“Let them talk,” my mother sobs hysterically. “I don’t care.”
“I’m staying at my sister’s until you calm down.”
“No! You’re lying.” She wraps her arms around his leg, dislodging the towel. “You’re going to go see Birdie.”
He kicks her off and dives into his truck, tires shrieking as he tears down the asphalt. She runs after him bare-ass naked. Catcalls echo through the neighborhood.
“That’s right, girl, go get your man!”
“Another day in paradise,” I deadpan and stroll into the trailer.
“Yo, sis, how’s the face feeling?” Nolan smirks without taking his eyes off the road.
“Shut up or the next time you go to sleep I’ll disembowel you,” I fume, balling my hands into fists.
“Damn,” he laughs. “You get slapped into next week and now you wanna commit a felony?”
“I mean it, Nolan.” I twist in my seat, ready to do some bodily damage if he keeps pushing me.
When the jokes didn’t start the moment we got into the car, I foolishly thought Nolan took pity on me and breathed a sigh of relief. Silly me. Should’ve known it was too good to be true. He will never be a protective big brother. Our mother’s relentless coddling turned him into a selfish, spoiled brat with an ego to match.
Momma hates me, though. Why else would she treat me the way she does? I try my hardest to meet her expectations, but she always finds me lacking.
Nolan slows his Mercedes-Benz to a stop at a four-way intersection. “Shit, I bet the whole county heard it. Momma laid the double whammy on your ass. Sure you don’t have a concussion?”
“I hate you!” I scream. I’m about to land a punch when he strikes me first.
A sharp jab to the gut.
I double over, gasping for air, blinding pain rippling through my intestines.
“Jesus,” he grumbles. “Overreact much?”
I throw the door open and retch, but nothing comes out. Nolan unbuckles my seatbelt and shoves me headfirst to the pavement. Frustrated drivers blare their horns and speed around us, pissed at being delayed.
“Walk it off,” he sneers and tosses my belongings after me before peeling down the street.
I pluck my compact mirror from my purse and examine the damage. No bleeding, but my forehead is scraped up pretty bad. I’ll put on a little more makeup at school.
I stand tall. Straighten my spine. Pretend I’m not screaming inside.
It’s just another day, Zilphia… Don’t think. Don’t cry. Don’t let him win.
Holding my head up high, I begin the ten-minute trek to school. Walking is preferable to riding with Nolan anyway.
My thoughts drift to Sam. It’ll be especially tricky sneaking food to him now. After this morning, Momma will for sure keep track of groceries. Without me, he wouldn’t eat dinner most days.
I can’t let that happen, not ever.
My calves burn as I hike up the steep hill leading to the hulking taupe-colored brick building. “FeFe, over here, boo!” Claudette shouts in her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice.
Ugh! I loathe that stupid nickname!
God, she is beyond irritating. I’ve asked her not to call me that a trillion times, but does she listen?NOPE!
I count to five Mississippis and slide my lips upward in a fake smile.
We’ve been “friends” since kindergarten—because our mothers said so. They’re meaner than rattlesnakes and have PhDs instarting drama. Every day it’s the same ridiculous competition over who can flaunt the most overpriced outfit, shoes, and jewelry. It’s aggravating.
