it.” She points her finger at my
face.
    I shove my plate forward and rock my
chair backward on two legs. What is with her, anyway? I don’t think
my language is bad. I’d cleaned up all the F-words so I didn’t
sound like Mom, and so my teachers wouldn’t stick me in the hall
anymore. Compared to the real world, I sound as clean as an elf in
Santa’s workshop.
    “ I’ll get the dishes
tonight,” Kenny says, standing up from the table and carrying his
plate to the kitchen sink. “You two duke it out without
me.”
    “ There’s nothing to fight
over. I’ll give you your dumb fashion show.” I remember Mom’s
advice. Pick your fights. Besides, I’m way too tired to go toe to
toe with Kay tonight.
    I put on one outfit after
the other, and stomp back and forth between my room and the
kitchen. They inspect me like they do their horses, but they don’t
say anything. Well, duh! Nothing new about
that.
    “ This is the last one.” I’ve
saved my Diesels and the halter top to the end.
    “ Too tight across the
backside and too skimpy on the top. Those go back,” Kay
says.
    I open my mouth but I don’t get a
chance to say what I want.
    “ The rest are good choices,
Shawna.” She gets up from her chair. I almost expect her to stamp
approved on my forehead, but she doesn’t even glance at me as she
walks past.
    Kenny Fargo smiles. “I thought the
first one was the best, the black and red. Good colors on you.” He
turns back to the sink and sprinkles cleanser over the scarred
surface.
    I liked the Diesels. I wanted the
Diesels. Now I want them even more, since they have to go back. I
stomp back into my room and slam the door.
    Who does she think she is
anyway, the fashion police? I’m outta here. I’ve given this dump
four days of my time and that’s all the patience I’ve
got.
    I grab a shopping bag and stuff the
Diesels inside. She can keep the rest. Screw her. I’m down the hall
and past her office before she can say anything. Out the door, I
give it a good bang. I pound down the front steps and go around
Buster, who’s stretched out at the bottom. He jumps up and follows
me. “Go away, flea bag.” He sits on the road and whines, just like
I’ve hurt his feelings.
    In the dark it’s hard to miss all the
ruts in this road, so it’s very slow going. I’m picking my way like
I’m on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Finally, when I get to the
paved road, my brain decides to wake up. This is a big mistake,
Shawna. It’s totally black out here.
    No cars. Nobody to hitch a ride from.
I’m stranded. It’s miles in any direction. Where’s a cab when you
need one?
    I’ve got no choice. I turn back down
the road, to the house where Buster thumps his tail and jumps,
doing his midair spin.
    “ Stupid dog.” I scratch the
back of his neck and he settles down.
    Stupid Shawna is more like
it.
    I bang my way back into the house,
stomp down the hall, ignore Kay who is still sitting behind her
desk, and she gives me a look over the top of her glasses. I slam
the door when I get to the end of hall.
    Just one more little
button push for the day.
     

Chapter 13
    Shawna
     
    When September shows up, Sweet River
turns as hot as asphalt on a Vegas parking lot. I’ve survived three
weeks of Kay’s summer camp for stray grandkids, made it through the
high school entry exam, and endured long nights with the windows
cranked wide and the fan whirring above my bed while I read what
the long-gone Mark Twain had to say on just about