Chains and Fetters

"Chains and Fetters" by Jae Gecko

On her third day as a college student, Tyra learns that she's supposed to call her economics professor her "econ prof," that hola, qué tal is how you say "hello, how are you" in Spanish, and that it's going to take her at least another two weeks to remember the userid and password to her email without checking her crib sheet first.

This time, though, she's got it ready. She ducks into the library computer lab, finds a spot in the back corner, and slaps it down next to the keyboard. On the third attempt, she logs on to find an email from Mrs. Taylor.

Tyra smiles as she clicks on the name.

Date: Tue, 29 Aug 2008 12:14:53 -0600
From: Tami Taylor <taylor2@carr-county.k12.tx.us>
To: Tyra Collette <tcollette@mail.utexas.edu>
Subject: Greetings from Dillon

Tyra,

Hello from the old hometown! I'm pretty sure I've got at least a few minutes' peace on this lunch hour, but just in case it gets disturbed again, I'm going to type as fast as humanly possible, here. I tried to catch up with you last week to say goodbye, but with the school year starting up here at home and Gracie suddenly turning into a terror on two legs, time just slipped away from me. But I didn't want to let the week go by without letting you know that I'm thinking of you. By now you'll have settled into your dorm room and even gone to your first few days of classes. I can't tell you how proud that makes me.

Now, I know I'm not your guidance counselor anymore, but what can I say, old habits die hard. And there are three things I wish somebody had told me before I went off to college, so now I'm telling them to you. The first thing is that this is going to be hard. It's going to be the hardest thing you've ever done. You're going to work your little tail off, and sometimes you'll still be making no better than Cs when your friends are making As with hangovers and one hand tied behind their backs. You're going to assume it means you don't belong there, that you're not smart enough, that you can't do this. But I'm telling you right now, all it really means is that for all that Dillon High has its heart in the right place, we've never quite figured out how to prepare kids like you for a place like the University of Texas. That's not your fault, it's ours. But right now it's your burden, and I want you to be ready for it.

The second thing is that you're going to want to quit. Now, I know you've been looking forward to getting out of Dillon since the first day you knew it was a possibility, so I can hear you laughing clear across the state as I type this. But trust me, honey, there are going to be times when you will want to quit and come home. And so what I'm telling you is that you need to promise yourself that no matter what happens, no matter how bad things get, you're at least going to stick it out until Christmas. Put a big red circle around the last day of finals on your calendar and tell yourself that you can quit on that day, but not before. I'd be willing to bet good money that by Christmas nobody will be able to tear you away, but that way even if you do end up quitting, you'll always have the credit for a full semester of coursework.

The third thing is that there are going to be times when you're going to need to pick yourself up when you're down, because there's just plain going to be nobody else there when things get tough. If you don't learn to do that, it's just going to be that much harder. So when things are at their toughest, I want you to hold on to the fact that of all the girls across the state with both financial need and real promise (and believe me, there's no shortage of girls like that in the state of Texas), they gave the Dawson-Myers scholarship to you. You may not have had the best grade point average, but you're what my momma used to call whip-smart, and if the committee could see that in you, you can bet other people will, too. You are going to shine, babe. And I can't wait to watch it happen.

All right, I'm done embarrassing you now, so you can peel your hand off those eyes. Go on, go do your first homework assignment! Or go grab a bite at one of the fabulous restaurants that are just off campus. (A quick google search tells me that Mr. Gatti's on Guadalupe makes a mighty fine pizza.)

Much love,
Tami Taylor

Tyra reads it through twice, and then again, waiting for her heart to stop drumming in her chest. By now she knows Mrs. Taylor's right pretty much all the time. It'd be dumb to think this time might be different.

She prints out the email. When she gets back to her room at the end of the day, she slides it between the cement wall and the metal frame of her bed for safekeeping. That night, she eyes her reflection in the bathroom mirror and braces herself against the cold porcelain of the sink. If this is going to be the hardest thing she's ever done, she's damn well going to give it her best shot.

But there's one thing Mrs. Taylor's email doesn't mention. And that's the feeling she got when she first set foot on campus—the one that felt like stepping out of some bitterly cold darkness into the warmest, brightest light she'd ever seen. It never goes away, that feeling. It's there when she catches her first glimpse of the Tower against the blue sky of an Austin morning. It's there when she stays up late hovering over a calculus problem, frustration stinging her eyes, only to discover in class the next day that she got it right. It's there when she slides into a booth next to Zach and Jessica with a slice of Mr. Gatti's pizza and finds that they have a dozen things to talk about besides football.

It's kind of like the way people like Lyla Garrity must feel when they find God.

#

All her life, Tyra's been hearing football players talk about the zone: that mythical rhythm that allows them to throw a fifty-yard pass or tackle a guy twice their size. She always assumed it was bullshit. But it turns out the zone's not only real, it works for more than just football. In fact, Tyra's almost there now. She's so ready to answer the question about how to solve the social security crisis that she could probably teach the president a thing or two.

She lifts her head from Jessica's desk, arching a kink out of her back. She's moved past the point where studying means staring at her books and wishing she could photocopy them into her brain. All it takes is the right combination of caffeine and adrenaline, background music that'll keep her from falling asleep, and the right study buddies to keep her focused.

Except that one of those study buddies is watching her again.

Zach gives her a self-conscious smile, like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tyra tilts her head at him, her eyes lidded. "Don't tell me," she says, loudly enough to be heard over the music. "You got all this stuff memorized already."

He shrugs. Now his smile's a full-on grin, and he threads his fingers through the loose brown curls at the back of his neck. "I'm taking a break."

Jessica looks up from the floor and rolls her eyes.

Tyra turns her back on both of them and bends her head over her notes again. She flips back to November, to the list of terms to memorize. Compensating wage differential. That's—

Her mind is blank.

She squints at the page, tightening her grip on the edge of the notebook. Maybe she needs flash cards.

The music's suddenly louder. Tyra looks up. Zach pulls his hand back from the volume knob and lifts the half-full two-liter bottle of Coke from the table to his mouth. "When the sun shines, we'll shine together!" he sings, wielding the bottle like a microphone. He closes his eyes and swings his hips back and forth.

A smile tugs at the corner of Tyra's mouth. She buries her head in her notes.

"Now that it's rainin more than ever, know that we'll still have each other!" His voice is louder now, and she can feel him standing right next to her. "You can stand under my umbrella!"

Tyra sucks in her cheeks, forcing her mouth into a line. She lifts her head and looks up at him.

"Ella, ella?" Zach asks. He offers Tyra the bottle.

She pushes it away. "Hey, I'm in the homestretch here. Quit distractin me."

He puts a hand on the desk beside her and leans down, his eyes even with hers. "Is that all I am to you? A distraction?"

He's going for mock-hurt, but something's pulling at his eyebrows just above the bridge of his nose, and she knows he's not just faking. Tyra swallows around the quiver in her throat. She let him kiss her once, in a weak moment, and he's been trying to repeat the performance ever since.

She leans away from him. "Okay, I shouldn't have to remind you that unlike you, I didn't get into McCombs as a freshman. And if I want to get an internal transfer next year, I'm gonna need a GPA that's a lot better than the one I'm gonna have if I don't get an A on this final."

Zach shakes his head. "See, the part you're not getting is that all that stuff would be way easier with the support of a smart, funny boyfriend." His hand inches forward until it cups around hers. "And did I mention cute? Don't forget cute."

Jessica swats him on the leg. "Leave her alone, Zach. It was only cute the first twenty times."

He looks down at her. "I'm trying for 'determined and intense'."

"Well, from here it looks more like 'stalker wannabe who can't take no for an answer'," she says with a growl.

Zach's hand jerks back like it's been burned. A frown creases his forehead and pinches his mouth. He steps back across the room and sits on the edge of the couch next to his books.

Jessica lifts an eyebrow at Tyra and nods, pulling her thick black hair into a ponytail. Tyra forces a smile, but her eyes creep back over to Zach. He may be a lot of things, but he's no stalker.

The jangling of Tyra's cell phone is reduced to a murmur beneath the driving beat of the music. Tyra snaps it open. "Hey, could we just—" She waves a hand in the air. "Can y'all turn that down a bit?"

Zach springs to his feet and reaches across to the volume control, reducing the song to a whisper. Tyra turns away and cups her hand around her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, hon! How's it goin?"

Mom. Tyra's stomach sinks. This would be the downside to carrying a cell phone. "Hey. Um, we're kinda studyin right now." The clock on Jessica's bedside table reads 10:21, and Tyra's heart speeds up. "I got my last final tomorrow, remember?"

"That's okay, I'll only be a sec. I'm so excited about you comin home, I'm about ready to burst!"

"I'm excited, too, Mom. But I know I'll be in a better mood when I get there if I do good on this test."

"I was just thinkin maybe this weekend, on Mindy's night off, we could do a real girls' night in. Just you and me and her, like a girls' night out, except we stay in." She giggles. "Y'know, a couple little bottles of nail polish, one big bottle of vodka. We can give each other pedicures."

Tyra runs a thumb along the edge of her notes. "Sure. That sounds real fun."

"So I was just wonderin if Sunday's gonna be okay for you? Because Mindy's gotta work on Saturday night, and I figure it'll be more fun with all three of us."

Tyra slides a finger into her calendar and flips it open. The circle around tomorrow's date stares up at her: Mrs. Taylor's big red bullseye. She smiles. "Honest, the only plan I got's for three long days of sleep."

"Now, I still got that nice purple you like, but I was down at the Walgreens lookin at the colors today, and I thought maybe I'd pick up somethin new. Y'know, the real nice ones they got for ten bucks a pop? Gotta have my college girl lookin good. But I don't know what the girls down there are wearin, so I just wrote down the names."

The two-month-old polish on Tyra's toes is chipped. She pulls her foot up onto the chair and picks at it, peeling back a flake with her fingernail. "Uh, anythin'd be fine with me."

"Okay, but if you had to pick, would you rather go with iced peach or angel pink?"

Tyra pushes out a sigh through clenched teeth. "Mom, I can't see what they look like, okay? Why don't you just surprise me?"

"The iced peach is kinda frosty, a little bit orange. Not like, pumpkin orange, just kinda like, maybe like..."

Tyra slouches down, a fist against her forehead. "Like a peach?"

"Yeah. It's pretty."

"That one'd be nice."

"And the angel pink is this pale—it's almost white."

"That one'd be fine, too."

"Which one sounds better? I guess I could get both."

Tyra's spine is suddenly rigid. "No, don't. I mean, one's plenty. Why don't you go with, um." She slides her gaze down to Jessica. "The angel pink."

Jessica's eyes flick up to meet Tyra's, and her face screws up in a 'what the hell?' sort of look. Tyra's face is suddenly hot.

"All right, I'll pick that one up. Oh, honey, I am so lookin forward to you bein home!"

"I am, too, Mom. But I really gotta get back to studyin."

"I know. I'll let you go."

"I'll see you on Thursday."

"I can't wait."

"Me neither. Bye." Tyra's phone snaps shut.

Two pairs of eyes are on hers. The heat in her face spreads to the tips of her ears. "Sorry. Next time I'll leave my phone in my room."

Zach tilts his head at her and gives her a little smile. "You know, you sound different when you talk to your mom."

Tyra narrows her eyes at him. "Did you just call me a hick?"

"No! I just meant—" His face flushes. "It sounds nice. I like it."

Jessica's jaw slides forward. "Yeah, well, if my mom called me twenty million times a day, I think I'd have to shoot myself." She shakes her head. "Can't you at least tell her to leave you alone until finals are over?"

Tyra chews on the inside of her cheek. There are certain things you just can't explain. At least she's never been able to do it.

She flips to her next page of notes. The list of terms stretches on for three pages. In-kind transfer. Comparable worth.

"Hey, if y'all don't mind, could we maybe just quiz each other a little?" Her gaze bounces from Jessica to Zach, and she shoots him a look of challenge. She offers him the notebook. "You got this stuff down already, right?"

#

Tyra watches through the window of Jessica's car as limestone hills give way to flat plains, and as four or five different shades of green fade to dusty brown. The knots in her shoulders tighten like fists with every passing mile. She tells herself it's just the dorm room mattress and the lack of sleep. She almost believes it.

Just as it's getting dark, it starts to look like home. "Almost there," Jessica says, turning to look at her. "We made pretty good time."

Tyra gives her a tight-lipped smile and looks back out the window again. A road crawls away from the edge of the highway. It's the same one she drove down with Landry, the night he—

Suddenly her stomach feels empty, like she hasn't eaten in a week. She glances at her watch. He'd probably be getting home from practice right about now.

She digs in her pocket for her phone and opens it. When she first got the thing, it felt funny not to have his number in there at all, so she keyed it in. She's never used it.

She swallows hard, snapping it shut again. If she got through a whole semester of calculus without him, she sure as hell doesn't need to be calling him the second she pulls into town.

A blue and gold sign greets them with a Welcome to Dillon, home of the Panthers, and then Tyra really is home. She rolls her shoulders to chase away the worst of the tension. "You'll want to make a right on Garfield," she says, pointing.

"Got it," Jessica says, and flicks on her turn signal.

Tyra sits up straight in the seat. Bobby Reyes' little brother is out front getting the mail. There's a big black and white dog roaming the streets, like it's just up and wandered off. Like nobody's bothered to come find it and put it back where it belongs.

"So this is where you grew up, huh?" Jessica says, looking around. Her lips pucker like she's just eaten one too many olives. "It's nice."

The road is scarred with potholes, and there isn't a house within view that couldn't use a good paint job. Tyra laughs. "Anybody ever told you, you can't lie worth a damn?"

A flush creeps across Jessica's pale face. "I mean, it's—"

"No, it's fine." Tyra waves a hand in dismissal. "I was glad to get out. But you know." She rolls her eyes at herself. "It's still home."

Jessica's eyebrows arch. "Is it going to be weird to be back?"

Tyra shrugs. She picks at a hangnail. "Yeah, a little, I guess." She meets Jessica's eyes. "I mean, I was here in November, but that was just a weekend. Who knows what's really been goin on here in the last four months."

Her cell phone rings on her lap. Mom's number again.

"We're almost there," she says into the mouthpiece. "Seriously, I'm tellin you, we're practically on the doorstep."

"Oh, good! How do fajitas sound?"

"Aw, you don't need to make me dinner," she says, but her stomach's rumbling.

"I already am!" Mom chirps. " I figured you'd be hungry after that long drive. Except...wait." There's a long pause on the other end of the line. "I could have sworn I bought a package of tortillas."

Tyra clenches a fist around the phone. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

A crash sounds through the phone, followed by the clanking of pots. "They were right here just this morning. Or maybe I'm thinkin of last week?"

"We can just have the steak and peppers by themselves, then. That's practically the same thing, right?"

"What're you talking about? You can't eat steak and peppers by themselves. You just finished all your tests, and you're damn well gonna get a homemade fajita!"

Tyra's head drops. "Okay, I'll tell you what. You finish up with the steak, and I'll stop and pick up the tortillas on the way home."

"You sure?"

"Honest, we're right there." She motions to Jessica to pull over and points a finger at the SpeedyMart on the corner of Fifth. Jessica slams on the brakes just in time to turn into the driveway. "I'll be like five minutes."

"That'd be great."

"See you in a few. Bye." Tyra snaps her phone shut.

"Okay, I gotta pick up somethin for my mom." She cranes her neck at the new neon sign the owner's replaced the old plastic one with. Apparently the retro thing has finally hit Dillon. She turns back to Jessica. "Actually, why don't you just keep drivin. I'm like a couple streets from home at this point, and all I got's my bag."

Jessica's forehead creases. "I can wait."

Tyra shakes her head. "Nah, go on. You got another four hours if you want to overnight in El Paso. I'll see you in January."

Jessica puts on the parking brake, snakes an arm around Tyra's shoulders, and squeezes. "You know, you can call me if you want. Anytime."

Tyra laughs. "I might just take you up on that," she says, drawing back. She grabs her bag from the back seat and opens the door. "Thanks again for the ride."

"It was practically on the way," Jessica says with a shrug. "See you."

Tyra follows the little cloud behind Jessica's car with her eyes. The road's been paved since Tyra was six, but somehow the dust still manages to be everywhere in this town. When it disintegrates, all that's left is four corners and a road to nowhere. She sighs and hitches her bag up higher on her shoulder.

The door jangles open as she walks into the store. The refrigerated case is at the back, and she slides the door open and paws past the lunch meats. On the lower right-hand shelf there's an empty spot where the tortillas are supposed to be. She clenches her teeth. Of course they don't have any. She'll have to unload her stuff, take the truck, and then drive by the HEB.

"Tyra."

She knows that voice.

The corners of her jaw loosen, and she starts to grin. She turns around, and sure enough. He's wearing a state championship sweatshirt instead of one of those old button-downs, and he's even more in need of a haircut than usual, but he's the same old Tim.

"Hey," she says. There's a surge of affection in her chest, and she throws her arms around him in a spontaneous hug. The last time she saw him was in an Austin Applebee's, the night he told her he was chucking his football scholarship and dropping out of school. He's definitely a hell of a lot less annoying when she only sees him every couple of months.

He pushes her back to arm's length, a smile playing on his lips. "What're you doin here?"

"It's Christmas break. I just got home." She glares at the refrigerated case. "Unless you're askin what I'm doin in this dump of a store, in which case the answer is 'I have no idea'. I thought they might actually have some tortillas, but apparently I was dead wrong."

The light in his eyes goes out. He steps back. "Oh, so the second we run out of somethin, we're a dump?"

We. A jolt of shock shoots through her. "You work here."

Tim's mouth flattens into a line. "Shift starts in five."

Tyra's stomach sinks into her shoes. Eight weeks ago, he was a college student. That's how quickly it can happen.

And now he's glaring at her like his eyes might just burn a hole straight through her.

"I didn't mean..." She stumbles back a step, propping herself up against the shelf with an arm. "I was just mad cause y'all were out of tortillas, that's all."

"Whatever, Tyra." Tim's voice is cold. "Better watch what you're leanin against. You might get your nice new college sweatshirt dirty."

Her arm jerks back. There's dust on the gray fabric of her sleeve, and she wipes at it with the ball of her other hand. When she looks up again, he's already walking away.

#

At the front door, Tyra digs her keys out of her pocket, but then she remembers where she is. She pushes the door open. "Hello?" she calls out, letting her voice carry through the living room and into the kitchen.

Mom comes scurrying out into the hallway. Stray hairs are escaping from the clip at her neck and there's a grease stain on her t-shirt, but she's as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. "Look who's here!" she squeals and pulls Tyra toward her in a hug.

The last few weeks have been so full that Tyra hasn't had much time to miss anybody, but familiar Mom-smells of lotion and hairspray wrap around her, and she returns the hug. She lets her bag slide onto the nearest chair. This is the good part. She closes her eyes.

Then she opens them. Over Mom's shoulder, the room looks like a tornado hit it. There are piles of laundry on the floor, on the couch, and on the end table, and the kitchen table is so thick with papers she can't see through to the surface. Tyra traps a sigh between clenched teeth. It's even worse than it was at Thanksgiving.

"How was the drive?" Mom pulls back to cup a hand around Tyra's face. "You must be tired."

She's tired, but not from the drive. "It was only a couple of hours," she says, drawing back a bit. "Hey, can I borrow the truck for like ten minutes? The SpeedyMart was out of tortillas."

Mom looks over into the kitchen, squinting at the clock on the microwave. "Well, your sister's supposed to be back—"

The door opens, and then Mindy's home. "Look who's here!" Mom's voice turns up to match her smile. She slides an arm around Tyra's back.

Tyra nods at her sister. "Hey."

Mindy's not smiling. "Did you walk all the way from Austin?"

"What?" Tyra shakes her head. "A friend dropped me."

"You were out there with your bag, walkin along the edge of the street." Her voice is level, but her eyes are narrowed, turning the observation into an accusation. "Somebody could've run you down."

A jolt of tension shoots up Tyra's back. "I stopped by the SpeedyMart to pick up some tortillas." Her words are clipped. "She dropped me there."

Mindy tilts her head, her mouth pinched. "Huh."

Tyra folds her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin."

Tyra scowls. "And you know, if they'd bother to put in some sidewalks in this town, there'd be no chance of anybody runnin me down just for darin to actually walk somewhere."

There's a flash of anger on Mindy's face. "Great idea. I'll be sure to let Mayor Rodell know that the next time we're sittin down for one of our nice little talks."

"Hey, hey." Mom's hand is on Tyra's back, stroking. "Tyra just got home, can we maybe save the fightin for tomorrow?"

Tyra's eyes collide with Mindy's, but Mom grabs Tyra's hand. "C'mon, let me show you what's for dinner."

She follows her mother over to the kitchen, the smells of grease and onions catching on her nose. But the stovetop is coated with weeks of grime, and the sink is piled high with dirty dishes. At the bottom of the pile is the roasting pan. It's probably been there since Thanksgiving.

Tyra's mouth pinches at the corners. This isn't how things used to be.

"So?" her mother asks. "Looks good, don't it?"

Tyra looks past the clumps of dried food on the stovetop to the pan of neatly chopped fried steak, onions, and peppers. "It sure does." She leans in. It smells terrific.

Mindy's right behind them. "You made dinner?"

"Nothin but the best for our college girl," Mom says, reaching an arm around Tyra's waist. "Hey, Min, do you think you might be able to drive by the HEB and pick up some tortillas?"

Mindy's eyes slide over to Tyra. "I thought Tyra picked those up on her way home."

"They were out." Tyra turns back toward her mother. "Never mind, Momma, I'll go get em."

"Don't be silly, honey, you just got in." Mom cocks her head at Mindy. "You don't mind, do you?"

Mindy blinks, and then she shakes her head. "Sure, whatever." She reaches into her pocket for her keys. "Back in a few."

Tyra's stomach growls, and she leans in again toward the steak and peppers. "Y'know, that really does look good."

Mom shoots Tyra a grin. "It is." Her eyes dance with mischief. She reaches into the pan and pops a bit of steak into her mouth.

A smile tugs at Tyra's lips, and she grabs a pepper and lets it sit on her tongue. It's a little bit spicy and a little bit salty, and it's definitely as good as anything she and the gang have been eating at Trudy's. "Mm," she says with a nod.

"Hold on." Mom holds up a finger. "You stay right there, I wanna show you somethin." She ducks into the living room.

Almost without thinking, Tyra picks up the sponge on the back of the sink. She wets it down and gives one of the bits of caked-on food a little swipe. It doesn't budge.

"Look. Oh, hon, you don't have to do that."

Tyra sucks in her cheeks. Somebody's got to do it. She puts the sponge down and looks up.

Mom's holding up a purple tank top with a bit of lace at the cleavage. "Isn't it cute? It's for Mindy, for Christmas."

Mindy's got an awful lot of tank tops, but this one's pretty. "It's nice."

"I'm tellin you, though, I can't believe it's this close to Christmas and I ain't done with my shoppin yet." Mom lays a hand on Tyra's arm. "How bout we drive out to Arnett Meade tomorrow and have a look at what they got at the mall?"

Tyra swallows. "Um, actually, Jess and I did all our shoppin together. I just figured, you know, there's a bigger selection in the city and all."

"Oh." Mom's mouth droops. "I guess that'd be true. Okay, well, we could still go out there together, couldn't we?"

"Sure we could," Tyra says with a nod.

"What'd you get Mindy? Quick, before she gets back."

"It's just—here, let me show you." Tyra walks into the living room and zips her bag open. The plastic bag crinkles as she pulls it out, and she reaches inside for the baby-doll t-shirt she bought last Saturday.

She holds it up. It's pink, and across the chest it reads Well-behaved women seldom make history in big, loopy letters.

Mom's forehead creases. "Who's...Laurel Thatcher Ulrich?"

"Um, she's a history professor, actually." Tyra had to google it.

A cloud of uncertainty falls across Mom's face. "You've been takin history?"

Tyra laughs. "Not my history professor. Just some history professor, that's all." Tyra traces the letters with a finger and frowns. Maybe Mindy won't actually wear a printed t-shirt. "I mean, I really got it more for the sayin. I thought it was—" She doesn't know what she thought. She crumples it into the palm of her hand.

"It's cute," Mom says. She's not smiling. But then she reaches into the plastic bag, and her eyes start to shine. "Oh, but this is just gorgeous." She pulls out the scarf Tyra found for Mrs. Taylor. "Where'd you pick this up?"

It's Panther blue, but it's still feminine, and Tyra knew from the minute she saw it who it was going to belong to. "Oh, there's this great little store right on the main street by the campus," she says. "It's where I got a lot of this stuff. They got some real nice things, and it's not all super expensive."

Mom holds it up against the light, stretching it flat. It's see-through thin in the middle, with wide stripes of a thicker fabric at the border. "Don't tell me this is for your sister, too?"

"It's for Mrs. Taylor."

Mom's hands drop. Her mouth opens like she's about to say something, but nothing comes out. "Oh."

Tyra's shoulders stiffen. "I mean, it's for Christmas, but also, y'know, to say thank you. Cause of her nominatin me for the scholarship and all."

Mom makes a noise with her throat. It sounds like disapproval.

Tyra slides her jaw forward. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know, hon." Mom's shoulders jerk into a shrug. "It's just...kind of an extra-nice present for a teacher, don't you think?"

"She's not my teacher, she was my coach and my guidance counselor. And now she's my friend." Tyra grabs the scarf back. "And it was on sale."

"Okay, honey. I'm sure you know what you're doin."

There's a bitter taste on Tyra's tongue. She tucks the scarf back into the bag.

#

On TV Mira Sorvino's wishing she were a lesbian, but nobody's paying attention. All three of them have seen this movie enough times that they could recite it from memory. Mom's stretched out on the floor, and Tyra adds another stripe of angel pink polish to her mom's toes. Mom's foot shakes as she leans over to tip the last few drops of vodka into Tyra's mug of Coke.

"Hey. You quit that." Tyra grabs the bottle away from her and sets it upright. "How do you expect me to do this right if I'm drunk?"

Mom's eyes are wide and innocent. "It's just a little splash! I'm not gettin you drunk, just loosenin you up a bit."

"Yeah, well, I'm plenty loose." Tyra leans back against the front of the couch, and a pile of clean laundry collapses on top of her. Mindy laughs, and Tyra bunches it together and sets it aside. It's the same pile that was sitting there the day she got home. It's probably been there for weeks.

"Well, we know you've been keepin things from us." Mom shakes a finger at Tyra. "And I know my little girl, it only takes one little drink to get you all willin to spill."

Tyra smirks and goes back to work on Mom's toes. "Okay, what am I supposed to spill?"

"Two words." There's a glint in Mom's eyes. "College guys."

Tyra cocks an eyebrow at her. She lets the polish drip down the brush.

Mom sits up, propping herself up with her elbows. "Don't you play dumb with me. I'm askin you if there's anybody special. Or if there's not, is there least somebody cute?"

Zach's goofy little grin. The way he looks at her like nobody else matters. Tyra shakes her head. "Not really."

Mindy stretches out on the floor, her face even with Mom's. "We had a bunch of college guys in the club a couple of months ago. Y'know, from Texas Tech? They were actin like they were all hot shit, but you could tell from the way they were lookin at us that it was the first time they'd seen a girl with, like, anythin less than a bathin suit on." She takes a drink from her mug. "Drunk off their asses, though. They couldn't've gotten it up if they'd've used a damn crane."

Mom's eyes are on Tyra. "Come on, honey. Why are you holdin out on us?"

Tyra streaks the last strip of polish across her mother's toes and puts the cap back on the bottle. "Honest, Mom, there's really nobody." Three days, it's been like this. Assumption after assumption about what Tyra's life is like, and none of them have a thing to do with how things really are.

"You're kiddin me. No guys at all?" Mom's face screws up in a look of horror. She looks at Mindy.

"You know how we thought we sent her to college?" Mindy's voice is light, but when her eyes slide over to Tyra's, they're cold. "Well, it turns out she really went off to become a nun."

Mindy looks at Mom, and then they're both cracking up. They clink their mugs together and each take a drink.

Tyra sits up straight again, her back rigid against the couch. "I don't have a lot of extra time, okay? I got tests to study for."

"Oh, well." Mindy throws a hand in the air. "She's got tests to study for. I guess we should feel lucky she's willin to spend tonight with us, then."

Tyra glares at her. "I didn't say that." Mom's just sitting there, not saying a thing. Tyra grinds her teeth together and starts folding the pile of laundry on the couch.

"Hey, hey. No fightin on girls' night in." Mom sits up and smiles. "You know what we need? Pizza." She grabs the phone from the end table. "Who wants pepperoni?"

"Sure," Mindy says. Tyra sucks in her cheeks and lays a pair of her mother's underwear on top of the pile.

Mom holds the phone up in front of her, staring at it. "That's funny. There's somethin wrong with this phone."

"Let me see." Tyra holds out a hand, and Mom passes it to her. There's no dial tone. Tyra flicks the button up and down. Nothing.

"I swear, I bought that thing just a couple of years ago." Mom shakes her head. "Cheap piece of trash."

A nerve pricks in Tyra's neck. She stands up. "Just a minute."

Three seconds, and she's in the kitchen. She picks up the extension. No dial tone. In her chest there's a hot rush of fear.

She replaces the receiver in its cradle and stops just where the kitchen meets the living room. "The kitchen one's dead, too." She stares at her mother.

"Must be a line down," Mindy says. But Mom's eyes are big, like a little girl's. And then they drop.

Tyra's heart is pounding. "Momma, when was the last time you paid the phone bill?"

Mom's not looking at her.

The fear in Tyra's chest starts to boil, and now it feels more like rage. "Where is it?" She stalks back into the living room. "Where's the bill, Momma?"

No response.

She turns toward the kitchen table. It's one huge mess of papers and envelopes. She picks up one pile and digs underneath it.

"What are you doin?" Mindy springs to her feet. "Just what do you think you're—you don't live here anymore, okay? You don't get to just tear through our stuff like that!" She grabs Tyra's arm.

Tyra shakes her arm loose. The phone bill is underneath the biggest pile of papers, and she grabs it and holds it up high where Mindy can't reach it. Mom's turned away, now, and all Tyra can see is the top of her head. Tyra shakes her head at her. "It's not even open?"

Mindy puts her hands on her hips. "You know what, Tyra? This is none of your goddamn business, so just lay the hell off."

Tyra rips the envelope open. $563.21. Five hundred and—

She sucks in a breath, and now the fear's back again, crawling across her skin. Something inside her snaps. She starts to laugh.

"What the hell is so funny?" Mindy's voice is a shriek.

Tyra stalks into the living room and holds the bill up in front of Mom. "Five hundred and sixty three dollars? You spent five hundred and sixty three dollars on phone calls and then didn't pay the bill?"

Mom looks up at Tyra. Her face is pale, and her eyes are swimming with tears. "I—I wasn't thinkin." She gulps back a breath. "You know, I got a lot goin on right now."

"You know what happens when you don't pay a bill like this? It goes on your credit report. And then they get to hold it against you if you ever wanna buy another house, or a car, or—" Tyra clenches a fist around it, and the paper crumples in her hand. "You can't just forget about these things and hope they go away!"

"I said I wasn't thinkin, okay?" Mom's voice is tired and weighed down with frustration. Her face screws up, and then she darts down the hallway. Her bedroom door slams.

Nobody says a thing. The movie's still running, but behind it Tyra can hear her mother sobbing in the bedroom. There's an ache in Tyra's stomach that feels a little like guilt, but she's still angry. There's only so many times 'not thinking' can be an excuse before you've got to figure out how to start.

The piles on the kitchen table still need sorting. Tyra swallows. She walks over and slides the unopened electric bill on top of the open one. "I guess we should just—"

"Don't."

Mindy's face is flushed with anger. Tyra freezes.

"Don't you say anythin, you hear? Because I have never wanted to hit you so bad in my life, and God help me, if you say one word, I just might do it."

Tyra steps back from the table. Her heart starts to race.

"You know, I knew from the minute you had your friend drop you off at the store instead of comin by the house that something was seriously wrong with you. My God, Tyra, since when are we not good enough to meet your friends?"

Tyra's mouth falls open. "I didn't—Mom asked me to pick up some tortillas!"

"Right. And you'd rather walk half a mile from the store with all your shit than introduce your friend to Mom and me."

Tyra's hand clenches into a fist around the stack of bills in her hand. "Okay, that is so not fair."

Mindy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. Boo-hoo, mean ol Mindy's bein so not fair to Lady Tyra." Her fingers form quotes in the air. "Well, you wanna know what's really so not fair? The way Mom and me gotta find a way to live on what I make at the club and whatever Mom can get tempin now. All because you're off livin the high life in Austin instead of earnin money here at home."

There's a frenetic pounding at the base of Tyra's throat. All her nerves are tense and sharpened to points.

"And you wanna know what else ain't fair? The way you just left Mom here. You know most days all she does is mope round the house all day, whinin about how all she wants is her baby girl back?" Mindy's yelling now, her voice one step away from losing it. "And then when you finally do come back, you're all high and mighty miss know-it-all, and all it does is make things worse!"

Tyra's hand is at her mouth, but she can't feel it. She's holding her breath. She needs to get out of here.

"You make me sick." Mindy rips the stack of bills out of Tyra's hand. "Give me that."

Tyra's eyes are blurred with a sudden rush of tears, but her feet still manage to carry her to the door. She grabs her coat from its hook.

"That's right. You go. Just forget about the folks who you're supposed to care about. That's one thing you were always real good at."

Tyra takes one last look at Mindy. She's never seen that kind of loathing. She pulls the door open. Her coat's still in her hands when she hits the pavement.

#

The wind bites at Tyra's face and slices through to her bones. Dillon doesn't get the bitter cold Zach talks about from up north, but it's still colder than any cold she's used to by now. She keeps walking, one foot in front of the other. She doesn't look up except to cross the street, mostly because she's afraid the familiar roads might just make her start running. And if she starts running, she won't stop until she reaches the highway, thumb extended, praying for somebody to pick her up and take her back to Austin.

She stops in front of Landry's house. She doesn't mean to, but the light's on in the front room, and then her feet just refuse to take her any further. There's a red sedan in the driveway that she doesn't recognize. She wonders if it's his. He'd wanted to buy another car. He was still driving that old blue GMC wagon the first time they were together, but the second time they mostly got around in his dad's SUV or her mom's truck.

Tyra balls her hands into fists and pushes them as far as they'll go into the pockets of her coat. She closes her eyes, but the memory of the first night that asshole attacked her blows through her like a storm. It's so strong that nothing she can do will chase it away. The asshole's fingers digging into her thigh. The way she threw herself at Landry like she was drowning and he was her life raft. That look in his eyes, the one that told her he'd move mountains and cross oceans to make sure nothing like that could never happen again.

Her teeth clench. It feels like she's ripping the skin from her body, but she tears her feet away from the sidewalk and makes herself start walking again.

It's only when she reaches the Taylors' house that she realizes that's where she was headed all along. The streetlight in front of their house forms a little circle of bright against the dark. Tyra follows the sidewalk up to the porch and rings the doorbell.

A light flicks on overhead, just behind the door. Mrs. Taylor's face spreads in a smile as she opens it. "Tyra! Are you home for break? It's so good to see you!"

Tyra's throat is so full she doesn't dare speak. She nods and forces her mouth up at the corners.

"I'm afraid Julie's over at Lois's. But she's supposed to be back around nine, did you want to come back then?"

Inside Tyra's pockets her fists unclench, then clench again. "That's okay. I'm not really—I mean, I just thought..." She draws in a long breath. "I got you a Christmas present."

Mrs. Taylor's eyes light up. "Well, wasn't that thoughtful? Come on in."

The screen door falls closed behind Tyra, and she looks down at her feet. They're scuffed and dirty against the clean linoleum of the entryway. The lump in her throat has grown to boulder-size. "I—I guess I left it at home." And then the tears come.

"Oh, hon." Mrs. Taylor gives Tyra a knowing look, and then she pulls Tyra toward her in a hug. "This semester was hard, wasn't it? I bet it was real hard." She weaves her fingers through Tyra's hair. "I know you're not gonna believe it right now, but it gets easier from here. Honest. If you made it this far, you're gonna make it the rest of—"

"No. Wait." Tyra pushes back to look her in the eyes. "It's not—I know I can do the college thing."

Mrs. Taylor's eyebrows inch up. "Oh!"

Tyra shakes her head. "I mean, you were right. It was hard." Her eyes drift up to the ceiling. "It was so hard. And I didn't make As, and I wish I had, because they didn't let me into the business school, and now I've got to try again next year when it's gonna be even harder. I got so much to catch up on. You were right about everythin." She wipes at her eyes with a knuckle. "Everythin except the quittin part."

"Well, I'm real glad to hear that."

"God, Mrs. T, I love it so much." Her lower lip starts to tremble again, and Mrs. Taylor grabs her hand. "I even love it when it's hard—in fact, I kinda think I might even love it because it's hard. But maybe I really am tryin to be somethin I'm not."

Mrs. Taylor gives her hand a good squeeze. "How bout we sit down and have ourselves a little talk?"

The living room is warm, and Tyra feels the tension in her shoulders loosen a bit. Funny that the one place she's always been able to find a patch of sanity in this town is the football coach's house. She finds her way to the couch as Mrs. Taylor closes the front door.

"Can I get you anythin? A cup of tea? A glass of water?"

Tyra shakes her head. She sits down on the corner of the couch and unzips her coat. The tip of her nose is wet. "Maybe a tissue?"

Mrs. Taylor disappears into the kitchen, and when she comes back she's got a blue box of Kleenex. "How's that for service?" She sits down next to Tyra on the couch.

A laugh escapes from Tyra's mouth. She takes a tissue and wipes her nose. "Thanks." She lets out a breath that's as much of a shudder as it is a sigh.

"So what's this about you tryin to be somethin you're not?"

Tyra gulps. "Okay, you know how you said I was gonna have to pull myself up by my own bootstraps because there wasn't gonna be anybody else there?"

Wrinkles dart across Mrs. Taylor's forehead. "Well, I don't know that I put it quite like that."

Tyra tosses a hand in the air. "You know what I mean, though. And I can do that. I can look after myself. Actually—" She catches a loose piece of skin on her lip with her teeth. "It's kind of nice that way. At college."

"Nice that there's nobody lookin after you?"

Tyra's throat is stinging again. She shakes her head. "That I don't—" She crumples the edge of the tissue into the palm of her hand. "That there's, um, nobody to look after but myself."

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth before it can start to tremble.

Mrs. Taylor's eyes are wide with realization. "Oh, Tyra. Oh, honey." She catches Tyra's hand in hers.

"Everythin's different now, back here. Or maybe it's just me that's different." Tyra gives her head a shake. "And that's crazy, right? I mean, nobody's ever totally different in just a couple of months."

"No, but it sure can feel like that, can't it?" Mrs. Taylor's hand is a reassuring pressure against her back. "I remember comin back from college for my first Christmas break. Everything felt about a hundred times smaller than it was when I left. Is that what it's like?"

Tyra sniffles. "Kinda, yeah. That's part of it."

Mrs. Taylor sits up straight, her hands on her knees. "Okay, I'll tell you what."

The sound of the doorbell slices through the room like a thunderclap. They both jump.

Tyra's eyes flick over to the door, then to the window. Mom's truck is in the driveway. Nausea grips her stomach.

For a moment, Mrs. Taylor's face tightens with frustration. The look is gone as quickly as it appeared, but her smile is stiff and strained. "I think I should probably get that."

Tyra's eyes drop. She pulls a strip off each end of the tissue and lays them on her lap. There's a sucking sound as the door opens, followed by a blast of cold.

"Hello, Tami," Mom says, in a voice that's as icy as the air. "I've come to pick up my daughter."

"Why, hello, there, Angela. Would you like to come in?"

"I don't think that's gonna be necessary, but thank you." Her voice is excessively cheery, but it's edged with pain.

The screen door squeals as it swings open, and her mother's heels click against the floor. Tyra wills herself not to look up.

"Come on, honey."

Tyra crumples her tissue shreds into a ball and tucks them into the pocket of her jeans. Her head down, she stands and walks over to the doorway.

"You know, she does have a mother." Mom's voice is quivering.

The nausea's back, and this time Tyra feels like she might actually throw up. Her eyes crawl up to meet her mother's. Mom's got a thin pink jacket on over her fuzzy sweater, and there are dark rings of mascara under her eyes. She looks about a hundred years old.

This is it. Too many people are getting hurt.

Tyra zips up her coat. The door slams behind them, and then their footsteps echo first against the cement stairs, then against the driveway. Her fingers tremble on the handle of the truck. She lets the door fall open and closes it behind her.

For a long moment, they just sit. The heater's still broken from last winter, and Tyra shivers beneath her coat, the sleeves stretched long over her fingers. She pulls the seatbelt on and stares at her lap.

"I'm sorry," she says, finally. She's not sure which part she's talking about, but it sounds like a good start, anyway.

"No, you were right." Her mother's voice is quiet. "I messed up."

"No, it's—" Tyra shakes her head. "It's just a phone bill. You pay it, they'll reconnect you. You're gonna want to ask em if you can do installments, but—" Her hands wrap around the edge of the seat. A breath catches in her throat. "But I shouldn't have—"

Shouldn't have left you.

She presses her hands onto the seat, bracing herself against it. "Momma, do you want me to quit school and come home?"

Mom's eyes widen. Her face twists in horror. "What? No!"

A knot comes undone beneath Tyra's breastbone. And then the tears are back, racing down her cheeks like they might never stop.

"Do you want to quit school and come home?" Mom's forehead creases.

Tyra's laughter bubbles up through her tears. "No."

"Well, good!"

Another laugh sticks in Tyra's throat. She chokes on a sob.

Mom blinks. "Wait. Are you feelin like you have to come home...because of me?"

Tyra gulps back a breath. "Mindy says you've been mopin around. And that you want everything back the way it was."

Mom's mouth tightens with determination. "Well...screw what Mindy says."

A smile pulls at the edges of Tyra's mouth. She lets out a giggle.

"I'm sorry, I love that girl to pieces, but she don't know what I'm thinkin. And this time she's just plain wrong." Mom grabs Tyra's hand and squeezes so hard it almost hurts. "Do you know how proud I am of you? I tell everybody I talk to what my baby girl is doin. The girls at the office where I'm workin now, they're sick to death of hearin about you, but I just keep tellin em and tellin em anyway."

There's a burst of warmth in Tyra's chest. Tears well in her eyes again, and she throws her arms around her mother, clutching at the pink jacket. "But what about the mortgage?" Tyra says against her mother's shoulder. "Mindy says—she says y'all are barely scrapin by without that third paycheck."

Mom draws back. Her face is serious. "Well, it's harder than it was. I'm not gonna lie to you." Her mouth turns up in a little smile. "Maybe I've just gotta stop makin so many long-distance phone calls."

They both laugh, and the last bit of tension in Tyra's shoulders releases. She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You're gonna go back to school, right? Please tell me you're not really fixin to quit because of me, cause I couldn't bear it."

Tyra rolls her eyes at herself. "Yeah, I'm goin back."

"But not til after Christmas." Mom's hand is on Tyra's knee. "We got you for another two whole weeks."

Tyra nods and lets herself smile. That sounds a whole lot less like forever than it did about an hour ago. Or even this morning.

In the front window, Mrs. Taylor peeks out from behind the curtain. There's a shadow across her face, obscuring it, but her arms are folded and clutched to her chest. Tyra leans forward, into the light, letting Mrs. Taylor see her smile.

The figure nods, and then she's gone. Tyra thinks of the little wrapped box she left on her dresser at home, the one with a blue scarf in it. She's just going to have to come back.

Tyra looks back over at her mother. There are tiny lines tugging at her eyes, but there's a hope in them that makes Tyra want to pull her close again and never let go. She'll have to find a way to do that from Austin.

"So," Mom says. "Home?"

Tyra's heart's still full, but it's long since stopped pounding. "Home," she repeats, and gives her mother a good solid nod. She knows she can do college, but maybe she can do this part, too.

The glow from the Taylors' house lights the road as they pull out of the driveway. And the heater may be broken, but their breath fogs the window, making their own warmth.