“Whatever,” he mutters when my silence drags on. “I don’t give a shit.”
After his bedroom door clicks shut, I give myself a pat on the back for alienating another person in my life and slip out through the front door. It’s still dark out as I walk to the bus stop. When I reach it, I tuck myself inside the little bus shelter and try to shut out every bad thing in my life.
My skill, if I have one, isn’t dancing. It’s my ability to believe that tomorrow can be a better day. I don’t really know where I got this optimism. Maybe it was from Mom. Somewhere along the line, I started thinking that if I just got through this bad experience, this bad day, that tomorrow I’d have something better, brighter, newer.
I still believe that. I still believe that there’s something good out there for me. I just have to keep going until my time comes, because surely, surely, none of this would happen if there wasn’t a reward down the line.
I take a deep breath. The salt of the sea makes the air taste fresh and tangy. As terrible as the Royals are, as awful as Dinah O’Halloran is, today is better than a week ago. I have a warm bed, nice clothes, plenty of food. I’m attending a really amazing school. I have a girlfriend.
It’s all going to be okay.
Really.
I arrive at the bakery feeling better than I have in days. It must show because Lucy compliments me immediately.
“You look gorgeous this morning. Oh, to be young again.” She clucks in mock dismay.
“You look amazing yourself, Luce,” I tell her as I tie on an apron. “And something smells delicious. What are those?” I point to the little domes of glazed goodness.
“Mini monkey bread. It’s tiny pieces of cinnamon-flavored bread dough mixed with caramel and butter. Want one?”
I nod so enthusiastically that my head nearly falls off. “I think I orgasmed just smelling them.”
Lucy laughs in delight, her short curls bouncing around her head. “Then have one and I’ll show you how to make four dozen more.”
“I can’t wait.”
The mini monkey breads are a hit. We sell out of them before eight o’clock and Lucy sends me into the back to make more before my shift is over. At eleven forty-five, Valerie shows up and I’m in such a good mood, I practically tackle-hug her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask happily, squeezing her tight before releasing her.
“I was in the neighborhood. What’s up with you?” Valerie laughs. “Did you get laid last night?”
“No, but I did have pastry-induced orgasms all morning.” I pull a just-baked goodie from the shelf and hand it to her.
Valerie picks off a piece of the bread and starts moaning when the sugar hits her tongue. “Oh my God.”
“Right?” I giggle.
“Is Durand picking you up or do need a ride home? I have a car today!” Valerie says between shoving her mouth full of carbs.
“I’d love a ride.” I pull off the apron and hurry to get my things. “Okay if I go, Luce?”
She waves me off, busy with another customer.
Valerie’s car is an older model Honda and it looks out of place amongst the Mercedes, Land Rovers, and Audis that fill the parking spots outside.
“It’s Tam’s mom’s car,” she explains. “I offered to pick up a few things for her.”
“That’s cool.” Shyly, I share, “Callum says I’m getting a car, so once that arrives, you can borrow it whenever you want.”
“Aw, thanks. You’re the bestest friend ever.” She laughs, then looks over at me. “Anyway, I actually stopped by to see if you wanted to go somewhere tonight.”
My happy mood dims a little. I hope she’s not asking me to go to a party, because the idea of spending time with Astor Park kids outside of school isn’t too appealing. “Well, I have some homework…”
Valerie reaches over and pinches me.
“Ow! What was that for?” I rub my arm and scowl at her.
“Give me a little credit. I’m not taking us to an Astor party. I mean, there might be Astor peeps there, but it’s a club downtown that sometimes allows in under twenty-one year olds, and tonight is one of those nights. There’ll be kids from all over and not just from Astor Park.”
“I’m not eighteen.” I slump down in my seat. “And the only ID I have says I’m thirty-four.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re hot. They’ll let you in,” Valerie says confidently.
* * *
She’s right. They don’t card either of us at the door when we arrive at the club later that night. The bouncer runs his flashlight over Val and then me, taking in our blown-out hair, skimpy dresses and high heels, and lets us in with a wink.
The place appears to be a renovated warehouse. The bass is shaking the walls and there are strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Up toward the front is a stage and there are girls dirty dancing on it.
“We’re dancing in that tonight,” Valerie shouts in my ear.
I follow the line of her arm. Above the dance floor, suspended at different levels, are four human-sized birdcages. In each one there are dancers. One has a girl and a guy who are grinding against each other, and the other three feature solo girls.