Ryan presses his lips together and heads
toward the entrance. I sneak a peek at his retreating form and my heart drops. Whatever messed-up moment we just experienced doesn’t change anything. Ryan goes for girls like Gwen and screws over girls like me. You can’t change destinies already written. That only happens in fairy tales.
I do feel sorry for him. Scott’s going to kill him by the end of the night. “Ryan?”
He glances over his shoulder. What do I say?
You’ve been fun to mess with, but I have to save my mom. I’m sorry that when you return to Groveton tonight without me, my uncle will rip off your balls and my aunt will serve them HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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for dinner with a side of seaweed?
“Thanks.” The word tastes weird in my
mouth.
He removes his baseball cap, runs his hand through his hair, and smashes it back into place. I look away to keep the guilt from killing me.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I blink, unsure what he’s apologizing for, but I don’t ask for an explanation. I said my piece.
He said his. We’re even.
A teenage boy leaves the building and holds the door open for Ryan. He goes in while the other boy jingles his car keys. Thank you, fate, for lending me a hand. I tuck the cigarette into my back pocket and smile in a way that makes the boy assume he has a chance. “Can I bum a ride?”
NERVES VIBRATE IN MY STOMACH and I keep
taking deep breaths. No matter how many
times I inhale, I still have a hard time filling my lungs with air. Please, God, this one time, please let the asshole be gone. And please, please, please let Isaiah agree to my crazy plan once I show up with my mom in tow.
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beforehand, but, in the end, I knew he
wouldn’t agree to Mom tagging along. He
blames her for the problems in my life, but I know Isaiah. When I show up with her, begging to leave, he won’t let me down. He’ll take us—both.
The Last Stop is empty, but give it another hour or two and the bar will be filled. Even in daylight, the place is as dark as a dungeon. In his typical jeans and flannel shirt, Denny sits at his bar and hovers over a laptop, giving his face a bluish glow. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots me. “Heard your mom lost custody.”
“Yeah.”
He sips a longneck. “Sorry, kid.”
“How has she been?” My mouth dries out
and it takes everything I have to act like his answer doesn’t matter to me.
“Do you really want to know?”
No. I don’t. “What do I owe you?”
He closes the laptop. “Nothing. Go back to where you came from. Anywhere has to be better than here.”
I go out the back. It’s the fastest way to Mom’s apartment. At night, the place is creepy in the shadows. During the day, the run-down HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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apartment complex just looks sad and
pathetic. Management spray-painted parts of the 1970s orange brick white to hide the graffiti. It’s a useless effort. The elementary kids paint their swear words back on the next night.
Since most of the windows are broken, the residents use cardboard and gray tape to cover the glass, except for the windows with the roaring air-conditioning units that leak water like faucets. Mom and I never had one of those. We were never that rich or lucky.
Asshole Trent lives in the complex across the parking lot from Mom. The only thing sitting in his parking spot is the large pool of black oil that seeps from his car when it’s parked. Good. I inhale again to still my internal shaking. Good.
After Dad left, Mom moved us to Louisville and we officially became gypsies, moving into a new apartment every six to eight months.
Some were so bad we left voluntarily. Others kicked us out after Mom missed rent. The trailer in Groveton and my aunt Shirley’s basement are the only stable homes I’ve ever known. The apartment near Shirley’s is the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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longest Mom has ever stayed in one place
and it sucks that Trent is the reason why. I knock softly.
The door rattles as Mom unlocks the
multiple dead bolts and, like I taught her to, she leaves the chain on when she opens the door an inch. Mom squints as if her eyes have never seen the sun. She’s whiter than normal, and the blond hair on the back of her head stands upright as if she hasn’t brushed it in days.
“What is it?” she barks.
“It’s me, Mom.”
She rubs her eyes. “Elisabeth?”
“Let me in.” And let’s get you out.
Mom closes the door, the chain jiggles as she unlocks it, and the door flies open. In seconds, she wraps her arms around me. Her fingernails dig into my scalp. “Baby? Oh, God, baby. I thought I’d never see you again.”
Her body shakes and I hear the familiar
sniffling that accompanies her crying. I rest my head on her shoulder. She smells like a strange combination of vinegar, pot, and alcohol. Only the vinegar seems out of place. Part of me is thrilled to see her alive. The other part beyond HC TITLE-AUTHOR