I spend the rest of class working on the assignment with Ari and Beck and listening to them tell stories about some of the stuff they’ve done. They bring me into the conversation whenever they can. They’re really easy to talk to, like Luna, more accepting than I’m used to. Watching them joke around with each other forces me to realize how crappy my friends have been over the years, how much time I’ve wasted by hanging out with people I never felt comfortable with.
When the bell rings, I collect my stuff and head out of the classroom. People continue to give me nasty looks as I make my way to the parking lot with Ari and Beck, but I do my best to ignore them.
“So . . . Have you gotten your grades up yet, man?” Beck asks casually as we cross the grass.
Ari is detached from the conversation, engulfed in some kind of text conversation on his phone, but he does glance at me when Beck asks me the question.
I pat my pockets for my car keys. “A little bit.”
“You think you’re going to be able to play in the game tomorrow?” he asks, spinning a keychain around his finger.
“Maybe. It all depends on if I can pass the exam I have in English.” I don’t think I will, though. Not when my mom’s been the one helping me study.
“Did you get another tutor?” he asks, seeming marginally interested in my answer.
“I have it handled,” I say with a shrug. It’s a lie. I don’t have it handled at all, but I don’t know anyone else besides Luna who is smart enough to tutor me.
He accepts my answer, though.
“Cool. Maybe we can have a good shot at winning.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I feel like a jerk for lying, but what else am I supposed to say?
We part ways and get into our cars.
The drive home gives me time to clear my head. Maybe this thing with Piper won’t be as bad as I thought. Perhaps it’ll help me get rid of everyone who simply used me, like Logan. I want a fresh start, right? Well, that also means making new friends.
I’m feeling pretty okay by the time I pull up into my driveway. But as I climb out of the car, the oxygen suddenly gets ripped from my chest as I notice the sold sticker slapped over the for sale sign in the front yard.
I drift into the house in a panicked daze, trying to convince myself that it’s a good thing. It means my mom won’t have to worry about a mortgage she can’t afford. My family needs this. But it hurts, knowing the house I grew up in that carries so many memories with my father won’t be my house anymore. I want to cry; instead, I put on a smile so my mom won’t know how upset I really am. No one will.
Thursday evening, I eat dinner with my parents, listening to them gossip about all the people in the town who don’t live up to their high standards. I tune them out for the most part, allowing my thoughts to drift to Grey.
I’m still not positive what I’m going to say to him if he brings up the stealing incident tomorrow—whether I’ll tell him the truth or not. I can’t lie to myself, though. All confessions aside, the idea of going to lunch with him makes me feel excited. I just hope Piper doesn’t flip out about it. The last thing I need is to be the target of her again.
“Luna, you’re going to be working this Saturday and Sunday after church,” my mom unexpectedly announces as she shovels a spoonful of lasagna onto her plate.
I blink from my thoughts and focus on what she’s saying.
“Your father and I will be out of town for the weekend for that church camp program we’re helping out with, but my mom will be coming to stay with you,” she explains. “We’ve made her a list of rules and the things that you need to do. She’ll see to it that you get everything done, and don’t think you can get away with stuff just because she’s old. Remember, she took care of Aunt Ashlynn.”
I stab my fork into the food on my plate. Eighteen years old and she still gets me a babysitter.
“Who am I working for?”
“For Benny at his store.” She sets the spoon into the pan. “And you won’t be getting paid for any of the work you do.”
“This isn’t a job,” my father says as he digs into the pasta. “This is part of your punishment.”
I set the fork down, no longer hungry anymore. “Did you . . . ? Did you tell Benny that I stole from him?”
My mom lets out a sharp laugh. “Like I would ever admit such an embarrassing thing to anyone.” She picks up her fork, shaking her head. “We told him that we thought it would be good for you to help our community a bit more, that you were becoming too spoiled and needed to see what it’s like to actually work. And it’ll help improve our family’s appearance. With how you have been behaving lately, you’ve been causing a lot of our church friends to gossip about us.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“You’re lucky Benny is giving you this opportunity,” she continues. “He turned down the offer a few times, but we were persistent, so be grateful for this chance and don’t argue.”
I actually like the idea of helping Benny out. Perhaps it can help with my guilt. There’s just one problem, though. Or a fear. What if I can’t control myself? What if I’m in that store, and all I can think about is taking stuff off the shelf when Benny’s not looking? I haven’t stolen since that day, but every time I get stressed out, it’s all I can think about doing.
“Maybe I should help someone else,” I subtly suggest, “someplace that’s not a store.”
“You’ll help the person you stole from,” my mom snaps. “And you will do a good job.”
I nod without further argument. I can do this, I tell myself. I’ll be out of the house, far away from them and way less stressed, which will help with the impulse.
I finish the rest of my dinner without speaking. After I’ve scraped my plate clean to avoid any “waste not, want not” speeches, I clean up and head for my room.
“Luna, come here for a second,” my mom beckons me back to the kitchen table.
I free a quiet breath then back up. “Yes?”
She meticulously examines me over from head to toe. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
A chill ripples through me. Great. This can’t be good.
She reaches up and fusses with my hair. “I think it’s time for a haircut, something way shorter. Maybe something like Mary Persting’s daughter.”
I jerk back. No way am I cutting my hair as short as Mary Persting’s daughter. Hers is shorter than Beck and Ari’s hair, for crying out loud.
“I like my hair this way.”
Her expression hardens at the sound of my clipped tone. “Watch how you talk to me, young lady.”
I try again, forcing myself to be calmer. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to cut my hair. If I do that, then I won’t be able to pull it up and keep it out of my eyes.”
“If we cut it short enough, then it won’t hang in your eyes.”
My fingers curl inward, and my nails stab into my palms. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“Stop arguing with your mother,” my dad warns from the kitchen sink. “If she says to cut your hair, then you will cut your hair. If she says jump, you will ask how high? If she tells you to clean the house, you will thank her for giving you a roof over your head.”
I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood.
“I’ll schedule an appointment with Donna for the end of next week. You will go, or you won’t be allowed back in the house.” The threat in her eyes makes me shudder. “And be grateful I’m taking you to a salon. I could do what we did last time and cut it myself.”
I swallow hard as the painful memory strangles me. I was twelve and had worked so hard to grow my hair all the way down to my lower back. Then, one day my mom decided she hated the long-hair look after one of the other mother’s commented on how trashy I was starting to look. Yeah, I liked to do the whole beach wave, bed head thing, but it didn’t make me look trashy.
“Nice girls don’t keep their hair that long,” she said like that made logical sense. “Right now, you don’t look like a nice girl.”
I didn’t want my hair short, and I fought her and tried to run. She had my father pin me down in a chair while she hacked off my hair with a pair of scissors. Her movements were so rough she even nicked my brow, and I still have a faint scar from it.