The Last Harvest Read online

  I park in the back of the lot—last one in, first one out. That probably says a lot about my personality. Tyler Neely, on the other hand, parks front row, center.

  He’s the biggest dick at school, or at least he thinks he has the biggest dick. He’s got this beautiful ’66 Mustang, and he had to ruin it by painting bright-yellow racing stripes down the middle.

  As soon as I cut the engine, Tyler looks back at me as if on cue. Normally, I’d turn away, pretend not to notice, but I’m sick of his shit. I hold his stare. If he had anything to do with that calf, I want him to know he didn’t get to me.

  Ben says something to him, probably some stupid joke, and when Tyler finally looks away, I let out a huge burst of pent-up air.

  It’s the strangest crew.

  Ben Gillman’s a good guy, decent tight end, but dumber than a bucket of gravel.

  Tammy Perry’s one of those girls you’d be hard-pressed to notice. Never in trouble, hardly makes a peep. Beige clothes … beige hair … beige freckles. The girl practically screams oatmeal.

  Less oatmeal but still no prize is Jimmy Doogan. I swear he’s scared of his own shadow. One time a bird flew into the window of our fifth-grade math class and he pissed his pants, like a river of pee.

  And then there’s Ali Miller.

  It’s complicated.

  I watch her cross the parking lot to Tyler’s car—legs for days. She has this way about her, I mean, she’s so far above all these hicks, and she doesn’t even know it.

  I’ve known her since Sunday school, hell, probably since I was born. I don’t remember anything without her. Catching crawdads in Harmon Lake, turtle races, riding our bikes all over the county. One time we found ten bucks on the side of Route 17 and bought a whole mess of penny candy from Merritt’s gas station. Just a bunch of stale baby-teeth bait, but when we tossed it onto people’s front steps, we felt like Santa in the middle of summer. We talked about saving the world, or at least saving ourselves.

  I try not to go there, but I can’t help thinking about the last time Ali came to see me. It was right after the funeral. She sat on the edge of my bed and cried.

  “Promise you won’t forget me,” she whispered.

  To this day, I have no idea what she was talking about, or why she was crying. Maybe she was just trying to say goodbye and I was too stupid to notice. All I wanted to do was wipe the tears off her cheeks and maybe hold her and tell her it was going to be okay, but the smell of her skin, the softness of her long dark-brown hair, the feel of her body pressing against me was more than I could bear. I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were so warm and wet. She took in a tiny gasp of air, and when I went in for another kiss, she started crying even harder and ran out of the house. I wanted to tell her I was caught up in the grief, plead temporary insanity, but the truth was I really just loved her. I think I’ve always loved her. She hasn’t spoken to me since.

  Tyler snatches the red hoodie tied around Ali’s waist and smacks her ass with it. She shoots him a lopsided grin as she grabs it back from him and pulls it on over her faded-tan shoulders. I wonder if he even notices her shoulders—that constellation of freckles on the right one. That’s the arm she was always hanging out of her mom’s Cadillac when they delivered Avon around town.

  The only thing they have in common is they’re the eldest sons and daughters of the founders of our glorious Preservation Society—the six families who rode in together and settled this county in the 1889 land rush. The Neelys, the Gillmans, the Perrys, the Millers, the Doogans, and yours truly, the Tates. I guess it’s about as close to royalty as this town will ever get.

  It wouldn’t have been so weird if they’d all been friends before, but it seemed like as soon as my dad died, as soon as they stepped up to take their seats on the council, they suddenly became inseparable.

  I’d never admit this to anyone, but sometimes I envy them—their freedom, their wide-open futures. It feels like my fate was sealed the moment my dad walked toward the cattle ranch holding that crucifix.

  “Mooder in Midland.” That’s what the newspeople called it.

  Real catchy.

  At first, I kept waiting for the council to reach out to me, offer condolences or something … anything. But no one said a word to me. Not a single word. And Tyler was more than happy to step into my shoes in every way possible. I thought it was only a matter of time before Ali figured out what a tool he was, but I guess I was wrong.

  She used to make fun of the Preservation Society just as much as I did. Sometimes when I look at her like this, surrounded by sycophants and assholes, it feels like I never knew her at all. Like I never knew any of them. Like I don’t even exist.

  As I open my door, my cousin Dale jumps in front of my truck. “If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it. If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it,” he sings obnoxiously as he swivels his hips in front of me.

  Three freshman girls walk by, giggling their heads off.

  I slide out of my truck. “You shouldn’t do that. Ever.”

  “Come on, loosen up, cuz. They love it, doncha ladies?” He shakes his hips again, and they all look back and laugh.

  “I hate to break it to you, but it’s never gonna happen.”

  “They don’t call ’em freshies for nothing. For all they know I could be the coolest guy at school.”

  “They call them freshies because they’re fourteen-year-old girls, not because they’re stupid. And Jess is going to be one of them next year, so lay off.”

  “Don’t be such an old man.” He punches me in the shoulder. “Hang out with me tonight.”

  “Can’t, last harvest,” I say as I hoist my backpack up on my shoulder. “Besides, all you’re going to do is park up at the Quick Trip and holler at girls all night from the back of your pickup.”

  “I’ve got it all figured out. You need to catch ’em when they’re feeling all vulnerable—on a late-night ice cream run in sweats and no makeup. You tell them they look beautiful and they’re yours.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I say as we make our way across the lot.

  “Or I’m a genius. Fine line, my friend. It was a lot easier to get girls to talk to me when you were QB. All I had to do was drop your name, tell ’em we’re cousins.”

  “Second cousins.”

  “Whatever.”

  Some pep girls run by, and Dale elbows me. “Big game tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah?” I act like I don’t know it’s the biggest game of the season. Homecoming.

  I should’ve never stepped on that field last year. My dad wasn’t even in the ground yet. I’d like to say I did it for him, or coach, or the team, but the truth was I did it for me. And look where that got me.

  “He’s a shit quarterback,” Dale mutters as we edge around Tyler’s car. “Everybody knows the only reason he’s starting is ’cause his old man paid for the new stadium.”

  “If you love football so much, maybe you should play.”

  “Please. They wouldn’t even know what to do with this much power.” Dale clenches his fist, trying to make a bicep appear, but it’s no use. Dale was born with a tiny hole in his heart. Can’t play sports. Doc’s orders.

  “Hey, has anyone started raising cattle around here?” I ask as casually as possible.

  “Why? Are those jerks still mooing at you?” Dale bristles.

  “What? No. I don’t know … I was just curious. Wait, who was mooing at me?”

  “No cattle, dude.” He tries to play it off, but he looks concerned. “If something’s going on, you’d tell me, right?”

  “Sure. ’Course, man.” I manage my best “I’m not going crazy” smile.

  Dale wanders off after some girl in a low-cut top. I swear, he’s got the attention span of a cicada in heat.

  As I wait for him at the top of the steps, I look out over the lot, my gaze immediately drawn back to Ali. She’s gathering her hair over her shoulder when I notice a mark on the nape of her neck.

  It isn’
t anything pretty like angel wings or a butterfly. It looks like the same thing Tyler has on his inner wrist. An upside-down U with two dots above and below. The harder I look at it, the more disgusted I get.

  It doesn’t make any sense. Ali’s too squeamish for that. I had to hold her hand when they pricked her finger in seventh grade for blood testing in science class. And this isn’t any tattoo. It looks hard-core, like some kind of prison tattoo. Or a brand.

  Tyler moves into my line of sight, staring right at me as he pulls Ali’s hair away from her neck, like he wants to give me a better view.

  A blistering rage pulses through my entire body.

  In a panic, I rush into school. My chest feels tight, my eyes blurry as I barrel through a group of students. I don’t know where I’m going; all I know is I need to get away. I slam into the emergency exit door at the end of the hall, triggering the alarm. I scream as loud as I can over the piercing wail.

  Why would she let him do that to her?

  Mark her like fucking cattle.

  4

  I MAKE it through most of my classes, but the idea of facing any of them in the cafeteria makes my skin crawl, so I sneak out to the booth above the football field and hide out until last period. I still have the key from when I used to come out here at night and go through plays.

  Settling myself on the concrete floor beneath the control panel, I pull out my lunch. Noodle always puts something on the outside of the brown paper bag. Today, it’s a smiley face sticker. She makes me the same lunch every day. I don’t even like grape jelly anymore, but I don’t have the heart to tell her.

  I try to concentrate on finishing up my algebra, but I find myself drawing the symbol I saw on Ali’s neck over and over again on the front of my folder.

  Yeah, I want to beat the shit out of Tyler, but I feel more bummed than anything else. I mean, it’s her body, Ali can do whatever she wants with it, but something about that mark makes me feel like it’s too late for me, like maybe I never even had a shot.

  The booth has a musky damp smell, same smell as the locker room. I try not to think about it, but I miss it. It’s not about the trophies, or even being part of a team. I miss it like you’d miss a limb. It’s like I can feel the memory in my muscles, my fingers naturally curving around the ball. But when I think of my last game, them hauling off that poor kid in a back brace, I clench my hand in a tight fist. They said I just snapped, that it could happen to anyone. But that’s what they said about my dad, too. All I know is that I didn’t need to tackle him. I wanted to do it. I wanted to hurt someone, and that scares me more than anything. What I’m capable of … what’s in my blood.

  I always thought of Coach Pearson like a second father, but when I quit the team, he left Midland. Heard he took a job in Arkansas, and that’s that.

  Neely brought in some fancy coach from Texas. The team moved on. The town moved on. The council moved on. Ali moved on.

  I’m the only one who kept hanging on to the past.

  It’s only when I dared to accuse the Preservation Society of pushing my dad over the edge that everyone got real “concerned.” Dr. Perry, Tammy’s dad, stepped in, said all I needed was sleep. He gave me a bottomless supply of sleeping pills and I’ve been uncomfortably numb since. They even started sending me to counseling at school. Every day, last period.

  The bell rings and I head back in. Skipping math and health class is one thing, but if I miss counseling, there’ll be hell to pay.

  * * *

  “MISS GRANGER?” I knock on the open door.

  She looks up briefly from her computer and smiles. “Emma … please.”

  “Sure.” I sit down in my usual chair. She thinks it’s weird I call her Miss Granger because she’s just a handful of years older than me, but that’s how I was raised.

  She unfolds the magnetic chessboard on her desk and pushes it toward me. “Your move,” she says as she scoops some loose tea from a metal tin into a teapot. I don’t know anybody else who makes tea like that. It smells good, like spicy oranges and lemons and something else I can’t quite figure out, maybe some kind of herb.

  One look at her and you can tell she’s not from around here—tailored clothes, clear nail polish, long hair pulled back into a fancy bun thing. Pretty in that Playboy librarian kind of way, but I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.

  Edging forward in my seat, I move my bishop. I act like it’s a big drag coming here, but I’ve grown accustomed to it … to her. It’s calming in a weird way. And she never asks me about football. Sometimes we don’t talk at all, which is nice. Sometimes we just sit and stare out the window. There’s always music on—it’s classical, but it’s good. She doesn’t like the quiet, either.

  “Here.” She leans over her desk to hand me a cup of tea.

  The only jewelry she wears is a small clear cross around her neck with a little mustard seed floating around inside. She doesn’t go to church at Midland Baptist like everyone else. She’s Catholic, which is pretty exotic around here. Nearest Catholic church is four towns over in Murpheyville. Folks are nice to her, but they keep her at arm’s length. Hell, Garry Henderson’s family moved here when he was two and he’s still considered an outsider.

  Miss Granger’s been real helpful with Noodle’s application to All Saints—the private school connected with the church over there. Sure, there’s nuns and that’s weird, but I can’t let what happened to Jess happen to Noodle. This town has a way of ruining people.

  “Any news about Noodle?” I ask as I take a sip of the tea. I don’t really like it, but I’m trying.

  She sits back, studying the board. “Not yet.”

  “I’ve been checking the mail twice a day. If she doesn’t get in, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “I wouldn’t worry.” Miss Granger smiles. “She’s gifted.”

  “It’s going to be tight, money-wise, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.”

  Miss Granger moves her queen. “How’s the harvest coming along?”

  Maybe it’s the classical music, or the smell of the tea, or maybe it’s just her, but I blurt, “I ran over an animal with the combine this morning.”

  She looks up at me from the board. Her gray eyes are soft, but curious. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Pissed.” I force a chuckle. “It got caught up in the cutting blade. It’s going to take me an hour to get that thing running again.”

  Instead of turning up her nose, she seems interested. “What kind of animal?”

  I think about lying, just telling her it was a fox. But there’s something about her that makes me want to open up like one of her Chinese puzzle boxes. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t seem to make myself do it.

  She leans forward. “Clay, what is it?”

  “Look.” I let out a heavy sigh. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone … or freak out.”

  “I told you, you can trust me.”

  I run my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “A calf.”

  “A calf?” She nearly chokes on the word. She gets up and closes the door then sits in the chair next to me. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure I know who did it. Tonight’s the one-year anniversary and he’s been staring at me nonstop.”

  “Are we talking about Tyler Neely again?” Her razor-sharp brows knit together. “You think he placed a dead calf in your field? We’ve talked about this, Clay. How are you doing on the medication? Those sleeping pills can have some serious side—”

  “It wasn’t dead … at least not for long.” I shake my head. “The blood … it was fresh. I saw someone moving low through the wheat to the east and then I hit it. The cut on its throat looked too clean for the combine. It had golden fur.” Just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Have you ever seen a calf with golden fur?” I lean my elbows on the desk, accidentally knocking over my cup.

  She springs up to grab a couple of
tissues. As she’s dabbing the tea from my folder, her movement slows and her eyes narrow on the drawing of the upside-down U with two dots above and below.

  “Where did you see this?”

  “It’s nothing. Just something I’ve seen around,” I say as I take the folders from her and cram them into my backpack.

  “Around where?” she asks, scratching the side of her head with her pencil.

  “Tyler Neely.” I look up to gauge her response, but she’s hard to read. “He has it on his wrist. And then I saw it on the back of Ali Miller’s neck this morning.” Just saying it out loud ticks me off all over again.

  I notice Miss Granger’s slender fingers gripping the pencil, her knuckles straining white.

  “Why?” I ask. “Does it mean something?”

  She reaches her hand to her neck, twisting the cross between her fingers.

  The bell rings, startling us both.

  She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something more, but then changes her mind. “You can go.”

  I gather up my bag.

  “And, Clay?” She gives a tight smile. “You can call me anytime.”

  I nod and head for the exit, making a beeline for my truck.

  As I sink into the driver’s seat, I see Ali and the rest of the pack gathering around Tyler’s dickmobile.

  Tyler’s on his phone, trying to look like some kind of hotshot. He grabs Ali by a belt loop, pulling her toward him. As his hand moves lower, dangerously close to her ass, a searing heat creeps up the sides of my neck. I want to rip his arm off his body.

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out what she sees in him, but it’s like she’s under some kind of spell.

  He whispers something in her ear. Ali turns to look over her shoulder. I swear, she’s staring right at me. But that’s crazy. She hasn’t so much as glanced at me since the night I kissed her and she went running out of my house. I look behind me, but there’s no one there. Ali Miller is smiling at me … all seductive like.

  In a panic, I try to put my key in the ignition, but my hands are shaking so bad I can’t seem to find the keyhole. When I look up again, Ali’s standing right next to my truck. My heart’s pounding in my ears, and my throat’s bone dry. Hesitantly, I roll down my window.