Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
* * *
For the last two days, I had tried to pretend my life was normal. I tried to forget that I had left Zepp’s house in the middle of the night. That he hadn’t bothered to call me or text. That he ignored me in the hallways at school.
I thought my life was hard before, but this was a new breed of agony. His rejection wasn’t obvious; it was more of a low burn, eating away at me minute by minute, hour by hour. A soul-deep ache.
My mom bumbled around in the kitchen. We were out of money, waiting on money from the government, and I was having to ration her crack, which meant she was almost lucid. The crash of pots and pans made my head hurt.
“Mom,” I said, stepping to the doorway. “Did you get those checks from the state yet?”
She fiddled with the gas. “Not yet, baby.” We were going to get evicted in four days. I was running out of time. She looked at me, the wildness in her eyes still for once. A line sunk between her brows as she stared at me. “You okay, baby?” The softness in her voice tore open old wounds.
It had been years since I had heard her sound like she gave a shit. Her arms came around me, and though she smelled like death, I fell into her embrace, fighting back the tears.
After a few minutes, she pulled back, grabbing my face and swiping her thumbs below my eyes. “Whoever he is, he’s not worth your tears.”
For the briefest moment, I was eight years old again, and my mom was cleaning a cut knee, caring about me. But it was just a pretty lie. As soon as the drugs came, she would no longer care.
“I have to go.” I fought back a sob on my way through the door. I had to do something.
* * *
My frayed nerves were on edge as I made my way down the deserted alley. The smell of urine from homeless people was staggering, and I held my breath. I had been driving around in the cold for over an hour, trying to find something I could steal, a car tucked away from the main roads and that would bring in at least a grand, and in Dayton, that was a tall order.
This Nissan at the end of the cramped throughway would have to do. I breathed a sigh of relief when I tried the handle and the car was unlocked. I checked the alleyway before I slipped behind the wheel and fiddled with the steering column. It took longer than usual to pop the thing loose, and every few minutes, I was checking the rearview to make sure I was still alone. The tangled mess of wires fell free, and I started stripping them. I twisted the ends, waiting for the engine to crank, but nothing happened.
“Shit.” I tried again, nervous sweat forming on my brow. But again, nothing. And then a tap came from the window. I froze, swearing under my breath when I glanced up at Officer Jacob’s smug face on the other side of the glass.
He opened the door. “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re having a problem getting it started.”
I groaned. Of all the cars I’d stolen, it was this one, the one I actually needed that I got caught for. And of all the cops in Dayton, it had to be him.
He motioned me out with a jerk of his chin, then circled his finger in the air. The moment I spun around, he cuffed my wrists, then led me to his patrol car.
“Watch your head, now,” he said, placing a hand on me when I ducked into the cramped back seat. Jacobs stood by the door, one hand on the roof, the other on his belt loop. “Shame. You know? Smart girl getting messed up with the wrong guy. Fucking your whole future up for some worthless boy.”
For once, though, this had nothing to do with Zepp. The door slammed, and he rounded the hood, whistling when he climbed into the front and pulled away. I was eighteen, and this—grand theft auto—would ruin any hope I had for a scholarship; for a future outside of Dayton. Tears stung my eyes as I watched the shit hole town I called home pass by the window. Turned out, Zepp was right; there was no getting out of Dayton.
The cuffs bit into my wrists when I tried to lean back against the seat, so I rested my forehead against the plexiglass divider and closed my eyes. I tried to drown out the muffled sound of the scanner calling in cases of overdoses and assaults until the police car finally rolled to a stop.
Jacobs’ door opened, then closed, and I lifted my head, a fog of confusion clouding my brain when I looked through the window at the sagging front porch of Zepp’s house. Jacobs twirled his keys around his finger, a little pep in his step as he jogged up the front steps.