Page 4 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

It’s at ‘The Shed,’ which is actually an old industrial space across town where most kids my age go on Friday and Saturday nights. More often than not, Sam’s band plays there, but the nights they don’t, they just have an iPod on shuffle and that works too.

Apparently.

I definitely don’t have firsthand experience. “At Sassy’s house.”

“No, Samantha. I don’t like that family. Her mom and dad divorced last year. They’re bad news.”

“But Mom--”

She tugs the brush through my hair painfully, and I wince at the stinging pain as she pulls strands straight from the roots. “Don’t argue with me. You can spend time with your family.”

God knows, I damn near hate my family. Geraldine and Frederick Ricardo married late in their thirties and had me a few years after that. They’re much older than the average parent of a kid my age, and they’re snobby and stuffy and just plain arrogant jerks to boot. I don’t know if they were too old or they just didn’t want anymore, but I never got any siblings, and both my parents are only children, so that leaves me alone and lonely as hell in this world.

“We’re going to the club tonight anyway, and we’ll have a nice dinner. A chicken salad at the club will be much nicer than anything Sassy’s mother could serve up.”

I hate how my mom says Sassy’s name like it’s a swear word. I don’t actually have any loyalties to Sassy St James at all. She’s just a girl I go to school with and often sit with at lunch, and we share a shift on Saturdays, but I hate the way my mom looks down her nose at people, like she’s better than everyone else. I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I feel like an imposter, like a regular girl that’s forced to dress in fancy clothes though they’re oftentimes itchy as hell and my mom goes ballistic if I get them messed up.

Here’s an idea, genius. Don’t dress a teenager in designer brands and expect her to stay in pristine condition when she’s at school. Half the kids there purposely try to mess me up, because it’s become a game to them. Watch the new girl scramble to escape the line of fire, then watch her run to the bathrooms to dab her top to get the mustard out.

I’ve been at my new school for a while now, but it’s a small town that doesn’t get much turnover. I’m still the new girl in their eyes, and because of my family’s patriarchal ways, I’m not sure I’ll ever actually be accepted as one of them.

An hour after my mother finishes ripping my hair and laying out clothes for me to wear, my dad hands his keys to the young valet and he leads my mom into the club to our usual table. We come here a few times a week, every single week. They know us by name, they move patrons from our table if we walk in unannounced, and they even named a polo match after my dad’s law firm. Lame. Lame. Double stupid lame.

This entire town, or at least the adult portion, brown nose my family like it’s their life’s mission, meanwhile, the under eighteens pick on me, probably because they’re hardwired to hate me and my snooty family.

I can’t wait to leave this ass backwards town. Nothing is keeping me here except the fact I’m underage and have no money. I only turned seventeen last month, so at least I’m on the home stretch, but I feel like this year may be my longest yet. In preparation for fleeing this place, I work every single Saturday, and pick up any extra shifts at Dixies that I can, but even that’s below my mother’s standards of what a girl of my breeding should be doing. I had to beg my parents to let me work. It took a year of tantrums and silent treatment to get my way on this. I save every single penny I make and every dime thrown in my tip jar, and I have a map already folded and under my mattress with markings of all the towns across this country I’d rather be in. Any town is fine as long as my parents don’t follow me.

If I happen to meet a Turner equivalent in my new life, I know for a fact I’ll be jumping into his arms with no hesitation. He’s sweet and romantic and kind. His wild curly hair that tickles his eyes, his rock star looks and leather wrist bands have me swooning every single day I see him at school.

My mom and dad look down on Sassy’s family because they’re divorced, but ‘at least’ they have well-paying corporate jobs. Mr. Turner on the other hand is a cop, and that, according to my folks, is just scum, especially since my dad’s job has such close ties with Mr. Turner’s.

I’d bet my left leg, behind closed doors, Turner’s dad thinks my dad is scum too, though he’s never once said as much to us, and I guess not to his kids either, considering the way they’re always so kind to me at school.

So no, I won’t be accepting Turner’s advances, because I’ll be escaping this town as soon as I can, and I’d hate to lead him on only to up and leave at the first opportunity, or worse yet, I’ll fall in love and want to stay. I don’t need that kind of complication in my life. I need a clean break, an easy escape and no reason to look back. Plus, my parents would never allow it. I won’t be bringing my parents’ wrath on the Turner family any more than it already is.

“Samantha.”

My eyes snap up to my father’s face, his Gomez Addams look still going strong despite the fact I think he makes it look stupid. He looks like someone’s creepy uncle. He thinks he looks sophisticated.

“Huh?”

“Where’d you go? Your head is in the clouds again.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about my math exam.” Lie. Lie. Big fat lie. The perks of being a lawyer’s daughter means I’ve gotten pretty good at that. I also lie to Turner every day when I tell him I’m not interested.

“Are you struggling? We could organize a tutor for you.”

“No, Daddy. I’m not struggling. I had a test this week and I did pretty well.”

“Maybe you should start tutoring,” my mom suggests quietly, as though she’s speaking each word as it enters her mind. “Tutoring is classier than that unsightly hat Dixie makes you wear. The pale pink washes you out, honey, plus tutoring the less fortunate kids would look amazing on your college applications.”

I doubt any kid at school will ask me to tutor them, and I doubly doubt I’d want to do it. Most people suck, so I’d rather scoop ice-cream and limit my interaction to two minutes each rather than an hour at a time while we discuss Pythagoras theorem and trigonometry.

“I like working at Dixies, Mom.”

“Working an honest to goodness job never hurt anybody, Geraldine. She’s in her senior year now, leave her be. Dixies will be a thing of the past soon and our firm’s name will change and we’ll be bringing her in before we know it.”

I close my eyes to avoid being told off for rolling them. My mom thinks it’s unladylike and causes premature wrinkling. As far as I’m concerned, my dad can name his law firm whatever the hell he wants, but I won’t be working there. I will, however, be applying to college on the same schedule my dad dictates. I’m going to work with children, and there’s not a damn thing anyone in this world can do to stop me.

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