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When I start to glance away, she taps on the glass with her knuckles to get my attention back and shakes her head at me.
“I’m serious, Low. Samuel told me you haven’t gone all week. I know you’re worried, but you can visit me after classes let out, and you’re not doing me or yourself any good staying home.”
“It’s not my home,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
I sound like an ungrateful asshole, I know I do. Samuel Black has stepped up above and beyond what any employer could be expected to do—especially for an employee who’s worked for him for less than six months.
It’s not his fault I’m so pissed at his son that living under the same roof as him makes me want to punch a hole through a wall.
Mom’s face falls again, and I know that of all the things she hates about this situation, her biggest regret is having to leave me on my own, at the mercy of other people’s kindness.
I want to take that guilt away from her, so I blow out a breath and nod. “You’re right. I’ll start going to school tomorrow. But I’m still gonna come visit you as often as I can.”
Her breath hitches, and I hear the quiet noise through the phone receiver pressed to my ear.
“You better,” she murmurs softly.
We talk for a few more minutes, and I wish I could distract her with entertaining chitchat about other, mundane topics. But I can’t think about anything else. I can’t talk about anything else.
Four words beat against the inside of my skull, and they seem to drown out everything else, making every other aspect of my life seem unimportant in comparison.
You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here.
When I finally stand up to leave, my bones ache from not being able to hug her. We press our hands to the glass one last time—a gesture that always seemed a little cheesy in movies, but which now gives me the tiny spark of hope I need to keep going.
I leave the prison, which is on the far north side of Fox Hill, and head for the bus stop across the street. Mom hates that I take the bus to come visit her, but it’s not like the Fox Hill Correctional Center is the most dangerous place on earth. And I don’t really have a choice. Her car was seized as evidence, and I’d rather stick a hot butter knife through my eye than let Lincoln or any of the other kings of Linwood drive me.
The ride back to the Black family’s neighborhood is long and involves two transfers, but I don’t really care. I have nowhere else to be. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and I should be in eighth period History right now, but I skipped school today just like I have every day since Mom’s arrest.
I wasn’t lying to her. I’ll start going again tomorrow. But it’s too late to make it to any classes today.
On the last leg of my trip, my phone buzzes in my purse, and I drag my gaze away from the increasingly fancy houses outside to dig it out of my bag.
HUNTER: Hey Low. This is your daily check-in to make sure you’re still alive.
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth as I read the message from my best friend back home in Arizona. She calls it her daily check-in, but hourly might be a better descriptor. I miss her so fucking much, but her constant stream of texts and frequent calls have made me feel a little bit less alone.
ME: Hey dummy. Yep, still alive.
HUNTER: How’s your mom?
ME: Okay… or as okay as possible, I guess. I just saw her.
HUNTER: God, this is so unbelievably fucked up. I told you my parents flipped when I told them, right?
ME: They didn’t believe it, did they??
HUNTER: Fuck no. They know your mom.
ME: Good.
HUNTER: If she needs like character witnesses or anything, you know we’ll be there in a heartbeat. I’ll testify in front of God and a jury and everyone. I don’t even care who.
ME: Thanks, dummy. Love you.
HUNTER: Love you more.
HUNTER: Hey, you wanna hear dumb, trivial life stuff or not? I thought maybe it would distract you, but maybe you don’t want a distraction.
