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gave you first aid when you didn’t even know who I was.”
    “I thought it was nice of you.”
    “Yeah?” He grins widely. “I can’t wait to tell my brother that I didn’t traumatize you. He said that I did.”
    “Do you really not get along with Matt?”
    Jere pauses. “He’s my best friend. I love him. He’s giving me a chance… you know, with this job and all.”
    I wait for him to elaborate, but he goes silent again. “But do you guys seriously fight a lot or something?”
    “We’re brothers—we fight all the time. But I’ve heard that if you fight about all the little stuff, then you’re less likely to blow up big time.”
    “Doesn’t that more apply to couples?”
    He shrugs. “I think you can apply it to all friendships.”
    I gnaw on my pinky, pulling the skin away from the nail. I told Kyle so many times that I didn’t want to settle down right after high school, that I had a lot of things I wanted to do before marrying him. But we never had a big fight until I refused his proposal. If we had had more arguments, would things have turned out differently? Would we have understood how to move past our problems without Kyle having resorted to a full-on breakup?
    The five-minute drive goes by in a flash. Jere pulls up alongside my ancient Audi and puts his Jeep in park. He hops out, jogs around to the passenger side, and opens my door. Hello, über gentleman.
    “I hope you have a nice rest of your weekend,” he says, helping me down.
    “You too.”
    He waits until I’m safely in my car and backing out of my parking spot before waving and climbing in his Jeep. I return the wave, flick on the radio, and crank down the window for some fresh air.
    •••
    It’s brunch time at the Roadhouse.
    Sundays before and after church are always busy. Besides Saturday nights, this is when I make my best tips. And I need every cent I can get before college. Financial aid from the government will cover my tuition and my dorm room, but I have to cover my meal plan and incidentals. As it stands right now, I might be able to afford one book.
    I refill the coffees of this little old couple that comes here every week. They must be in their eighties, but they always sit on the same side of the booth to work the crossword together. He pats his wife’s spotted brown hand and smiles down at her. I used to wonder if that would be me and Kyle one day.
    I spend a few minutes listening to a trucker tell me how a concrete truck overturned on I-40 near Knoxville, causing a three-hour traffic jam. No one was hurt, thank goodness.
    At around eleven, the hostess seats Kelsey Painter, Vanessa Green, and Savannah Barrow in my section.
    Great .
    Kelsey grew up in Oakdale with me—her trailer sat two doors down from mine, and we had a lot in common. We both had single moms, only mine worked nights at the Quick Pick while hers worked days down at the Co-op. Her mom watched Nick and me while we slept, and my mother made sure Kelsey got to school, picked her up, and took care of her afterward. We shared a bed for years—it was like a never-ending slumber party. In all ways except blood, we were sisters.
    Until eighth grade, that is, when Kelsey’s mom married a man who owns a landscaping business. They moved into a four-bedroom house on the other side of Franklin, and suddenly Kelsey had new jeans and an iPod while I still had the same flip-flops from Walmart and the radio. Every time I hung out at her house, all I could think about was how clean her kitchen was, how I could see my reflection in the stainless steel appliances. I wondered if the trailer park had a smell I didn’t notice, because I sure as hell could smell the lemon Pledge and dryer sheets in her new home.
    Going there made me so uncomfortable, so unsure of myself, I stopped accepting her invitations to spend the night. Then she joined the cheerleading squad and became friends with the new girl, Vanessa. By the time high school rolled around, we didn’t have much