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"We can go to Mexico," Leena says, grabbing the bowl from my hand to take her own hit.
Sacha laughs. "You know that'll never work. Our parents will catch us before we hit Iowa."
"That is true." Smoke trails out of Leena's mouth with her words.
My shoulders drop. There's nothing I can do about my situation. Best-case scenario, I finish the last two years of school and come back here to be with my friends. I can work at Starbucks or some other job that doesn't require a college degree. I could probably bartend at one of the college bars. That'sbest-casescenario.
Worst-case? Shit, I don't even want to think about that.
"Is this the last time I'm going to see you guys?" I clutch my throat, feeling like it's swelling, filling with emotions or something. I fucking hate emotions.
They both shake their heads.
"Fuck that," Sacha says. "We'll come visit. Or you can come visit here."
"That's, like, a five-hour drive."
Sacha shrugs. "Wouldn't be too bad."
I press my hand on my windowsill, staring out the window. "Just watch, you guys will forget about me." My mom's Audi pulls into the driveway, and I wince. "Shit, my mom's pulling up. Put the bowl away."
Leena smushes the burnt green with the lighter before sticking it into her pocket. It smells heavily of skunk in here, and I’d normally love it, but my mom’s been on edge these last two weeks, and once she figures out we’re baking up in here, she’ll pop a fucking gasket.
"Vera?" my mom calls from downstairs. Her voice echoes in our empty house. Leena sighs beside me, and I nod. Conversations with my mom never go well anymore. She's not a friendly person like she used to be.
Unfortunately, neither am I.
I listen as her heels clap on the wooden steps as she makes her way upstairs. The moment her face clears the doorway, she's got a fierce scowl on her face. "Are you smoking pot in here?"
We all vehemently shake our heads.
Her eyebrows lower, an ugly frown pulling her cherry red lips down at the corners. She steps into the room, her black pencil skirt pressed against her tanned legs. Her hair is done up, too. Big, wavy dark curls lay gently on her shoulders. I should have guessed something was up once she changed from being depressed and constantly in sweats, to dressing like she's a hot, single woman with no children. I should have known then that she was seeing someone, but I guess I felt like ignoring the signs.
Which also doesn't surprise me, because I've been nothing but in my own world these last few years.
My mom looks like a model at only thirty-five years old. She and my dad had me right out of high school, and she probably could have been a model back then, except she became strapped with a baby on her hip. Her long, dark hair, long limbs, and tanned skin looks so much different from my short form, white-and-black hair, and pale skin. My mom also dresses like she lives in Beverly Hills, and I, well, I dress like the girl whose parents want to forbid them from hanging out with you.
Yep, I'm the kid who looks like she's from the wrong side of the tracks.
Too bad I'm at a point in my life where I don't give a shit. I'll take my black clothes, my ripped jeans, my fishnets, and combat boots to the fucking grave if I have to. It also gives me a little bit of happiness when my mom frowns at my appearance, like she's ashamed of me. She always stares at the small hoop of my septum ring with a look of disgust.
It only makes me want to get more piercings.
I snap out of my thoughts when my mom walks through the room, her nose turned up as she searches from the blank carpet and up the empty walls. Like there will be a fucking joint taped to the ceiling or something.
She brushes by Leena and steps up to the window. She looks outside, then glances over her shoulder, giving each of us a seething glare.
Her eyes swing to mine, lethal and so bitchy. "Are you kidding me, Vera? Smoking when showings start tomorrow? The cleanersjustleft. And why are you smoking, anyway? You can’t be doing this shit, Vera.Cut it out.”
I shrug. "Whatever."
Her nostrils flare, the muscles in her jaw tensing in aggravation. "You are such a little—" She pauses as she takes a deep breath and glances at Leena and Sacha. Taking a step back, she growls, "Grab your bag, Vera, it's time to go. Say goodbye to your friends." With that, she turns around and stomps out of the room.
I wait until she’s at the bottom of the stairs before I turn to my friends. "Well, I guess this is it then."
Their scowling faces turn sad. Our tense bodies slouch, and the feeling of tension in the room melts into one of sorrow.
"I don't want you to leave," Sacha whispers.
