I know I only have a few months left with him here to help me. I’m not deluding myself into thinking we’re going to last beyond high school. Brady’s going to Purdue, in Indiana, for engineering in the fall. I won’t have the resources to visit him.
Even though I know we aren’t destined for forever, I’m going to enjoy my time with him as long as I can.
“I’ll be a minute.” I give him a quick kiss before going to my locker. Even walking down the hallway by myself, I feel exposed.
I quickly grab my notebook out of my locker and head to Brady’s. When I turn the corner, I freeze. Hope is at his locker. She’s bouncing up and down, touching his arm, and throwing her head back while she laughs. I take a step back, wondering how much I’d upset Brady if I ditched him. We always walk together to our first class, but I don’t want to deal with Hope.
I start to turn when Brady catches my eye. “Babe!” he shouts with a grin on his face.
Hope looks over her shoulder and I can practically see steam coming out of her ears. I know I have to go over there. I slowly walk to them with as much of a smile as I can muster.
“Babe, you’ve got to try one of the cookies Hope’s mom made.” Brady hands me a huge cookie that’s bursting with chocolate chunks. While it’s only a cookie, I feel so grateful. I give Brady a smile before I take a bite. I didn’t work last night and ate most of my lunch yesterday, so I haven’t eaten in nearly eighteen hours.
“So good,” I say to Hope while I cover my mouth, embarrassed with how much I’ve shoved into it. She refuses to even look at me. “Thanks, Hope.”
I try to savor every morsel. As much as I want to inhale the whole thing, I know all too well that I’ll cramp up if I introduce food too quickly into my empty stomach.
Hope’s glaring at the ground. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed I’m going to tutor her or if she’s mad at something else. Hope always seems like she’s mad at the whole world … except for Brady. She’s always roses and sunshine around him.
Hope clenches her jaw. “Well, I better get to class.” She turns on her heel quickly as Brady and I thank her again.
“Do you want another one?” he asks, holding out a cookie. “Did you eat dinner last night?”
“I’m okay,” I lie. I hate being a charity case.
“I guess we better head to class.” He shuts his locker, then puts his arm around me as we walk. We reach the point in the hallway where we have to part for our first class. “See you at lunch,” he says to me, then kisses me lightly on the lips. “Unless, of course, I’m lucky enough to run into you sooner.”
“The luck, Mr. Lambert, would be all mine.” I give his hand a squeeze before I walk away.
Lunch. I’ve come to dread lunch period, which is ironic since it’s truly my biggest lifeline. Brady, Lila, and my other friends who know the truth always offer to buy me lunch, but they’ve done so much already. So I take my tray and ignore the looks of pity from the lunch workers and the stares from my classmates as I fill my tray up with as much food as I can to sustain me until the next day.
What other choice do I have?
If it wasn’t for the school lunch program, I’d starve.
It’s hard to keep a secret in a small town.
I still don’t fully understand how mine has been contained for so long. While several of the adults in town know what happened, I think they mostly feel sorry for me, since none of it was my fault, and have kept quiet. Of course, my closest friends know. It’d be nearly impossible for them not to.
I have to constantly remind myself who knows and who doesn’t. It’s tiring being two different people. It’s not as if I’m not me, but I have to be on guard. Careful of what I say and to whom. It’s more out of pride than anything else that I don’t want people to know. It’s hard enough being in high school without giving people a reason to torment you or, worse, pity you. There are some people I have to watch myself around more than others. Hope Kaplan is a perfect example of someone I have to be careful about. Especially since Hope despises me because she’s in love with Brady.
It’s almost laughable that she thinks it’s a secret. I kind of feel sorry for her that she doesn’t realize he sees her only as a friend. They simply don’t have the kind of connection he and I do. So she takes it out on me.
I wanted to turn down Ms. Porter when she asked me to tutor Hope, but I need the money. Plus, her mom has been really great since everything fell apart. I was convinced Hope knew everything, but her mom assured me my secret was safe with her.
I trust Mrs. Kaplan. It’s everybody else I’m worried about.
There’s a knot in my stomach as I approach Hope after school. It twists deeper when I see Hope’s best friend, Madelyn, waiting with her. Madelyn’s one of those intimidating people who can ruin your day with a look. It’s pretty obvious she’s not a fan of mine. She glares at me as I make my way toward them. Then Madelyn leans in and whispers something in Hope’s ear, which results in a hearty laugh from Hope. It doesn’t take a genius to know the target of the comment.
“Hi, guys,” I say hesitantly. “Are you ready, Hope?”
Hope slams her locker shut. “Of course, Parker. If you’re ready, then I’m ready. I’m at your command.”
I try to ignore the disdain in her voice.
We walk to her car without speaking a single word to each other. I try to figure out if there’s anything I can say that won’t aggravate her further. I can’t mention Brady, even though he’s a favorite topic of hers. Her Rube Goldberg machines are also off-limits because of Brady. I don’t want to start talking to her about algebra, since she probably already feels put out that I’m her tutor.
Hope has two sides to her: the fun, carefree side that Brady talks about and then the bitter, angry one I encounter on an almost daily basis.
For nearly my entire first year here, I wanted to be friends with her. Brady still wants that for us, but it’s more than apparent Hope isn’t interested in being friends with me. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me, so it’s beyond awkward when we both get into her shiny new red car.
After a couple more minutes of not speaking, I decide I can’t take it anymore. “I really like this song,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve heard it before—who is it?”
“It’s nobody,” she replies coldly before switching to another song.
Luckily, it’s only a few minutes until we reach her house.
“Hope, mija, is Parker with you?” her mom calls out as we enter.
“Yes,” Hope replies with the right amount of dread to make me not feel welcomed.
“Parker!” Mrs. Kaplan greets me with a hug. “Thank you so much for coming, hon. I figured the dining room table would be the best place for you two to work. I also whipped up a few snacks for you.”
It’s strange to be in this house when it isn’t packed with people and decorated for a special occasion. We enter the dining room. At the head of its large oak table, Mrs. Kaplan has set down platters filled with apple slices and peanut butter, potato chips and dip, and brownies.
“This is amazing—thank you so much, Mrs. Kaplan.” I resist the urge to start eating right away. I want to take Hope’s lead. She always gets weird about food when I’m around.
I’m pretty certain Hope thinks she’s fat. She is not. She has curves I would love to have. To me, curves symbolize a strong, healthy body. I’m the opposite. I’ve always been thin, but now I’m skinny. While Hope probably envies my size, it’s not something to be proud of.
“Now, Parker, I’ve repeatedly told you to call me Gabriela.” Mrs. Kaplan wraps an arm around me.
“Sorry,” I reply, although I always feel uncomfortable calling adults by their first name. I’ll try to find a way not to call her by any name if I can help it.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” She pats my hand. “Now eat! And be mathematical geniuses!” She gives us a big smile before she leaves us alone.
I sit down at the table, pull out my books, and
take an apple slice and bite into it, ignoring Hope’s glare from across the table.
“So I think we should start with last week’s exam,” I say as I pull out a copy of Hope’s test. “We can go through each equation and talk through it. I find it best to verbalize these problems.”
“I’m not stupid,” Hope interrupts me. She’s looking down at the table.
“Nobody thinks you’re—”
“Please,” she practically spits at me. “I can’t figure out this stuff, okay? So I guess I’m an idiot.”
“Hope, you are not stupid,” I insist. Still, she refuses to look up. I start circling a few equations on the paper and slide it over. “You got these correct. So you have the basics down. The ones you didn’t, you were usually only one calculation away from getting it right. You were really close.”
Her gaze is now on the paper, but I can’t tell if she’s hearing me.
I continue, “You know your machines? You sometimes have trouble with a certain step because a ramp is slightly off or something wasn’t calibrated correctly, right?”
She gives me a tiny nod.
“Well, that’s exactly what’s going on here. You’re on the right track, but we have to make a slight adjustment. You understand what needs to be done to solve the problem, but there’s a variable that needs to be recalculated. Once we get that down, there won’t be an algebraic egg you can’t crack.” My lame attempt at humor actually makes her lips move up ever so slightly. “Let’s tackle this first one, okay?”
She finally looks up. “Okay.”
“Great!” I move my chair so we’re closer together and I’m within an arm’s reach of the food.
“Oh, sweeties!” Hope’s mom comes into the room. “I forgot to offer you something to drink! What was I thinking?”
“God, Mom!” Hope snaps at her. “We’re trying to work! Can you let us do that?”
Hope’s mom backs away. “Yes, of course. Why don’t I bring some water and sodas for you? Then I promise to be out of your hair.”
“That would be great,” I reply, much to Hope’s frustration. “Thanks so much.”
“Fine,” Hope grunts. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head.
I want to shake Hope. She always seems annoyed by her mother. Or embarrassed by her. I don’t understand it. Her mom got her a tutor. Her mom made us a snack and simply wants to get us something to drink. What’s wrong with that?
Plus, her mom is here. One of the simplest tasks for any parent: being there for their child. Hope’s mom may be clingy, but it’s better than having a neglectful mother.
Sure, I have the boyfriend, but Hope has a family. She has security. She has everything that truly matters.
The problem with tutoring Hope before work is that it makes it difficult for me to find my own time to study. Sometimes The Pie Shoppe isn’t that busy, and I can squeeze in homework between tables, but I’m not so fortunate tonight.
The benefits of it being busy are that I make extra money in tips, and the time flies. It feels as if I’ve only been here for an hour when the door opens a little after ten and Brady comes in.
“How’d it go tonight?” he asks.
I’m clearing a corner table littered with beer bottles that have been emptied by a group of guys getting off work at the plastic plant on the outskirts of town. It was your basic late-night group: drunk and rowdy … and incredibly stingy with their tips.
I give Brady a small smile as I pocket the two dollars in change they left on a forty-dollar tab. “Fine. I’ll be a second.”
As I grab my bag from the back and say good-bye to my boss, I quickly count all my tips and am happy to have nearly forty dollars for the evening. I shove twelve dollars in my pocket and put the rest in the money belt I hide underneath my clothes. I plan on making my weekly deposit to my “private bank” on the weekend.
The cold February air shocks us as we step outside. I bundle up under my jacket, dreading what’s waiting for me at home.
Home.
It’s incredible all that word encompasses. Home used to mean a three-bedroom, split-level ranch with a backyard, a washing machine, a dryer, and central air.
As Brady pulls up to the trailer I now share with my sister, I still can’t believe how far I’ve fallen.
There are few people who know where I really live. When I stop to think about it, it’s strange how little I know about the home lives of most of my classmates. Of course, there are people like Hope, whose parents are a big part of the community and constantly host parties at their house. But my parents never made a big impression at school or in the community. They never met my teachers, mostly because I never gave them a reason to. They kept to themselves. When they both decided to disappear, no one really noticed. To most people, they’d never existed to begin with.
“You going to be okay?” Brady asks as he looks at the darkened trailer.
“Yes,” I say, although I’m not so sure. It’s quiet now. With any luck, I’ll be asleep by the time Hayley comes home from the bar, and she’ll be alone.
Brady looks around at the dozens of other trailers next to ours. “You know you can always stay the night with me if you want.”
It’s something I often do. On the weekends, I stay at Lila’s house. If things get bad with Hayley, I’ll either crash with her or Brady. While it’s tempting, I have tests to study for and there’s no way I’d get the work done if I went to his house.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it.”
He grimaces. “Babe, what do I always tell you?”
“I know, I know.” Brady is always reminding me that I don’t have to thank him every time he gives me a ride or pays for things. “That’s what boyfriends do” is his automatic response. Not the boyfriends of other girls. Sure, the guys might pay for things or drive a girl somewhere, but those girls could survive without it.
I couldn’t.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I lean in to kiss him. He places his hand on the side of my face and draws me in even closer. I can tell I smell like the pizza place. I’m never able to wear the same clothes to work as school.
After a few minutes, we pull away. Brady waits to make sure I’m safely inside the trailer before he drives off.
I shiver at how cold it is inside. I place the twelve dollars on the counter, knowing Hayley will believe it was a slow Wednesday night. It’s harder to keep money from her on the weekends.
I know it wasn’t fair to my sister that she had to leave college to parent me. I chip in as much as I can, but I need to save some money for myself. I need an escape plan. As I look at the empty cigarette box and vodka bottle on the counter, it’s clear my hard-earned money isn’t being well spent. I hate that Hayley has already given up.
My older sister is a cautionary tale for me. There are times when I want to scream at her to fight and to become something more. She can’t let what our parents did to us ruin her. But I often fear I’m too late.
I place her empties in the trash, take a quick, tepid shower, study, and then spread my sleeping bag onto the couch and slip inside.
I say a silent thank-you to the universe that I’ve survived another day, knowing tomorrow will bring its own challenges. I don’t care. Tomorrow means I’m one day closer to graduation. One day closer to finally being able to leave this place and this life behind.
478 DAYS LEFT
Nothing tests a friendship like a good old family scandal.
I met my best friend, Lila, at the same party where I met Brady, a couple of days after we moved to town. Brady introduced me around to people and instantly made me feel welcomed. Lila brought me into her tight circle of friends and we’ve been inseparable since.
“Have you and Brady talked about Valentine’s yet?” Lila asks the next morning between classes.
“Not really. I have to work that night.” Valentine’s Day is next week and I’m dreading it. I can’t afford to give Brady a present, and while I know h
e won’t expect anything, I hate always being the moocher. “Plus, he probably has to work on the machine anyway.”
I love that Brady has something like the Rube Goldberg club to keep him occupied. Not only are the machines really cool, but I don’t feel as if I’m neglecting him when I have to work so much.
“Oh, you know Hope will find some way to keep him tethered to her that day.” Lila’s black curls bounce back and forth as she shakes her head.
I shrug, since she’s absolutely right. “I know, but they really have a lot to do.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with him being with her in Cleveland all by himself? I don’t trust that girl.”
“First, they won’t be all by themselves. And second, I trust Brady.” I do. If he wanted to be with Hope, he would’ve been with her. It’s not like he hasn’t had plenty of opportunities.
“We should totally road trip!” she offers. “It’s only a two-hour drive. We can go and support him.”
“I really need the weekend shifts.”
It’s a common reply from me. There are so many parties and other events I can’t attend because I always have to work on the weekends. I work every Friday night, and at least one shift every Saturday and Sunday. That’s when I have the best chance to make money.
“So, don’t get mad,” Lila says as she looks around the hallway, which means she’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. “My mom went through her closet and has some really cute tops you might want. You’re too tiny for her pants, but she has this awesome cashmere sweater I’d be clawing at if these guys wouldn’t burst a seam.” She gestures at her chest to make a joke because she knows how uncomfortable I feel when she offers me clothes. I already have her mom’s old cell phone and am on their family plan at her parents’ insistence. While Lila reasoned she needed to be able to reach her best friend, her mother had a more concrete argument that I needed one for safety since I live in a pretty isolated area.
I used to protest. Eventually, as much as it hurt my pride, I started to accept hand-me-down clothes and electronics. If I don’t have work, I’m usually invited to someone’s for dinner.