“Okay,” I agree.
“See you laters.” She turns, going down the hall the other way from me toward the student parking lot. I head out the front door and spot Grams’ car. I run over, hopping in.
“How’d it go today?”
“I got invited to a party!”
“By who?” She gives me a skeptical look. I thought she was going to be excited that I was fitting in and making new friends.
“Remember that girl Tricia I told you about? She invited me. Said she could even pick me up.”
“Oh.” The smile returns to her face. “Let's get you home. We’ll have to find something to wear.”
I have no idea what to even do at a party, but excitement bubbles up inside me at the thought of going to one.
Chapter Five
Colt
“I’m sorry,” laments Mom. If I had a penny for every time she said she was sorry, I wouldn’t need a full ride. “You still love Mommy, don’t you?”
I keep my head down so she doesn’t see the flash of irritation that whips across my face. I hate it when she does the baby talk, mostly because I know that’s the voice she uses with her losers, the guys who she thinks are going to marry her and lift her out of poverty but are really only around to scratch a particular itch. I almost wish she was less pretty. If she was an ugly middle-aged woman, she would be forced to sit at home, watch Wheel of Fortune, and cook dinner for her kids. Instead, she’s thin and pretty and gets off on hearing people say she looks like my older sister and not my mom.
“Baby, I said I was sorry. You’re not mad at me, are you? That was a terrible place to work. I don’t know why they got so mad about a little timecard error.”
“You had your co-worker punch you in for a shift you weren’t going to work.” I toss the scuffed high heels to the side.
“I planned on going, but I just didn’t feel well.”
Because she’d been drinking all night and overslept and then felt guilty and started drinking again. In her mind, it makes sense, so there’s no point in me arguing. I wonder how many other eighteen-year-olds are pouring their mothers into bed at four in the afternoon.
“I know. Get some rest.” I throw the comforter over her sparkly dress and draw the shades. It’s dark. She’s covered, but something seems off. My eyes fall on the nightstand where a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey rests. I swipe that and the plastic cups into a trash bin from the bathroom, fill a glass of water and place that on the nightstand along with two aspirin. She’ll need it when she wakes up. I wish I could ground her. I slam my fist against my forehead until the throbbing inside my head is matched by an external pain. Downstairs, I hear the front door slam shut. Tuck’s home. I leave, shutting the door quietly behind me.
Tuck meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “Why’s Mom’s car here?”
“She got sick and had to come home.”
His lip curls. “Drunk, you mean. What a dumb bi—”
My hand whips out and covers his mouth. “Don’t.”
He jerks away from me and swipes an angry fist across his lips. “Or what? You’ll beat me?”
Heart aching, I stare steadily at my brother, the only person in this world I really give a damn about. “Yeah. I’ll beat you.”
We stare at each other for a long moment before he pushes by me, taking the stairs three at a time with his long legs. His door bangs shut, but Mom is passed out, so it doesn’t affect her like he wants it to. Or maybe that’s for me.
I drop down on the stairs and shove my fingers through my hair. It’s getting long. I should shave it all off, go totally buzzed instead of this curly ash blond mop. The only thing that’s stopping me is that I kind of have a phobia of shears, and the only person who can cut my hair unless I’m stoned is my mom. Unfortunately, she likes it long and curly and so she refuses to cut it. I heave a sigh and then push to my feet. Time to make Tuck some dinner. While I throw some pasta in a pot and heat up sauce, I think of excuses to get out of tonight’s party. An alien landed on my roof and is abducting me. Will be back before the semis. A freak electrical storm swept through my part of town and messed up my wheels. I’ve got homework. Netflix released a five-part serial killer documentary. That one I’d actually like to watch.
I toss the food onto the table and text Tuck to get his ass down here and eat. He stomps down the stairs a few seconds later. He’s still mad, but he’s hungry.