Page 18 of Play the Game

SCOTTIE

“How are you doing?”

I make a face at myself in the mirror with the amount of blush I have on my cheeks and try rubbing to blend it a little more. My brother takes too long to answer my question, and heat starts to make its way down my barely-clothed body.

“William.” There’s an authoritative tic to my voice that I acquired the moment I practically adopted him.

“I’m…”

I lower my hand, forgetting all about my too-pink cheeks. “Hey, talk to me.”

“I need more money,” he blurts.

My lips part, and I want to be angry and resentful, but how can I? To say my brother is naive is putting it lightly. He doesn’t understand social cues like others, and the only person to blame for that is my mother. I may not have noticed the alcohol she consumed while pregnant because I was too young to do so, but over the years, I’ve researched enough to know who’s responsible.

The only problem with suspecting William has Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder is that it is highly complicated to diagnose, especially if you are without health insurance. To make mattersworse, the only advocate William has isme.I still remember the moment I met with my high school principal and guidance counselor during conferences. They were expecting a parent to show, not William’s barely older sister who was still a student herself.

FASD requires multiple assessments. It’s a complex disease, and now that William is a legal adult and currently in prison, the chances of anyone listening to my pleas for help are long gone until I can at least get him out.

Something has to change. Otherwise, William will continue to walk down the wrong path, and I’ll be in debt for the rest of my life, spending every day trying to protect him from people who use and abuse him. Spoiler alert: the men inside that prison will use anyone they can, and unfortunately, William is the weakest link.

“What do you mean you need more money?” I ask, holding my finger up to Kitty.

She comes over to blend in my blush a little more and adjusts my pink bra strap.

“Give me one sec,” I whisper.

“I’ll cover for you.” Kitty disappears, and I know it’s to distract Russ before he comes hunting me down to get on stage.

“My friend Ike needs money,” William says.

Anger surfaces. “Well, tell yourfriendto get his own money.”

“But I owe him.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that owing someone in prison isn’t a good thing. Just like it doesn’t take a genius to recognize that these friends of William are manipulating him and—oh, that’s right—usinghim, which is ironically the same thing that landed him in prison.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What do you mean you owe him? Just because someone tells you that you owe them, doesn’t mean that you actually do.”

“He protected me.”

My heart sinks.I should be the one protecting him.

When I say nothing, William clears his throat, and I swear, he still sounds like that little eight-year-old boy who came home naked because a boy at school manipulated him into taking the clothes right off his back. “Someone was messing with me, and Ike stepped in. Scottie, I’m…I’m afraid. I don’t like it here.”

I drop my head and shut my eyes. I give myself approximately three seconds to get my shit together, and then I pop back up and level my voice. “I know you don’t. I’m doing everything I can to get you out, but with having to pay the lawyer fees, keep a roof over my head, feed myself, and put money on your books, it’s… I can’t keep up.”

“Cherry!” I jump.Shit.“Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see what I have leftover to put on your books. Check back tomorrow. I love you. Remember what I’ve taught you about people, okay?”

“Scottie, wait.”

I nibble on my lower lip and rush over to the side door. Russ is going to come get me any second now.

“If anyone comes by?—”

“Cherry. Get out there! What are you doing?” Russ comes around the bend in the hallway, red-faced and sweaty.

I end the call quickly, not because I’m afraid of my boss but more so because I can’t lose my job.

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