“Jack!” Rachel gasps, her fork clattering down. “We have company! And enough with the toilet humor.”
“But, Mom, she?—”
“What have I said about questioning me?” she asks sternly. Then she whips around to Tabby. “And you—don’t be mean to your little brother. Especially since you’re the one currently pulling a D average.”
“Mom!” Tabby shrieks, her eyes darting at me for a mortified glance.
“I don’t want to hear any more protests. That goes for both of you.”
Both kids stew in stubborn silence for a couple minutes before eventually the table fractures into smaller, separate conversations.
Jack seeks reprieve with his father, as if he knows Silver will indulge his talk about his softball game. Tabby leans toward me, clearly desperate to change the subject from her grades.
“It must be so cool being in college,” she gushes. “I can’t wait to get there. High school is so lame.”
My mind flashes to everything I’ve been dealing with lately, from Shay and Yvette calling me blackout to Kel’s hands on me in the movie theater, and my stomach churns.
Saturday night still looms over me like a storm cloud, this mystery blank in time that follows me wherever I go.
“Yeah,” I mumble, pushing mashed potatoes around my plate. “Enjoy high school while you can, though. It doesn’t get easier.”
Tabby rolls her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me, like she thinks college will solve every problem she has.
I want to tell her it won’t. That she’ll feel just as lost and trapped. Maybe even more desperate to feel “seen” and “grown.”
That’s how I got into the mess I’m in—I started doing things I shouldn’t have been, using fake IDs and sneaking into bars and clubs underage.
Trying so hard to fit in with Shay and the others, all because I was lonely and overlooked everywhere else.
But I keep my smile going, nodding along as she starts talking about some boy she likes in her third period chemistry class.
I need this job. Badly.
It’s more important that I focus on impressing Rachel and the others so I can be hired and start earning money again.
When dinner finally winds down, Rachel rises from the table ready to issue orders.
“Jack, Tabby, clear the table please,” she says in a tone that doesn’t leave room for argument. “Then straight upstairs to start your homework.”
“Mom, why can’t I—” Jack starts.
“No buts. Math first, then you can have thirty minutes of video games.”
They grumble but start grabbing plates. I see my chance to make a good impression and jump up too fast, nearly knocking over my water glass.
“Let me help with the dishes,” I offer, stacking plates with enthusiasm. “I love washing dishes.”
Nobody loves washing dishes. Rachel knows it, I know it, but she smiles anyway.
“That’s sweet of you, Solana. Thank you.”
We head into the kitchen, arms full of plates and silverware, then Jack and Tabby thunder upstairs like a small herd of elephants. I’m mentally preparing dishwashing small talk when Rachel’s phone starts ringing on the counter.
The name Fred flashes on the screen in big letters. She lunges for it, but not before I see her whole face change, her expression softening. Almost making her look more youthful than she is.
“I should—this is—” she stammers.
“Go answer it,” Silver says from behind us. He’s carrying in the rest of the glasses, coming up the rear with his usual confident gait. “Solana and I can handle the dishes.”
