Truck Bed Romantic

By Harlan Harper

Cassie Bella Dupont has her life shaken when a new boy comes to her school and teaches her that nothing in the world worth having comes without its rough edges. Tragedy propels Cassie in a direction that she never could have planned for and she must rely on her intelligence and her kind heart to guide her towards a new path that allows her to find love, but more importantly, allows her to find peace in a world set on showing her pain.

In this coming of age novel, the lives of two protagonists collide as a girl and a boy must overcome manipulation, grief, lust, envy, and many other hideous things in order to hopefully discover what matters most. Love.

Truck Bed Romantic is a heart-wrenching look at what it's like to grow up in a world that you thought was perfect, only to find out that it's the furthest thing from it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlan Harper
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224285938

Book preview

Truck Bed Romantic

Harlan Harper

Copyright © 2024 by Harlan Harper

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1.Happy Hour

2.Valedictorian

3.Oxymorons

4.The Trade

5.Annual Salary of a Taxedermist

6.In a Barbie World

7.Eating Soup with Chopsticks

8.Not so Romantic

9.My father was a carpenter

10.The Reason for Mints

11.Too Pretty

12.Numb

13.Cowboys in a Bar with no Jokers

14.Invictus

15.Chess is Coffee

16.Sorry

17.Saddling

18.A Boy for Mending

19.L is for the way you...

20.Grief Support Session #1

21.Swept

22.Truck Bed Romantic

23.Jar of Coins

24.A Life but Glimmer

25.The Butterfly Effect

26.Generations

27.A Shotgun Graduation

28.Dinner and a Robbery

29.Shots, Beers, and Wine

30.Welcome to the family

31.Life

32.Daughters

33.A City in Kentucky

34.Wallflower

35.Fatherhood

36.Grief Support Session #2

About Author

Chapter one

Happy Hour

Dominic

Keys jingled in the lock for a moment before the deadbolt collapsed in.

For some kids, that sound was pure happiness. Daddy’s home! Mommy’s Home!

For Dominic Riley, though. The sound of the front door lock brought this uneasy feeling. Because he knew that whatever came through that door would be unpredictable and more than likely unhappy.

His little sister hadn’t yet been taught to fear the sounds of keys at the door. Naivety suits the young. Nobody likes a sad sack child. Their mom would always tell her, and he hated to see his sister buy into that bullshit logic.

So, in her happiness, she jumped to her feet and ran over to the front door. When she opened it, she took a few steps back until she was closer to Dom than she was to the door.

It wasn’t their mother that came through first.

It was Tim. Their step dad of the month. If he ever smiled, you would see an enormous gap between his two front teeth. But Tim didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t do much other than drink all the beers from the fridge and listen to the history channel ten volumes too loud while everyone else in the house tried to sleep. He had what you might call an unhealthy obsession with one historical culture in particular. The Aztecs. He’d sometimes remind Dom that the Aztecs—even though they thrived in the 15th century—treated men and women equally. He’d stand there with a cocky attitude and use that fact as some sort of slight on Dom anytime he got into an argument with his mom. Funny. That didn’t seem to apply any time Tim screamed about killing their mom while in a drunken stupor. Fucking Tim.

Don’t you two have a bedtime? Tim asked. The aroma of booze wafted through the air.

Mom stumbled in behind him wearing a dress three sizes too small. She had smeared red makeup across her lips. She looked like she was just getting back from a Motley Crue concert. One where everyone is old and wearing things that don’t fit them and styling their hair in ways that make them look like they have on Halloween costumes. Dom hoped that wouldn’t happen to him one day.

It’s a school night, she said. Get on out of here now.

Dom looked at the sinking expression on his sister’s face and said, She’s been waiting all day to see you...not even a hello?

This is exactly what happens when there’s no man in the house. What makes you think you can talk to your mother that way? Tim said while he kicked off his brown boots, adding more dirt stains to the unswept carpets.

A smell of strawberry perfume nearly overpowered the scent of whiskey and it made Dom’s stomach turn. Not out of nausea, but out of frustration.

His mom squeezed her temples and shook her head. She nearly fell over until Tim grabbed her and let her prop up against his shoulder.

See, Tim said as he ran his fingers through her blown-out hair. Ain’t no place in this world for a bad son. Now let’s hear it.

What the hell are you talking about? Hear what? Dom asked.

Let’s hear that apology...before things get ugly.

Dom sniffled, wiped his nose on his forearm, and said, Erin...head to the room.

But I want to see Mommy. She said.

Now. He said, making his voice as stern as he could. He liked to mimic his dad when he wanted to convey authority. Figured it always worked on him back in the day, so why wouldn’t it work on her?

Damn, girl, you don’t have to listen to him. He ain’t your daddy.

Tim reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Newports. He tapped a loose cigarette on the edge of his thumb before lighting it. And don’t go smoking my cigarettes when you’re lurking around here all hours of the night. Don’t think I don’t notice how every time I wake up here, I’m missing a few.

Since using the stern voice didn’t work, Dom then gave his sister the look. The same look that always struck fear in Dom’s heart when he was a kid. After making eye contact, his sister finally ran off to bed without hearing as much as a hello from her mom.

I have my own smokes, Dom said. I don’t even like Newports.

Mom grabbed a cigarette from Tim’s jacket before she tossed both of their jackets overtop the back of the couch. She lit hers and asked Tim if he wanted a beer. He said he did, but he wanted Dom to get it for him.

Rest your feet, Tim said to mom. This is what kids are for.

What a fucking prick.

And for mom to never stand up for them. Isn’t that rule one in the book of being a parent? Defend your kids?

I’m not getting him a beer, Dom said before looking at his mom. Hey, it’s a school night, right? And you know what tomorrow is, yeah?

The entire world doesn’t revolve around you, Dom, she said through slurs as she took a seat next to Tim on the couch. And I’m not an idiot. Of course I know what tomorrow is. It’s Monday.

Only she didn’t really know.

Monday, sure. But this Monday would differ from all the rest. It would be their first day at Jackson High—one of the nicest schools in the city. Because of a slew of tornados that made their last school uninhabitable, Dom and Erin and every other kid from their home district would integrate into Jackson High.

Dom told his mom about the new school a few weeks ago. She was drinking then, and she was drinking now and she’d be drinking every day until the day she died as far as Dom could figure.

He stopped counting, but he figured it’d been about three years straight of her always being at least buzzed. Some nights she’d justify it by saying things like, It’s only wine, or I’m just having a few to help me get some sleep.

But Dom knew addiction when he saw it. It’s something that tainted their town. Whether it be drink or drug or sex or work. Everyone had their vice. Everyone had their struggle.

But the hope of a new school could change things. A new school was like a chance to wake up mid sleep and take control of your dreams. A complete do over. New friends who didn’t loathe you. Teachers who didn’t despise you. And girls who didn’t know you. It was good for his sister, too. She struggled with the way people looked at her ever since their dad went away. She always looked like she wanted to be happy, but just didn’t know how to make it actually happen. Dom wished he had an answer for her, but happiness was in short supply where they’re from. If anyone deserved it, though, it’d be Erin.

Kid, Tim said. I swear to God you better have bumped your head today and somehow woke up deaf because right now I’m trying to decide between if you’re deaf or fucking dumb. And you better pray it’s deaf. Tim kicked his feet up on the table. His white socks were stained brown. The bottoms of his frayed blue jeans were caked in mud.

Mom patted Tim’s arm, rested her head on his shoulder, and said, Just relax, hon. He’s not worth your time.

I’m not getting you a drink. I’m not getting you—

Sharp pain went through his shins as Tim kicked the coffee table against them. Burning embers fell from the cigarette in Tim’s hand to the carpet. That old carpet was used to absorbing fire, and somehow it suffocated the redness in an instant. The gap-toothed Timothy rose to his feet.

I knew your Dad you know? And I know he used to kick you around. Is that what you want me to do? Is that the only thing you respect?

Don’t talk about him. You don’t get to talk about my family. Tears welled up in the corners of Dom’s eyes. He plastered his hands against his sides to stop them from shaking and squinted his eyes to mask his emotions.

You know what? Tim grabbed his coat from the couch. I don’t have time for this shit. Sorry—

Mom snagged onto his arm like a leech. As he pulled away, she slid off the couch and dangled to his leg. She cried and pleaded for him to stay, but Tim would have none of it. He slinked his way across that old carpet and left into the warm breeze of night. Didn’t even have the decency to shut the front door.

Pitiful, Dom thought. When did she get so goddamn sad? Maybe that’s why Dad did what he did.

Are you happy now? She said, still laying in a heap on the ground.

I don’t even know what that word means anymore, mom.

Dom closed the door and held out his hand like a rescue float for her to cling onto.

Instead, she slapped it away and pulled herself up from the ground.

You want me to be miserable, don’t you? She asked, wiping away crumbs and ash that clung to her legs the way she clung to that asshole.

I want Erin to get a good night of sleep. I want you to give a damn that we’re going to a new school tomorrow. If that makes you miserable, then that’s just part of being a parent, isn’t it?

School? Since when do you care about school? You just…you’ll understand one day. You’re gonna look back on all of this and wish you were nicer to me. she inhaled a sharp breath through her nose and closed her eyes. "We used to be happy, you know. You used to be happy."

Tears falling down her face, she stormed off. She slammed her bedroom door shut and turned the TV in her room up so loud that it shook the pictures on the walls.

Dom lit up his own cigarette—Marlboro Menthol—and got himself ready for bed. He tried not to think too much about what used to be, but his mom’s words kept repeating in his head. After brushing his teeth, he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Beads of water dripped off of his clean-shaven chin as he pushed around several bottles of pills. That click clack sound of pills against plastic always made him feel this dichotomy of emotions. It was not as clear cut as the sound of keys jingling and a deadbolt clicking open. He didn’t just feel uneasy or unhappy. If he was being honest, it actually made him feel relief and a reprieve. A bit of escapism from the awful.

Oxycodone. Half a bottle still left. About a week’s worth, he thought. Maybe a couple days less to get through the changing tides.

He splashed water from the faucet into his mouth to help swallow down two large pills. The thing the doctors don’t tell you is that you need to breathe in while you take a drink to open your throat up when you’re taking more than one pill.

In about half an hour, he’d finally be able to shed the skin of the day and clear his head enough to get some rest.

It helped that Tim was gone. Tim’s snoring was bad enough, but worse were the noises they made after waking from their drunken slumber. The sounds of something Dom would rather not think about.

You still up, Erin? Dom whispered as he creaked open their bedroom door.

The bed squeaked as she rolled to face him, the hallway light shining on her face.

He’s gone? She asked.

Dom plugged his phone in, kicked off his Chuck Taylors, and sat down in his own bed on the other side of the room.

Yeah. I thought today was the day I’d finally push him to hitting me.

You’re crazy, she said. He makes mom happy, doesn’t he?

Dad made mom happy.

But he’s gone.

Exactly.

Then he told her he loved her. And she said the same. By the time he rolled to his back and watched the cobwebs on the ceiling, it felt like there was a boulder lifted from his chest. The fluttering left his gut. The phlegm left his lungs. That old stained mattress felt like floating on top of ten ton marshmallows. 

He closed his eyes and thought about a new school.

A new life.

He thought about happiness.

Chapter two

Valedictorian

Cassie

Cassie pressed her pencil against a perfectly proportionate page in the center of her black and white speckled notebook. Little shavings of graphite broke off the tip of her freshly sharpened pencil as she drew the wings of a butterfly in the corner, away from the light blue lines. The wings were always what she drew last. She liked to think of the butterfly as just another caterpillar until she added that last detail.

As Mr. Tao grew closer—stacks of graded papers in his hands—she pressed down even harder into the paper. Those wings were beginning to look like they bled grey. Every essay, every quiz, every exam made her worry herself dizzy. Even though she’d never gotten lower than an A (besides that one art assignment in the third grade. Thanks a lot Ms. Owens.) she still couldn’t help but panic about the thought of missing the mark. Falling short.

She could smell Mr. Tao’s musty cologne as he placed her essay about mitochondria overtop of her notebook.

Great job, as always. He nodded and gave a nervous smirk before turning to the next row of anticipating students.

Cassie breathed a sigh of relief and neatly placed the graded essay into her backpack, next to a dozen or more assignments, with the same grade marked in the top margins.

It would only be a few more months before high school was finally over. Cassie was already accepted into Carnegie-Melon University. And she already had her entire Valedictorian speech written out in the back of another notebook locked away in her locker. She wrote the thing two years ago, but she figured the sentiment still applied. The gist of her speech was that people change, the world changes, but the one thing that doesn’t is the pursuit. Each person would choose their own pursuit through life, but they needed to chase it with ferocity. She always liked those words. Pursuit. Ferocity. The drawings in her notebook margins typically reflected those two words.

This most recent one—the butterfly—was named pursuing the chrysalis.

Lemme guess. Another A? Mandy—the girl who sat in the seat in front of her—said. Mandy’s hair always smelled nice. It was something Cassie appreciated since Mandy was always playing with it.

Cassie smiled and said, Yeah. What about you?

I’m not as perfect as you, Mandy roped the left side of her bangs around her middle finger. Sit by me at lunch today, alright?

There’s this Nine Inch Nails song about every day being the same. Cassie felt that way anytime Mandy asked her to sit by her at lunch. They’d been sitting together—just the two of them—since the beginning of the school year. You’d think after half a year she might just accept it as a part of her routine. But nope. She insisted on asking her every single day.

When the bell rang, all the students stood up and shuffled through the hallways of body odor and whispered gossip. Jackson High was famous for its pristine hallways and impeccable detail that most other schools lacked. Apparently, some famous architect was hired during the 50s to design a school that would raise the property value of everything else around. Back then, crime rates were high in Jackson. They say the mafia used to run an operation from a local tavern and if you asked anyone with even a slightly Italian last name about their family tree, they’d always be quick to look for some sort of gratification in mentioning their family ties to a criminal empire. Cassie always found that so odd. Who would be proud of being a criminal?

But that was all seventy years ago. You’d think that in seven decades the school would have deteriorated a bit. You’d think a town built by the mafia would have fallen apart at the same time as the mafia, but somehow the opposite happened. The town galvanized around the school. Parents focused on their kids’ education and their kids focused on making it out of Jackson. That focus, that ferocity, led to there being quite prestigious alumni from Jackson High. You could see their pictures all over the walls of the high school. There were professors who made their way to lecture at universities like Harvard and MIT. There were athletes who got drafted into the MLB. There were even politicians, most famously a Pennsylvania governor, who nearly got a chance at being Vice President if she didn’t die in a car accident twenty years ago.

But for all its glory and prestige, the school smelled something awful. They built the thing by a sewage plant after all.

School prepares you for life. That’s what every teacher would say. But when in life does a bell tell someone where to be, what to do, who to do it with?

Not the painter nor the carpenter.

The saint or the apostle. 

And unless you’re an athlete, your nose should never have to suffer through those kinds of smells.

Cassie figured if she wanted to get into a career of education, she’d be able to tweak it into a machine that produces better results, but that wasn’t her path. And she outgrew the use of a place like this a long time ago.

She had dreams of the college life guiding her every thought and movement. She was grateful for Jackson High and her hometown and her family, but she was ready to move on. Ready to reach that next level. Ready to find a space on the wall of the hallways where her picture would be hung.

By the time she made her way to the corner table of the cafeteria, it was already clear that something in the air had changed. Not just the smell, but the whole vibe was off.

A little crowded in here. She said as Mandy crossed her legs underneath the table and pulled up one of her striped stocking socks.

Mandy looked past her, fluttered her lashes, and said, These boys from Lower Valley are cute. They look more like men. Not like these boys from Jackson.

I haven’t seen any of them in class yet. Cassie said, resisting the urge to turn around and look at them out of fear of looking too obvious.

Cassie, that’s because you’re only in AP classes. These boys probably didn’t even have AP classes in their school.

She thought of the butterfly effect—how every action causes this never ending ripple of reactions. Those boys probably didn’t have the same opportunities as her. They didn’t have these esteemed teachers. Their education and all of its value were entirely altered by the simple fluttering of a wing. She wished there was a way to track it all. To see what would happen if that tornado didn’t rip through the Lower Valley. To see which kids would benefit from attending Jackson High and which ones would fall apart because of it.

Hey, Mandy said, waving her hand back and forth in front of Cassie’s face. you always get so lost in there. Can’t we just talk about cute boys like normal kids? And guess what, maybe us talking about them will lead to us talking to them, which will lead to us having someone to go to prom with.

Like the butterfly effect. Cassie said.

You and those butterflies...I was thinking more like, you know, just normal life.

But normal is so boring.

Prom was something fit for a fairy-tale princess, as far as Cassie was concerned. She tried going to school dances back in middle school, but she always ended up just sitting on the bleachers and listening to music that she hated. No boys ever asked her to dance. No friends ever took her under their wing and made sure she didn’t feel like an outsider. The movies always made school dances seem so much better than reality. So instead of worrying about popularity and dances, she put all of her focus on learning.

She supposed there was that one dance she enjoyed. The one where she had her first kiss.

She found the whole affair a little gross, though.

Why do we essentially just lick each others spit? You don’t see other animals doing that.

Salt the size of hale sprinkled all over the tabletop as Cassie wiped it from her pretzel. The food at the cafeteria was never appetizing and one time she found a long curly hair in the pizza sauce; so she always got a cup of cheese, a soft pretzel, and a diet coke.

Why don’t you just order it without salt? Mandy asked as she scrunched up her face like salt on a table was the most offensive thing in the world.

I like the way the salt tastes...just hate the texture.

Like coconut.

No. Like salt.

By the time all of their food was gone, she finally built up the nerve to turn around and face the ruckus of noise at her back. She scanned the sea of faces, looking for the unfamiliar.

There was Jenny—with boobs too big for a junior and teeth too straight. She was the epitome of perfection and she’d probably be prom queen.

There was Thomas. He sat by himself and wore all black everything. His hair covered his eyes. He drew in a notebook all day and if the world were to ever go up in flames, Cassie figured he’d be the one holding the match.

Anna the pothead. Kevin the religious freak. Sammy the whore and her brother Samuel the fighter. Their parents must not had been the most stellar.

Dozens of faces, dozens of stereotypes. The cafeteria was filled with them. High school does that to a person. It makes you want to sum a human up into a sentence, as if that’s ever all that we are.

Eventually she came across a table where she didn’t know the faces. The names. The stereotypes. There was a group of eight. Six boys. Two girls. And Mandy was right. Very cute. Especially the boy in the white t-shirt.

As Cassie admired him, the absolute worst thing happened. He turned and looked directly at her. Of course, she thought. Of course that would happen. Her heart jumped into her throat. That butterfly feeling fluttered in her stomach.

Careful snapping your head around like that. You’ll give yourself whiplash. Mandy said.

Is he still looking?

Which one?

Short black hair. White t-shirt.

Oh, that one, Mandy’s eyes widened. Don’t panic...but he’s walking over here right now.

Don’t panic? How could she do anything but? The whole point of going to this institution is just to get in, pass the tests, get the diploma...onward and upward. It’s not to fraternize with boys. Especially not the cute ones. That’s just asking for trouble. And that’s exactly the type of thing Cassie did her best to avoid.

Do I know you from somewhere? The boy said in a