Page 73 of Filthy Little Secret

It’s not my fucking fault those guys freaked the fuck out, and I’m fine now.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. He wasn’t the one who got involved with that shit. I was.

I stand before the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, looking at this new suit Mom picked out. I’m supposed to attend a birthday party for some state official. A senator. A mayor. I don’t even know anymore. It’s supposed to get a lot of publicity, so Mom asked me to come. I’m not eager to be here on a school night since all my homework is kicking my ass right now. I also have a paper that I need to finish for English, but I’d rather be behind on work than have Mom be angry with me.

A knock at the door.

“Can I come in?” Mom’s voice is a sweet melody on the other side…unusually so.

I gave her a heads-up over the weekend. Told her I got slapped in the face with a door at work. I’ve already covered it up a bit with foundation. Should at least keep anyone from picking it up in the pictures today, which is all Mom will care about.

“Sure,” I call back to her.

I wonder if she’s going to try to con me into wearing some other outfit. Sometimes, she’ll go through three or four before she settles on the one she thinks will go perfectly with what she’s wearing.

She enters and approaches me, performing her usual inspection.

No sign of wrinkles on her gray blouse or black pencil skirt—unlike her face, which has just enough wrinkles for her to look like a mother, but enough Botox to keep her looking fresh for events.

“Look how dapper you are tonight,” she says, adjusting my tie. “Oh, that bruise is nasty. You’re going to need to put some more foundation on.”

“Thanks. You look nice, too.”

She glares at me as she removes my tie and fixes it around my neck.

“Don’t be stubborn. You know I’m stressed enough as it is.”

“Isn’t that what the Xanax is for?”

“Feeling real clever, aren’t you? How’s school been? Obviously keeping you busy enough that you don’t have time to come visit your family.”

“I’ve had a lot of work.”

“At least it’ll prepare you for law school.”

I tense at her saying it.

Who the fuck is she to decide what I do with my life?

“Where’s your foundation?” she asks as she scans my face.

I lead her into the bathroom and hand it to her. She puts some on a piece of tissue and blots it around my face.

“Ow,” I say.

“Sorry. Is that better?” she asks as she pats ever-so-lightly.

“Yeah.”

“I was talking to Kendra the other day. She said some…concerning things about what you’re doing at school.”

“Concerning?” I ask, but I know where this is heading. If Greg blabbed about this weekend, I might be in for a real shit-show with Mom.

“Okay, I’m not going to beat around the bush. Have you started seeing someone? A drug dealer maybe?”

I’m not telling her the truth, but I don’t want to lie either.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I confess, intentionally being vague.

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