I freeze, keeping my face blank and neutral.
“You clean up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He says it like it should be a compliment. All it does is make my stomach turn.
“Go to your room, keep your goddamn mouth shut. If I hear even that floor creaking, you’ll wish you were never born.”
“Yes, sir.” I turn and amble out of the room. I don’t run. Running makes noise. I make it to my room and close the door, the click sounding behind me.
I sit down on my mattress. The frayed material from it never having had a sheet on it tickles my hands. The springs creak as I sit. I freeze again. I don’t even breathe as I strain to listen for any noise.
I peel off my hoodie and change into a shirt to sleep in. It used to belong to my mama before she stopped caring about laundry. It still smells faintly like her before everything. Or maybe it’s all in my head.
I lie back and tuck my knees to my chest. Outside, someone revs an engine too loudly, a dog barking. Then silence again.
I text Maeve.
Me: All quiet.
Maeve: Leaving the light on, just in case.
I want to believe there is a version where I take her up on that, but I know this one isn’t it.
2 EIGHTEEN
If I don’t set any expectations, I can’t be disappointed.
This birthday really doesn’t mean anything, just one year closer to freedom.
The mall is still waking up by the time I arrive. I sit at one of the empty tables in the food court, watching stores unlock their gates one by one. As more families and kids enter, trying to escape the increasing heat, the noise around me grows. Kids crying, teenagers laughing, and an old man shouting at the pretzel vendor.
Maeve shows up with a giant iced coffee for us to share and a‘Happy Birthday’balloon tied to her backpack.
“Cute.”
She slides into the seat across from me, pouring half of her coffee into the second cup and sliding it over.
“You’re eighteen now, got to celebrate somehow.”
I take a long sip of the heavenly drink. It’s rare when we get to have anything that tastes this good.
“Ready to be a menace?”
“I’ve always been a menace.”
She snorts, “True.”
We wander in and out of the stores like we have all the time in the world. We try on clothes we can’t afford, sunglasses we’ll never buy, and spray overpriced perfume on each other's sleeves, pretending we belong here. Just two teenagers, killing time.
Maeve and I stop at the photobooth. She pulls me inside and shoves a crumpled dollar into it.
“I look like a raccoon.” I glare at the screen, wiping under my eyes. “And a bird’s made a nest in my hair.”
“You look great, like we survived the apocalypse. It’s a vibe.”
We make stupid faces, tongues out, middle fingers up, one blurry shot of us laughing so hard I can’t remember what set it off. When the strips slide out, she hands a copy to me.
