Who knew raising a teenager would be so much fun? I don’t remember sassing my parents this badly at sixteen. Coming home pregnant, yes. Sass, not so much.
I squint at my reflection in the murky glass of the old full-length mirror that came with the apartment. Business casual and fashion forward. After all, the Universal Fighting League isn’t some stuffy corporate establishment. From what I could tell from the pictures online, it seems like a pretty hip place.
I yank my hair up into an extreme ponytail at the crown of my head then wrap it into a tight bun. It’s important that no pieces of hair escape, or I’ll end up twirling them obsessively, like I always do when I’m nervous. I finish by spraying a cloud of hairspray that’s so thick it makes me cough.
You look like a bimbo when you twirl your hair.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe deeply to block out his voice. How long until his constant taunts fade?
I want to come across as confident and capable. Chewing my bottom lip, I look through my closet again. Maybe an accessory will help. A scarf? No. Suit jacket? Too hot. I turn away from my closet and find exactly what I’m looking for on my bedside table. Thick-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses.
I slide them on and give my reflection another once-over. Perfect. I’m ready.
While walking the short distance from my bedroom to the kitchen, I push back the resurfacing butterflies. One of the benefits of a 700 square foot apartment is that everything’s only a few steps away.
“I get off at five. Since we’re still new in town, I’d like for you to come back here after school and hang out until you have to pick me up.” I grab the things I’ll need for the day and pile them on the small chrome and yellow table that seats two.
Elle’s leaning against the stove, one hand on her slender hip. She shrugs her shoulder that’s carrying the weight of her messenger bag. “Fine.”
Purse, keys, water bottle, and nutrition bar. Check. “Did you pack a lunch?”
“No. That’s for dorks. I’ll eat there.” She grabs an energy drink from the fridge.
“I hate those things. You should get your energy from healthy food and exercise. Not caffeine.”
“That’s such shit,” she mumbles to the floor.
“Elle, seriously? Watch the langua—”
“You drink coffee for breakfast.”
“That’s different.”
“Whatever.” She uses that affected tone that makes me want to shake her.
After locking up, we head down the stairs into the parking lot, where our 1991 Ford Bronco is waiting. We got it the day we rolled into Vegas. It was parked on a street corner with a price painted on the windshield. One phone call later, and it was ours.
“Mom, come on,” Elle says, and unlocks the driver’s side door.
First official day of our new lives.
I hop into the passenger side and listen as Elle tries to get the truck started. On the third try, it finally starts.
We drive toward the UFL Training Center. Since we only have one car, it makes more sense for Elle to drop me off and pick me up. She seems happy about the arrangement. I guess being picked up and dropped off by your mom when starting a new school mid-year is equivalent to social suicide.
After one wrong freeway exit and a missed turn, we finally arrive in the parking lot of my new job. I have a job. My nerves flutter behind my ribcage.
I check my watch. Thirty minutes early. “So you’ll pick me up at five?”
“Yeah.” Elle smoothes her long dark hair and checks her dramatic make up in the rearview mirror. I should tell her to tone it down, but she might be nervous. I wouldn’t want to make her any more self-conscious than she already is. Not on the first day at a new school.
“Elle.”
Her crystal-blue eyes dart to mine, and she gives me an annoyed look. “What?”
“Are you okay? I mean, you’re going to a new high school in a new city. Is there anything—”
“Ugh! No. I’m fine. Please, just go to work. I can handle it.”
Nope, she’s not nervous. She’s pissed. She may not say it outright, but how could she not be? I pulled her away from everything she knew. All her friends, and what little family we still had. I chew the inside of my cheek. Did I do the right thing by leaving?
“Look, I know you’re mad at me, but—”
“Stop.” She holds her palm up to my face. “Just go.”
I exhale a long breath, resolving to deal with her another day, when things have mellowed out. Maybe after she settles in a bit, makes some new friends.
Grabbing my things, I hop down from the car. “Have a good day, Elle. I love you.”
She turns up the radio before I’m finished. I shut the door and watch until her taillights disappear down the street.
I’ve completely ruined her life. Screwed her up in the worst ways, and I have no one to blame but myself. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I won’t cry. Not today.