And side note: What did his having a daughter my age have to do with the fact that I wasn’t wearing pants—or a bra—in front of him in our kitchen? Did he really think the fact that he had offspring in my general age vicinity mattered? Since I wasn’t related to this jackass of a man in any way, shape, or form, I was going to have to disagree with him and say that it wasn’t okay for me—at seventeen—to be nipping out and bare-legged in front of his fortysomething ass.
“Bay, honey.”
My mom’s voice—soft and gruff with morning—made my head swivel around. I foolishly thought she was going to save me. Apologize, rescue, or at least comfort me in this most disconcerting of breakfast scenarios. Her pretty face was half smiling, but she was looking at the spot where he’d just been standing, not at me.
I said, “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you go put on some pants and we can all have breakfast together?” She glanced at my face and gestured toward my room with her chin, whispering, “You should probably get dressed before coming out when there are people here, kiddo.”
* * *
“Oh my God, that is disgusting.” Nekesa rummaged through her purse in the passenger seat while I drove. “YIKES! He stayed the night? What did your mom say when he just walked out of her room in the morning? Did she warn you?”
“No.” My head was bouncing with all of Nekesa’s questions that I had already asked myself a million times that morning. “She acted like it was normal and like I was somehow in the wrong for doing exactly what I do every single morning.”
“I cannot believe Emily didn’t step up for you.”
“Right?” I said, realizing that was exactly what the worst part of the morning had been. My mother taking a step back from me.
“What’s his last name?” Nekesa took out her phone. “I’m gonna look up this weaseldick and see what his story is. Scott what?”
“Hall.” Nekesa was acting psychotic, but it felt good to have someone in my corner. She might be outrageous, but I also knew she’d stab someone in the face with an ice pick （her words） for me. “Scott Hall.”
I slowed and took a right at the corner, driving too fast but determined to be on time for work.
“Found him.”
I glanced over, and she was scrolling.
She said, “He’s got a Facebook. Profile pic is a normal dad-ish kind of thing.”
She scrolled a little more. “No weird political rants, no sexist posts, nothing pervy so far. Looks like he’s got a daught—”
“Our age, remember?” I said, still seething inside from the awkward encounter.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Wait,” Nekesa said, bringing the phone closer to her face. “Hang on for a sec.”
“What?” I glanced over, dying to know what she’d found.
“Holy shit!” She yelled it and glanced up from her phone, her mouth dropping wide open.
I was scared and hopeful, all at once. Had she found a criminal record? A rap sheet that would make my mother insta-dump Scott? I said, “Will you please tell me what you’re freaking about?”
She shook her head and looked legit nervous. “I don’t think I can even say it.”
I welcomed the red light over the upcoming intersection so I could slam on my brakes. “For the love of God, what?”
“Okay, don’t freak out.” She breathed in through her nose before holding out a hand to calm me and saying, “His daughter. Is. Kristy Hall.”
“No, no—it’s a common last name,” I said, trying to believe it even as a huge knot formed in my stomach. “He lives on the other side of town, way outside of our district. The name is just a coincidence.”
“Bailey, it’s not.”
It was my mouth’s turn to drop wide open as I stared at her in disbelief. There was just no way. I said, “If there is a God, you are lying to me.”
“Not lying, sweetie—look.” She held out her phone, and sure enough, there was an adorable picture of Scott and Kristy Hall.
Together.
Kristy Hall—was the universe kidding me with that?
Kristy went to our school; she was pretty and wildly popular, and she hated my guts. Which was weird in that I kept to myself and a large portion of the population didn’t even know who I was. I was off the radar to most of my classmates, but if Kristy saw me, she couldn’t stop herself from calling me out.
What are you looking at?
She was a nightmare, and the sole cause of my school anxiety.
All because of one stupid, stupid night.
Nekesa had dragged me to a football party. She’d just started talking to Aaron, and she was head-over-heels obsessed. Half the people there had been floor-licking drunk, and since I knew no one, I found a nice spot on the sofa in the corner and I literally read The Handmaid’s Tale on my phone—all by myself—while Nekesa made out with her new boyfriend somewhere upstairs.
I’d been totally invisible until Callie Booth—Kristy’s best friend—had plopped down onto the floor beside me. She was hammered and mumbling incoherently, and then she laid her head on my calf.
I’d pretended not to notice—still very intent on remaining invisible—until I felt moisture on my skin.
I’d glanced down, and it was clear the girl had just vomited.
And her mouth was resting on my bare leg.
Without thinking, I moved my leg. I just jerked it out of the way of the vomit, not giving any thought to the fact that once I moved my leg, her forehead might slam into the glass coffee table in front of her.
But worse than Callie’s terribly loud head-bang and resultant groan was Kristy walking into the room the instant it happened. One minute I’d been minding my own business, and the next Kristy Hall had been screaming at me in the middle of the party, “Did you just kick her in the head?”
Even just remembering that moment made my blood pressure spike and my cheeks get hot, because it had been straight out of a bad dream. I had been terrified. If Nekesa hadn’t come downstairs that very minute, I’m fairly certain I would’ve been clawed to death by screaming banshees in letter jackets.
God. Kristy Hall.
I was going to have to find a way to ensure my mother ended things with Scott before Kristy calling me a bitch over morning bagels became a distinct possibility.
God. Kristy Hall.
CHAPTER TWELVE Charlie
As soon as I pulled into the parking lot, my phone buzzed.
I almost ignored it for multiple reasons. First, I knew it would be my mom, and I was too tired to deal with her. Clark was in her ear all the time with parental advice, so it’d become commonplace for her to text me about ways I could be a better son, a more thoughtful brother, and a fucking productive tenant.
Thanks but no thanks.
Second, my shift started in two minutes, so just answering the text was guaranteed to make me late, and I didn’t feel like being late on day two.
Still, I took out my phone and checked the display.
Becca: Can I call you?
“Fuck,” I said under my breath, leaning my head back on the driver’s seat and trying to figure out how to answer that question when my pulse was out of control. It was idiocy, but just seeing Bec’s name pop up on my phone sent my vitals spiraling every time.