Leaving Paradise Read Online Free PDF

who’s listening. The truth? I prayed every day that I’d survive the juvenile system, come back to Paradise, and make things right again. Mom’s declaration that I’ve become religious is hollow, because we’ve never discussed what I did while I was in jail. She’s never asked, and I’ve never told her.
    Besides, she doesn’t want to know the truth. If pretending will heal this family, I’m okay with it. I think it’s bullshit, but I’m okay with it.
    Mrs. Gutterman is whisked away by someone else, leaving my mom and me standing together.
    She leans closer to me. “Button that shirt up more,” she whispers.
    I look down at my shirt. I only have two buttons unbuttoned. I’m not willing to argue with my mom today. It’s not worth it. There’s so many things I need to fix, fighting about a damn button would be laughable.
    As I’m buttoning up my shirt, I glance at the Goth Girl leaning against the side of the house. I pour a glass of root beer and walk over to my sister. I’ve tried holding a smile for as long as I can, but my face is starting to hurt from the effort. “Here,” I say, handing the drink to her, “your favorite.”
    She shakes her jet-black hair. “Not anymore.”
    So now I’m standing here with the drink nobody wants in my hand. I take a sip. Yuck. “Tastes like licorice. I don’t know why you ever liked the stuff in the first place.”
    “Now I drink water. Plain, old water.”
    This, coming from the girl who used to spike her lemonade with root beer and refused to eat chicken without smothering it with her own concoction of barbeque sauce, ketchup, mustard, and parmesan cheese. Plain water doesn’t fit Leah, whether my little sister wants to admit it or not.
    I stand beside her and take in the setting. Paradise isn’t a large town, but the word “party” brings people out in droves. “Quite a crowd here tonight.”
    “Yep. Mom went all out,” she says.
    “Dad didn’t try to stop her.”
    Leah shrugs, then says, “Why would he? She’d still do it her way in the end.” A few minutes pass before I hear Leah’s voice again. “Did they make you cut your hair like that?”
    I run my hand over the prickly buzz cut. “No.”
    “It makes you look tough.”
    Should I tell her what her dyed black hair looks like? I briefly consider it, but quickly realize her blackness goes deeper than her hair. Broaching that subject at a party wouldn’t be the best course of action.
    Leah shuffles her feet. “Brian is having a party tonight at his house.”
    “Two parties in Paradise in one night? Boy, things sure have changed.”
    “More than you realize, Caleb. You gonna make an appearance at Brian’s?”
    “No way.” It’s shitty enough I have to be gawked at by a bunch of adults. “Why? You going?”
    Leah raises her eyebrows and looks right at me. I get it. She’s not going either.
    “You should probably keep an eye on Mom,” Leah says, biting on one of her black-painted nails.
    “Why?”
    “Because she just picked up a microphone.”
    As if on cue, a loud, buzzing sound comes from the porch, then our mom’s voice bellows through the yard. “Thank you all for coming,” she announces with a flair that would make the Queen of England proud. “And for welcoming my son Caleb back with open arms.”
    Open arms? My own mother won’t lay a hand on me unless it’s in a public forum. I can’t stomach another word. More than I dread that upcoming meeting with my transition counselor, I dread getting up and speaking into that microphone.
    Because what I’m itching to say won’t be fake or phony.
    I duck out the side gate. As I head down to Paradise Park, I untuck the geeky shirt from my too-tight trousers and unbutton each button until the entire shirt is open.
    This is the first time I’ve felt any freedom since I’ve been home.
    I can go where I want and unbutton my shirt as much as I want. I don’t have anybody watching me or looking at me or talking to me or gawking at