“Who’s Gram?” I asked. I knew Rooster had moved here alone with Bubba. Had he moved here for family? “She’s like my grandma, except not.” He shrugged, and turned to look at me fully, fingers still buried in Barb’s long feathery fluff. “She smells like cigarettes, even though she swears she doesn’t smoke. She plays bingo. She likes sperm whales a lot—but not as much as me. She thinks Neil Degrasse Tyson is delicious, even though she’s old and she can’t eat him. Her favorite color is red. Oh, and she really likes the lemon cookies Dad makes.” “That’s cool.” Brutal kid, brutal.
