Page 68 of All Your Pucking Secrets

Dad smashes my phone against the wall. The screen splinters. “I’ll do whatever I goddamn want, you ungrateful bastard.”

ECHO

I wince as the comb snags on a knot in my hair. Mom carefully works it out, twists the lock of hair, and pins it into the elaborate knot on the back of my head. I can’t afford to get my hair and makeup done at the salon, but fortunately Mom has plenty of experience doing hair and makeup for her three younger sisters.

I gaze at my reflection, admiring her work. I don’t look much different overall, but my best features have been emphasized. Thanks to some crafty use of eyeliner and eyeshadow, my eyes look bigger than usual, and the gold flecks are brighter. My lips are pinker, and my complexion is dewy.

“I can’t believe you’re so good at this,” I say.

Behind me, Mom grins. She meets my eyes in the mirror. “It’s just practice.”

“No, it’s talent. You have serious skill.” She never lets me talk down about my accomplishments, and I refuse to allow her to do so either. Especially when all I can do, if left to my own devices, is mascara and the most basic eyeshadow, with a smear of lip gloss.

“If you say so, sweetheart.” She pins back another strand of hair and grabs the canister of hairspray. “Close your eyes.”

I shut them while she sprays the knot until I’m certain it’s set as hard as cement. She puts the spray aside and messes with my bangs, sweeping them to one side and pinning them so they won’t hang in my eyes. Then she covers my eyes with her hand and sprays the front too.

“What do you think?” she asks, far more nervously than is warranted.

“I think you should go back to school to become a hairdresser or a beautician,” I tell her.

She smiles, but it’s wistful. “You flatterer.”

My heart squeezes. Mom had me young, and my father didn’t stick around. Because of that, she never had much opportunity to study. She had to make ends meet however she could, and cleaning was a job that didn’t require much training and for which there was almost always work available.

It would be fine if she enjoyed it, but she doesn’t. As I’ve grown older, it’s become more and more obvious how much she’s sacrificed for me, and I want to change that. I’m bound to get a scholarship to college, and once I do, she won’t have to provide for me anymore. She’ll be able to put herself first—if she’s willing to.

“Can you help me into my dress?” I ask.

“Of course.”

I grab the dress from the hanger. It’s the most expensive clothing item I’ve ever owned. Tyler insisted on paying for it using cash he’d squirreled away. He couldn’t risk putting it on his credit card in case his dad noticed.

I strip off everything other than my flesh-toned bra and a pair of skimpy panties that I’m hoping Tyler will get an eyeful of later. Mom doesn’t comment. We’ve already talked about safe sex and making sure I use protection—high priority topics for her since she had her own teen pregnancy.

She lifts the dress up and I duck underneath, sliding my arms through the armholes. The skirt swishes into place around me and I smooth down the bodice. It’s a stunning silvery blue dress, with beautiful floral details on the bodice and spotted down the tulle skirt. The neckline is lower than I’d usually wear, but not so low that I feel exposed.

“Beautiful,” Mom murmurs. “I hope that boy appreciates what he’s got.”

“He does, Mom.”

Nerves fizz in my gut. When Tyler comes to pick me up, it will be the first time he and Mom meet. I’ve told Mom a bit about him, but not everything. For instance, she doesn’t know we’ve used the “L” word already. Not that she’d be upset about it; it just seems like something special that should be private between us.

While Mom zips my dress, I check the time. It’s nearly eight. Tyler should be here soon. Prom starts at eight-thirty, and he promised to arrive early, so he’ll have time to talk to Mom and pose for a few photos.

“Remember to be home by midnight, or I’ll send out the search party,” Mom warns good-naturedly.

“I will.” Briefly. After that, Tyler and I have plans to return to his spot by the lake.

Being careful not to wrinkle my skirt, I sit on the sofa. Mom joins me.

“You really like Tyler, huh?” she asks.

“I do.” Even thinking of him makes my heart feel too big for my chest.

“Then I’m excited to meet him.”

I hope she likes him. Mom means a lot to me, and I value her opinion. I won’t dump Tyler if she doesn’t like him, but it would give me reason to pause and evaluate him more closely.

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