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“We always agreed that Darcy’s a dickbreath.”
“I amnot—youare a ho-bag.”
“If you wake Mom up,” I threaten, “I’m going to flush you both down the toilet— ”
“I’m awake! No need to clog the plumbing, sweetheart.” I turn around. Mom ambles down the hallway, shaky on her feet, and the bottom of my stomach twists. Mornings have been tough for the past month. For the entire summer, really. I glance back at Darcy and Sabrina, who at least have the decency to look contrite. “Now that I’m up with the chickens, can I have hugs from my favorite Russian dolls?”
Mom likes to joke that my sisters and I, with our white- blond hair, dark blue eyes, and rosy oval faces, are slightly smaller versions of each other. Maybe Darcy got all the freckles, and Sabrina has fully embraced the VSCO aesthetic, and I . . . If there weren’t so many five- dollar boho chic outfits at Goodwill, Iwouldn’t look like an Alexis Rose cosplayer. But there’s no doubt that the three Greenleaf girls were made with a cookie cutter— and not Mom’s, given her once- dark, now- graying hair and tanned skin. If she minds that we take so much after Dad, she’s never mentioned it.
“Why are you guys up?” she asks against Darcy’s forehead before moving on to Sabrina. “Do you have practice?”
Sabrina stiffens. “I don’t start until next week. Actually, I’mnevergoing to start if someone doesn’t sign me up for the Junior Roller Derby Association, which is duenext Friday— ”
“I’ll pay the dues by Friday,” I reassure her.
She gives me a skeptical, distrustful look. Like I’ve broken her heart one too many times with my paltry auto- mechanic’s salary. “Why can’t you pay right now?”
“Because I enjoy toying with you, like a spider with her prey.” And because I’ll need to pick up extra shifts at the garage to afford them.
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have the money, do you?”
My heart skips a beat. “Of course I do.”
“Because I’mbasicallyan adult. And McKenzie has been working at that froyo place, so I could ask her to— ”
“You’renotan adult.” The idea of Sabrina worrying about money is physically painful. “In fact, rumor has it that you’re a douchewad.”
“Since we’re requesting and obtaining things,” Darcy interjects, mouth full of toothpaste, “Goliath is still lonely and depressed and in need of a girlfriend.”
“Mmm.” I briefly contemplate the number of turds two Goliaths could produce. Yikes. “Anyway, Easton kindly offered to drive you guys to camp next week. And I’m not going to askyou to be good, or normal, or even decent for her, because I enjoy toying with her, too. You’re welcome.”
I step out of the bathroom and close the door behind me, but not before noticing the wide-eyed look my sisters exchange. Their love for Easton is historied and intense.
“You look cute today,” Mom tells me in the kitchen.
“Thanks.” I show her my teeth. “I flossed.”
“Fancy. Did you also shower?”
“Whoa, calm down. I’m not a fashion influencer.”
She chuckles. “You’re not wearing your jumpsuit.”
“They’re called coveralls— but thank you for the make- believe.” I look down at the white T-shirt I tucked into a bright yellow embroidered skirt. “I’m not going to the garage.”
“Date? It’s been a while.”
“No date. I promised Easton I’ll . . . ” I stop myself.
Mom’s fantastic. The kindest, most patient person I know. She probably wouldn’t mind it if I told her that I’m going to a chess tournament. But she’s using a cane this morning. Her joints look swollen and inflamed. And I haven’t used the c-word in three years. Why break my streak?
“She’s leaving for Boulder in a couple of weeks, so we’re hanging out in New York.”
Her expression darkens. “I just wish you’d reconsider continuing with your schooling— ”
“Mom,” I whine, tone as hurt as I can make it.
After several trials and many errors, I finally discovered the best way to get Mom off my back: to imply that I want to go to college so little that every time she brings up the topic, I’m tragically wounded by her lack of respect for my life choices. It might not be the truth, and I’m not a fan of lying to her, but it’s for herown good. I don’t want anyone in my family to think that they owe me anything, or to feel guilty about my decisions. They shouldn’t feel guilty, because none of this istheirfault.
