“Oh no,” she interjects, “don’t even think about it. I’ll call in Freddy. He was looking for extra hours last week.”
“Great.” I feel less guilty knowing that at least someone will be able to cover my hours. “I should be good to go for my next shift.”
“I’ll text you later to check up on you. Stay hydrated.”
“Yeah.” I open the fridge and grab one of the Gatorades I have in there for this reason. “Will do.”
I take small sips of the drink as the phone pings, telling me I got a text.
Looking down, I see it’s him.
Theo:
Hey, hope breakfast was okay. Is there anything that you want for dinner tonight?
I pull up the text thread, seeing he texted himself and then added himself into my address book as a contact.
Me:
Test.
Theo:
It’s Theo.
I put the phone down and grab the bottle of Gatorade and my pail, not chancing throwing up everywhere, and go back to my room. I take one more sip of the electrolytes before lying back in bed. I turn to the side and look out the window, and before I even have a chance to sigh, I’m sleeping.
Knocking wakes me up. I’m in the exact same position I was when I went to bed. There is no more light coming through the window. I literally slept the whole day. I get up on my elbow and see it’s after eight in the evening. I throw my legs off the bed, and I’m halfway to the door when the knocking starts again. “I’m coming,” I call out, and unlock the door at the same time I turn on the porch light.
“It’s about fucking time,” my father hisses at me, walking right past. “What the fuck were you doing?” He’s wearing a pair of dress pants that have seen better days and a short-sleeved button-down shirt in a light beige that looks more brown with the dirt on it. His chestnut-brown hair is thinning at the top, but pushed to the side.
“Come in, Dad,” I mumble as his beady brown eyes scan the room.
My mother saunters through the door. “Took you long enough,” she snaps. “You look like shit.” She’s wearing a short jean dress that isn’t as white as it used to be, with a baby-pink tank top. Her hair has a half white, half blonde thing going, the roots overgrown. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Sadly, you found me.” My mother gives me a look of shock that I answered the way I did. I usually keep our conversations to one word. They usually contain the word no.
My father motions with his chin to the fan on the counter, puts his hands on his hips, and looks back at me with a smirk. “Look at her, all fucking fancy with an air-conditioning unit.”
“Can we fast-forward this visit and tell me what the two of you are doing here?” I turn my finger around in a circle, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed.
“We need help,” he says. “We got in on a special project that is going to blow up.”
I close my eyes.
“It’s foolproof.” My mother snatches up the piece of bacon from the stove and takes a bite. “We need about five hundred dollars to buy in.”
“I don’t know why you’re here.”
My mother slams the microwave door shut. She’s warming up the food that Theo made me.
“We got about $250. We just need the rest,” my father says.
“I don’t have it.” I fold my arms over my chest instead of adding, I’m not your personal ATM.
“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses at me. “Don’t think I don’t know how much you make.”
“Yeah, and it pays for”—I’m about to say my house, but stop myself—“my bills. My rent.”
