Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,29

better.

“Does your mama know where you work?” he asks. “I bet she does … She used to do work there herself when she was younger.”

I swallow the shameful lump clogging my airway. While I knew my mom had dabbled in stripping for money, I never knew she worked at the same place as me.

I really am like her.

No! I’m not! I haven’t even dated anyone and will never date anyone. Plus, I’m going to college. One day, I will be better than her.

Well, that’s what I tell myself as the guy hammers on my door for the next half-hour.

When he gives up, I try to go back to sleep, but my worried mind keeps me up, and finally, I haul my behind out of bed to check out the damage in the apartment.

Before I head out into the mess, I crack the door open and peer into the hallway to make sure the house is empty. I don’t spot anyone passed out anywhere, so I open the door wider and step out.

My nose promptly crinkles at the stench of weed, booze, and sweat. The mustiness in the air makes me want to run to the bathroom and take a shower. Needing to check on the place first, I put one foot in front of the other as I endeavor into the living room. The sofa is tipped upside down, the coffee table is pressed sideways against the patched wall, and a pile of beer cans is stacked in the middle of the room. My initial instinct is to clean up the mess ASAP, but I need to go peek in on my mom first.

Turning my back on the mess, I walk back to her bedroom and find her bed empty. I check the bathroom, the closets, and then the kitchen. There’s no sign of her anywhere. She must have never come home from the bar.

I grow worried at the thought of all the places she could be: whoring herself on the corner, shooting up in some sleazy hotel, or lying dead in a ditch somewhere. All except the latter has happened.

I slouch onto the table and lower my head into my hands, debating whether or not I should track her down. Usually, I do, but Beck is supposed to be coming over today to tow my car. Although, after what happened last night, I question if I should let Beck off the hook and call Ari to come help me.

Backtracking to my bedroom, I pick up my phone either to call Beck or Ari—I haven’t decided yet. Then I note the missed call from Wynter. I decide to call her, procrastinating my car ordeal.

“Hey, lazy butt,” Wynter greets me after I yawn a hello.

“That’s a first.” I flop down on my bed and stare at the water stained ceiling. “Usually, you call me a crackhead.”

“Yeah, well, I figured I’d mix it up a bit. Make life a little more interesting,” she teases. “Seriously, though, why do you sound tired? Usually, you’re up at the butt crack of dawn.”

“I had a rough night.”

“Because your car broke down?”

“Yeah. And there was a party going on and some guy woke me up at, like, six o’clock in the morning.” I don’t bother mentioning the party was being thrown by my mom. While Wynter knows I don’t have a fantastic home life, she doesn’t know all the details like Beck does. I also don’t bring up Beck staying in my bed or that I rubbed myself against him for various reasons, one being that Wynter will look way too much into it.

“I don’t know why you still live there,” she says. “It’d be so much easier if you just moved to Fairs Hollow. And it’s not like you love living with your mom.”

“It’s more complicated than just that,” I mutter, massaging my temple to reduce the pressure pushing against my skull.

“Why? I mean, you’re almost nineteen. You shouldn’t have to live with your mom anymore if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but she needs help paying rent and stuff.” And making sure she doesn’t die in her sleep.

“Why’s that your job? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“Not always.”

“Still … That really isn’t fair,” she says, sounding deeply perplexed. “My parents aren’t that great at all, but they’d never make me pay their rent for them. And they shouldn’t. No parent should do that.”

“I know that.” I really do. And I’ve tried to talk to my mom about this many, many times, about