Jordyn pops back through the curtain. “Henry’s all ready for you.” Then she takes in the massive wardrobe choices and smiles wider to suppress her annoyance. “We sort of have a four-change maximum. Would you like my help in choosing what’ll photograph best?” Jordyn takes the stack of clothes from Ali’s dad and slings it over her shoulder.
Ali giggles like she’s made a new best friend, and she grabs Jordyn’s hand as she races to the back to begin her fashion show.
“You coming, Daddy?”
Mr. Hightower doesn’t answer. His eyes have been glued to his phone since the second Jordyn relieved him of his armful. He stiffly sits down on the sofa closest to him with his back to his daughter.
Ali sighs before turning to me. “I’d really love a guy’s opinion too.”
“Too bad he’s color-blind,” Jordyn says, daring me to challenge the lie.
I shrug. Jordyn thinks she’s cock-blocking me, but I’m grateful I don’t have to deal with that fashion shit. The only thing I want to do with Ali’s clothing involves removing it.
After about a half hour of Ali squealing and giggling from the back, Jordyn finally returns to the counter. “Henry needs you,” she says. And then, as I pass her, she hisses low enough so only I hear, “You totally had sex with her, didn’t you?”
“Jealous?” I grin, waggling my eyebrows.
Jordyn makes a disgusted sound as the curtain falls back behind me.
? ? ?
The photo shoot is never-ending. Henry allows Ali to do seven changes. The thing is, the clothes are practically the same. Variations of sweaters, sweet, innocent-looking flowery dresses, and button-down shirts. All in tasteful pastels.
The only thing that makes the shoot go faster is the surreptitious sexting going on between Ali and me while she’s changing outfits.
She even sends me a dressing room selfie wearing nothing but lacy white panties.
We agree to meet at my house at 8:00.
After the Hightowers leave, Henry tells me not to worry about cleaning up and to go ahead and go. I really need to talk to him about money, but not in front of Jordyn. And definitely not when she’s glaring at me like she is.
“What’s your problem?” I ask as we’re shutting down our computers.
“Nothing. I just think you’re disgusting.” She looks at me like I’m the vilest thing she’s ever encountered, but her tone is completely flippant. She’s using that goddamn girl tone like Sheila. That I’ll-just-pretend-everything’s-fine-until-you-ask-me-the-right-question-then-I’ll-rip-your-fucking-face-off tone.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t give a shit what you think.” I turn back to my computer, shut it down, and head toward the exit. “Later,” I say, throwing the door open.
It’s not like I’m forcing Ali to have sex with me—she’s the initiator here, not me. So why am I disgusting?
? ? ?
I head to King Soopers on Sunday to plan my rations for the week. I hadn’t realized I was nearly out of toilet paper—I’d sneak some from Dad, but he’s such a dick that he’d probably notice and get in my face about stealing from him.
So the toilet paper eats into my ration fund way more than I had planned. And that’s with the help of crotchety Mrs. Hemlock, whose Sunday paper just might be short a coupon section this week.
I’m pretty much stuck with ramen and tuna for every meal now. I can’t even afford bread to make sandwiches. Lunch will be tuna straight from the can.
On my way home, I stop to fill my tank. I don’t even have enough to fill it a quarter of the way. I have to get that dog shit job. But even then, I don’t know how soon I’ll get paid. I’ll have to cut down on my driving—to and from work only, which means I’ll have no choice. I’ll have to do the most dreaded thing a senior in high school can do: Take the mother-fucking bus.
? ? ?
Monday morning I head out when I see a freshman neighbor across the street leave for school. It’s been so long since I’ve ridden the bus, I don’t even know where the damn stop is.
The corner of the neighboring development is awash in underclassmen. We have the quiet nerds with backpacks twice as thick as they are, twitching with anxiety at the mere possibility of socialization; the skaters, who haven’t received the memo that wearing your pants below your ass was never cool; and the band geeks huddled together wearing their letterman jackets, carrying various instrument cases. Why they give letterman jackets to the band is something I will never get.