Page 65 of Scoring Chance

She turns red, which possibly means her brother’s right. Are they arranging a time to meet up to smoke, do drugs, have sex. All things I did in high school that now make me break into a cold sweat.

Once I’m done cleaning up the kitchen post-dinner, I knock on her bedroom door. She sits on her bed, scrolling her phone.

“Hey. Can you help me with bringing out the garbage and recycling?”

She glances up, warily. “Sure.”

Can she smell the ulterior motives already? Teens are scarily perceptive.

“Thanks.” I keep cool and have her follow me outside. We each roll a bin to the end of the driveway. In my apartment, there’s a convenient trash chute, so I never have to smell this putridness.

The start of a fall chill hangs in the air. I dig my hands into my pockets. “So, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” She tenses slightly, hands fixed at her sides. “What?”

I can feel myself entering a new level of dad. My stomach twists, but I’m already here. “I wasn’t snooping. I want to say that first. But I accidentally caught a peek inside your backpack the other day. And I saw a vape pen.”

Her eyes widen, then narrow just as fast. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I say, glancing back at the house to make sure her siblings didn’t follow us out here.

“It’s not mine,” she says, automatic.

I raise an eyebrow. “Lena.”

She shrugs, brushing curls out of her face, something she did as a little girl, too. It’s wild that I once held her newborn self in my arms. “It’s my friend’s. She was freaking out because her parents would kill her if they found it, so I said I’d hold it for her.”

“That’s altruistic of you.” It would be mean of me to call bullshit. She would shut down. I have to tread lightly. “Um, I’ve noticed you’ve been wearing your perfume extra thick recently.”

“I’ve been wearing too much? I thought it smelled nice…” She hangs her head and sniffs her forearm.

Fuck. Insulting my faux stepdaughter is not the best foot forward.

“It does!” I say. “It just seems like you want to cover up the smell of smoke.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.” I fold my arms, leaning against the mailbox. “Did this alleged friend really have nowhere else to hide a vape pen? Maybe this friend is actually…Matthias.”

I keep my eyes on her to gauge her auto reaction. Is this where she gives up that Matthias is actually a pot-smoking, cocaine-snorting, drunk-driving, sex fiend?

Yet she doesn’t get cagey. She doesn’t get still. She bursts out laughing. “Matthias?”

“Yeah. Mr. Goody Two Shoes Boyfriend. I know his deal.”

She laughs harder. “Matthias?”

Is she laughing too hard? Like she’s trying to cover up for her bad boy, bad influence boyfriend?

“He’s the variable. You weren’t stashing vape pens before he came around.”

She scoffs. “Oh my God. Matthias doesn’t even drink soda.”

“People who don’t drink soda are the ones you have to really watch,” I mutter. “Come on, Lena. I’m not trying to catch you in a lie. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not being pressured. That you’re thinking for yourself.”

Her eyes flash. “I am thinking for myself.”

“Good. Then think about this: if your dad finds this first, it’s not going to be a conversation. It’s going to be a house lockdown, no phone, and one of those serious, soul-searching dad lectures that lasts three hours and involves feelings.”