Page 18 of The Glass Girl

“Just drop it,” I say sharply.

Vanessa stops smiling. From the corner of my eye, I can see her jaw tighten. I’ve hurt her feelings.

Good. Because who is she to just suddenly be in our lives, pretending to be important, making us dinner, watching movies, making hot chocolate, acting like…she’sfamily? I didn’t ask for a new family, or even an adjacent one. I don’t know how to deal with the one Ihave.

I’m glad she’s hurt.

I take out my phone, pretend to look at messages, like I don’t know I’ve spoiled her nice plans for the evening.

Because I’m a watercolor. I wash off.

—

In the room I share with Ricci at Dad’s, I throw my backpack onto the top bunk and climb up in the dark and click on the fairy lights I’ve strung around the railings and lie down.

I can hear the opening ofFrozenout in the living room and Vanessa moving around in Dad’s tiny kitchen. I know it’s all he can afford right now, and it’s actually kind of nice—the complex is pretty big and there’s even a pool—but sometimes his apartment feels so tight and small, like I can’t breathe. And there’s only one bathroom, which is a pain when you really have to go and, say, Ricci is in there taking her sweet time. There’s nowhere togohere, like there is at Mom’s, where I have my own room and two bathrooms, plus Laurel’s house when I need to disappear.

I unzip my backpack and pull out the Sprodka bottle and take a sip.

I’m kind of sorry that I know José keeps alcohol at work. Now I might be thinking about that all the time while I’m there. I sometimes have it in my backpack, but that’s always for later, and it’s not all the time, anyway. It’s just lately. I just feel like if I can get through Thanksgiving and have a break, things will be better. I’ll make them better.

I should change out of my work clothes. I’m still wearing my apron. I need to make sure I have a clean work shirt and apron for tomorrow. This means finding some quarters for the laundry machine in the next building over. I feel in my apron for my tips and I’m relieved to find some quarters in there. Mydad isn’t great about saving up quarters for emergency laundry. He likes to just dump everything off at the cleaners once a week.

My phone buzzes. Amber.

Hey

Hey,I type back.

You okay? How was work?

I hesitate. If I tell her about Dylan in the wrong way, she’ll call, and I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.

Dylan came in. With Willow.

OMG Are you all right? What a jerk!

It’s fine. They just ate.

I pause.

It was all cool. No worries.

You sure?

Yeah. Gotta go. I need to do laundry. I’m at my dad’s.

K. Call me if you want to talk.

I arch my back and untie my apron, counting my tips. After tipping out Deb, Lonnie, and José, I have thirty dollars. Not great, but not bad. It’s something. I fold the paper moneycarefully and tuck it in my backpack, then count out six dollars in quarters.

I look at my phone.

I check Dylan’s Stories.

I have a fake account, so he won’t know it’s me. I know that’s all sorts of wrong, but I couldn’t help myself after we broke up.

There they are, back row of the movie theater, nestled together.

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