Page 41 of Filthy Savage

Unfortunately, I didn’t know that. Not until it was too late.

AGE 17

I stare at the letter from my dream school, the one Emily was already accepted to last week, unable to open it. Every day, I’ve checked the mail, hoping I got accepted too.

“I don’t think I can look.” I clutch it against my chest. “What if they said no?”

She rolls her eyes. “Then they’re idiots. You have a better GPA than I do. Of course you got in.”

My pulse hammers as I start to open it.

“Plus, I’ll go wherever you do anyway.” She runs her fingers through her shoulder-length chestnut waves.

“You’ve always wanted to go to UCLA. Of course you’ll go.”

She shoves me playfully. “Stop telling me what to do and open it!”

“Okay, okay!” I grimace, my stomach twisted up with nerves.

My fingers start gently tearing open the flap.

“Amara.” My mother’s voice comes through before she shoves the door open. “Oh, hi, you’re here,” she mutters at Emily, who has perfected her stink-eye when it comes to my mother.

“What is it, Mom?”

She sighs all dramatically and starts further inside, and I know instantly it’s nothing good. I’m sure she’s gonna tell me she’s quitting that job she got at the supermarket last week, or maybe her latest boyfriend stopped selling her drugs, so she found another. It could be literally anything with her.

“I’ve got some news, and it ain’t good.” Her eyes pinch closed, and her chin trembles like she’s crying, but I don’t see any tears.

“Mom? What is it?” Fear grips me as I steal glances at Emily, who seems more curious than concerned.

“Can you leave so I can talk to my daughter alone?” She scowls at my friend, who folds her arms over her chest.

“Think I’ll stay.”

“Mom, it’s fine. Whatever it is, you can tell us both.”

“Okay.” She sighs, her body deflating. “Not like she won’t find out anyway.”

Emily’s eyes connect with mine, and fear passes through me. Maybe somethingiswrong this time. Really wrong.

“I’ve got cancer,” she blurts out like she’s telling me what she wants for dinner.

I suck in a gasp. “What? I—I—I don’t understand.”

“I know,” she huffs. “I went for my gyno visit last week and the doc told me the news. Said it’s pretty bad. Need to get chemo and radiation and all that starting in a few days.”

“Oh my God!” I jump off the bed, throwing my arms around her. No matter how terrible she’s been to me, she’s still my mother. “I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be okay, right?”

She barely hugs me before pushing me off, and that little part of me that has always wanted her love dies even more.

“I hope so. The doc wants me to quit my job, though. Says I can’t be doing manual labor when I’m on chemo.”

“Right. Of course. We’ll figure it out. You just focus on getting better.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” She clears her throat. “I already figured it all out.”

“What do you mean?” Confusion swirls as she pushes her knotty brown hair behind her shoulder.

---