“Are you done, Miss Roberts?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, and click my heels together as if I’m in some weird military establishment. It’s an odd reaction, but she gives me that vibe.
“You left the room during an exam to talk on the phone. I have to assume the worst, and that you were looking up answers.” She holds up a bundle of papers, which I quickly recognize as my test, and proceeds to slowly rip it in half from top to bottom.
I have no words.
I get it.
I can’t resume my test after being in the hall on the phone. It looks shady, but if only I could make her understand how important this is to me. I didn’t choose for my morning to implode. “I’m sorry,” I mouth, my voice cracking into an audible sound at the end. “Any chance I can get a retake?”
“Not a chance.” She points down the hall toward the staircase that leads to the exit. “You’re done here, and this is a final warning. You are welcome back to class but let this be a lesson. I have thirty other students in this class, all of whom paid thousands of dollars to be here. It’s not fair to them if you are disruptive during this time.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out sounding more like a question. By some miracle I manage to hold my tears until she’s disappeared inside the room.
“Mama,” Bella says, her glistening eyes staring up at me. “You’re crying.”
I try my best to blink the tears away so I can blame it on an eyelash, but they only fall harder.
I’m forced to let her see me fail.
This isn’t the role model I wanted to be for her.
“I, uh, just have something in my eye,” I finally manage to say. “But the good news is I’m done with class.” I force a small smile, the only one I have left. “And that man on the phone was Jackson. He said to meet him downtown at Red Barn for my bag.”
“Oh.” Her eyes immediately widen. “Are we eating there?”
It’s not a place I frequent because it’s expensive. Frankly, on my budget, we never eat out anywhere. After the morning we’ve had, it feels right to make an exception to bring a little light into our day. “If I get my purse back, and the money is still in it, we can share a burger.”
“Yay, Mom.” She rushes toward the steps, leading the way back down. “I get the bigger half.”
I doubt I can even eat. My stomach is one giant ball of knots, and I force my feet to carry me from my classroom. I just started my semester off with a big fat zero, and I resist the urge to hang my head.
I did the best I could.
I have three more exams this semester. I’ll have to get As on the rest to raise my average, or I’ll fail. Sure, I can retake the class, but this is supposed to be my last semester, which means more money for the class and another semester of living in a dump, driving a car whose only reliability is breaking down.
I’m tired of being broke.
I’m ready for a new life.
eight
Jackson
“I think that’s her.” I gesture toward the lady wearing a red-feather hat in the back booth. She’s an elegant woman, sitting tall with her shoulders back and conversing with a group of friends.
I arch my neck, doing a double take to make sure, and my stomach churns. A rich, smoky aroma with hints of spices and tangy undertones invite me farther inside. I step, but the hostess stops me. With her hair up in one of those high cheerleader ponytails, she eyes Mrs. Wagner’s purse that I’m holding. It’s an uncomfortable moment as I’m feeling completely awkward carrying this impossible-to-miss black bag, which isn’t even remotely a tad masculine with its gold hardware and flower-embossed leather. I shift the bag to my other arm and tuck it like it’s a football. “Hey,” I upnod, “how’s it going?”
“Back again?” She gives me a sly smile.
It takes me a second to realize it’s the same hostess who seated us last night. “Yeah, just us again.” My gaze slides to Rigsby,who is eyeing the long list of signature barbeque sauces they have displayed on their wall. It’s one of the many things they are famous for. I motion to the row labeled “Melt Your Face Heat Level.” There are crying and sweating emojis next to it. I’ve always loved spicy food, and this is the row I order from. “What do you think, bud? Do you want to try a little Inferno Fire today?”
“I’m going with just ketchup this time.” He steps forward, and we follow the hostess to a booth near the front windows. She offers each of us a menu and strides away.
I plant my palms on the table and say, “You stay right here.” I pause, checking to make sure he doesn’t have his backpack with him. No mystery pets should be escaping. We had ran back to my apartment and locked Frankfurtor in my bedroom, and I pray that's where he stays. “I’m going to talk to that woman quickly. If the waitress comes, order me a water.”
He agrees, and I hurry over with the purse in my hand. “Mrs. Wagner,” I rush out, my breathing coming out in heavy gasps. “I have your purse.”
