Unknown (Unknown Series Book 1) Read Online Free
I asked.
Tater snorted. “He can’t. He’s got school and football and CAP.” The room quieted. The tick tock of the minute hand on our clock echoed until Tater’s eyes got big. “He can’t, right Mom?”
“I won’t let him quit school,” Mom said quietly. “But I can’t stop him from quitting sports or CAP.”
Tater stood up, his face reddening. “She can’t do that to him!”
“It’s his choice,” Mom said.
“Yeah, but she’s manipulating him! She doesn’t even care about him! The only time she ever calls is when she needs him to come do something for her.”
Mom’s eyes began to water. “I know, Jacobcito. But I can’t stop him.”
We all knew Rylen. His loyalty and need to protect what was his was unparalleled. It didn’t matter if ‘what was his’ deserved him or not. He was honor bound to those he cared about.
“This is bullshit!” Tater stormed to his room and slammed the door, shaking the house. Mom shut her eyes and a fat tear rolled out from each side. She wiped them away. My own throat constricted.
“Sí, es caca de la vaca,” Abuela said. I nearly choked on a cough and Mom stared at Abuela before looking at me, caught between mirth and sadness.
“I make fried plantain,” Abuela said, standing. “For Rylen. When he come back.”
Somehow, I didn’t think Ry’s favorite food was going to fix this.
Ry didn’t do football that fall or baseball in the spring. He cut his school load down to the bare minimum core classes and signed up for work study to get out early. Eventually, CAP had to be let go too. Rylen went from being a happy athlete with good grades to being stressed and barely scraping by with Ds. Each day he would come over at 5:30 on the dot for dinner, scarf it down to rush home, and be back at 8:30 when it got too dark to work. He took over paying his family’s bills, communicating with produce buyers and workmen. It was like watching a grown man caught in a teen’s lanky body. It seemed that overnight his voice abruptly lowered into somewhat of a rumble, like his dad’s. Hearing him talk on the phone with them, spouting off numbers and being a hardass negotiator, blew my mind.
Tater stayed quiet, watching with ire in his eyes as his best friend came and went, conducting business, Roscoe dutifully on his heel. Mom bought a dog bed for our covered porch. Tater stopped asking Ry to hang out, or if he was coming to watch the games. The answer was always the same. They didn’t joke around or laugh anymore. The tension was awful, and even Remy stopped trying to goad Tater into arguments when she visited.
The boys turned sixteen that spring, and Rylen started missing dinners. We’d wait until six and then put his plate in the fridge and reluctantly eat without him. I hated those nights. Nobody talked. It was like we’d lost him, or like he’d lost an irreplaceable part of his youth.
One of those warm evenings after dinner, I slid my feet into a pair of flip-flops and told everyone, “I’ll be back. Just taking a walk.”
The sun had dipped behind the mountains, turning the sky into a peach. I knew where my feet would take me, and I didn’t bother to stop them. All these years and I’d never gone on Fite property. At first it had been out of fear, and then out of respect for Rylen’s privacy. But lately I’d been missing him too much. I needed to see him and know he was okay. A perfectly straight row of sprouting potato vines led the way. How many of them had been planted by Rylen’s own strong hands?
As I got closer to the house, I heard the clucking chatter of chickens, and saw lots of hens and one rooster, all free roaming, pecking at the dirt. Details of the house’s dilapidation became apparent now; paint flecking off, missing siding and roof tiles, drooping drain pipes, tilted half-porch with rotted stairs. Stone slabs had been stacked to use as steps instead. Three old cars sat to the side with long weeds growing up around them. Further down
Tater snorted. “He can’t. He’s got school and football and CAP.” The room quieted. The tick tock of the minute hand on our clock echoed until Tater’s eyes got big. “He can’t, right Mom?”
“I won’t let him quit school,” Mom said quietly. “But I can’t stop him from quitting sports or CAP.”
Tater stood up, his face reddening. “She can’t do that to him!”
“It’s his choice,” Mom said.
“Yeah, but she’s manipulating him! She doesn’t even care about him! The only time she ever calls is when she needs him to come do something for her.”
Mom’s eyes began to water. “I know, Jacobcito. But I can’t stop him.”
We all knew Rylen. His loyalty and need to protect what was his was unparalleled. It didn’t matter if ‘what was his’ deserved him or not. He was honor bound to those he cared about.
“This is bullshit!” Tater stormed to his room and slammed the door, shaking the house. Mom shut her eyes and a fat tear rolled out from each side. She wiped them away. My own throat constricted.
“Sí, es caca de la vaca,” Abuela said. I nearly choked on a cough and Mom stared at Abuela before looking at me, caught between mirth and sadness.
“I make fried plantain,” Abuela said, standing. “For Rylen. When he come back.”
Somehow, I didn’t think Ry’s favorite food was going to fix this.
Ry didn’t do football that fall or baseball in the spring. He cut his school load down to the bare minimum core classes and signed up for work study to get out early. Eventually, CAP had to be let go too. Rylen went from being a happy athlete with good grades to being stressed and barely scraping by with Ds. Each day he would come over at 5:30 on the dot for dinner, scarf it down to rush home, and be back at 8:30 when it got too dark to work. He took over paying his family’s bills, communicating with produce buyers and workmen. It was like watching a grown man caught in a teen’s lanky body. It seemed that overnight his voice abruptly lowered into somewhat of a rumble, like his dad’s. Hearing him talk on the phone with them, spouting off numbers and being a hardass negotiator, blew my mind.
Tater stayed quiet, watching with ire in his eyes as his best friend came and went, conducting business, Roscoe dutifully on his heel. Mom bought a dog bed for our covered porch. Tater stopped asking Ry to hang out, or if he was coming to watch the games. The answer was always the same. They didn’t joke around or laugh anymore. The tension was awful, and even Remy stopped trying to goad Tater into arguments when she visited.
The boys turned sixteen that spring, and Rylen started missing dinners. We’d wait until six and then put his plate in the fridge and reluctantly eat without him. I hated those nights. Nobody talked. It was like we’d lost him, or like he’d lost an irreplaceable part of his youth.
One of those warm evenings after dinner, I slid my feet into a pair of flip-flops and told everyone, “I’ll be back. Just taking a walk.”
The sun had dipped behind the mountains, turning the sky into a peach. I knew where my feet would take me, and I didn’t bother to stop them. All these years and I’d never gone on Fite property. At first it had been out of fear, and then out of respect for Rylen’s privacy. But lately I’d been missing him too much. I needed to see him and know he was okay. A perfectly straight row of sprouting potato vines led the way. How many of them had been planted by Rylen’s own strong hands?
As I got closer to the house, I heard the clucking chatter of chickens, and saw lots of hens and one rooster, all free roaming, pecking at the dirt. Details of the house’s dilapidation became apparent now; paint flecking off, missing siding and roof tiles, drooping drain pipes, tilted half-porch with rotted stairs. Stone slabs had been stacked to use as steps instead. Three old cars sat to the side with long weeds growing up around them. Further down
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