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cutting board on the counter.
    Grandma flashed a glance at me as she dropped batter-covered coins of okra into a cast iron skillet sizzling with butter.
    “None of that, now, Ryann.” Her tone was gently chiding. “Your momma’s got enough bitter for the both of you. You don’t know the whole story, and you need to remember your parents’ problems are theirs , not yours.” She looked back over her shoulder at my expression and turned back to the skillet, shaking her head. She’d always been able to read my face as if my thoughts were scrawled there in permanent black marker. “No, don’t go getting all lemon-faced on me. You know I love her more than my own soul, but she’s got so much poison inside right now about men—you don’t want to let that leak into your life. Love can be good, honey.”
    After what my dad had pulled, I had my doubts, but what was I going to do—argue with my sweet grandma, who’d lost her husband basically right after the honeymoon ended? I wandered over to inhale the aroma of frying food and gave her a quick side-by-side hug. “Oh my God, that smells good. I swear—absolutely anything tastes good fried.”
    “You know what they say about Southern cooking—butter’s the main course—everything else is just a side dish. Why don’t you make us some of your sweet tea to go with supper, and then we can set the table. Maybe there’ll be a new job to celebrate.” She made a rah-rah gesture.
    “Oh—I’m sorry. I can’t tonight. I have to get in the shower. Emmy’s coming by to pick me up in a little bit.” Emmy Rooney had been my best friend since preschool. Our grandmas had been friends forever, too.
    “That’s good. Where you girls headed tonight?”
    “The usual—ballpark, Sonic.”
    Living in a town of thirty-six hundred people had some advantages. Entertainment variety was not one of them. At least Emmy had a car. Under our new financial circumstances, if I wanted anything above room and board, especially a car, I was buying. That meant finding a job for the summer was my new priority.
    An hour later, I heard the crunch and pop of tires winding down the tree-lined gravel driveway. Checking the window first, I went out to the porch. Her VW Bug came to a stop, and out popped Emmy, very little changed since we’d met. Same dark tan, straight, sandy-brown hair, and still wearing glasses, though she’d traded the Hello Kitty frames for some thin silver ones by middle school.
    “So you ready for another exciting episode of ‘Hicktown Nightlife?’” she said.
    “Should I change into my Daisy Dukes and stilettos or am I okay like this?” I gestured to my usual warm-weather uniform of t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. We both laughed and got in the car.
    Emmy drove us into town and all the way down Main Street, passing darkened storefronts, some small restaurants, the huge First Baptist Church, the Food Star, and the city park with its quaint white gazebo. We cruised slowly through the Sonic Drive-in to see who was there, and then made the loop through town again. Other cars full of teenagers leisurely traveled the same route, windows down, stereos up high. We waved at each one.
    “So, I met this guy today…” I said.
    Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her interest instantly piqued. “Okay—every detail. Don’t hold back. Where, when, and for God’s sake, how did you meet someone new around here?”
    “Apparently he lives out near my grandma. He’s homeschooled.”
    “Hot?” she asked, without much hope.
    “Very. In fact, weirdly hot.”
    “Okay, are we talking Jake-hot or Nox -hot?” Emmy put exaggerated lustful emphasis on the last part.
    “Hard to say. He’s… different.” I gave Emmy an abbreviated version of the how-I-met-him story as we pulled into the cool side of the Sonic and parked. I did not mention the part about remembering him from my childhood incident . I still didn’t know what it all meant, so I could hardly explain it to