Page 18 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Seven

The shouting penetrates the front door, and I stand on the porch and stare at it, contemplating my options. Go inside and chance being pulled into the fight or walk to the convenience store on the next block and hope they’re done by the time I return? I have homework and really don’t want to walk home in the dark, so I decide to chance it and head inside.

The full force of Mom’s hoarse voice blasts me as soon as I open the door. “I don’t care what you think.”

I’m never sure if Mom’s voice is hoarse from all the yelling or from the chain-smoking. Probably both.

“Well, that’s painfully obvious,” Grandma replies. Clearly, they’ve been fighting for a while. Grandma never starts out with a raised voice like Mom does but gets louder and louder the more Mom antagonizes her. Right now, they’re trying to out-shout each other. “You’ve never cared about anybody. Not about their opinions. Not about their well-being. If I didn’t live here, the kids would be in the foster care system, and you know it.”

“Oh! Aren’t you the all-mighty savior?” Mom shouts back. “Where were you when I needed you? Huh?”

I sneak to the stairs, and as soon as my foot hits the first step, I’m off and running, hoping to get too far away to be dragged into the middle of it. I grab the “IN” sign and quickly hang it from the doorknob on the outside of the door, and then slam the door closed. I lean my forehead against the cheap wood, grateful to be tucked inside my little oasis. One sniff and I wrinkle my nose. It smells too much like Mom’s cigarettes. I scowl at my closed window. Tossing my duffle onto the bed, I cross to the window and slide it open a couple of inches. Mom is constantly cold and always closes my window. I hate for it to be closed because of how fast my stuff smells like stale cigarette smoke when there’s no ventilation. I wish she would just close the bedroom door, but she has some weird phobia about closed doors. The “IN” sign is the only way Mom allows Joel and me to close our doors. I’ve asked why a couple times, but she’s never explained. Instead, she starts yelling at me for not being respectful. I asked Grandma once and she snapped that she wasn’t sure and then stormed downstairs. So, I stopped asking, but never stopped wondering.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open the group chat with Sam and Bek. I compose a text about my horrible day. As I type, my blood boils all over again. Then I stop. I promised myself on Friday that I wouldn’t complain to Sam and Bek this weekend and the weekend isn’t over yet. I delete what I’ve typed and, ignoring the shouting still going on downstairs, send a gif of a girl doing homework with the caption, “Me now.”

Bek replies with the same caption but with a gif of a girl painting and Sam’s gif is a girl with a towel wrapped over her hair, green goop spread on her face, and cucumbers over her eyes.

I send a gif of a girl with a green face and the caption, “With envy.” And then I tug my textbooks out of my backpack to do my homework.

A couple of hours later, long after the shouting has stopped, I chance going downstairs to see if I can scare up some dinner. Grandma stopped cooking for me and Joel years ago, so I’m actually a decent cook. I’m not in the mood to make a full meal tonight, though, so I root around in the fridge until I find the makings for a roast beef sandwich. I’m just heading back up to my room when the front door opens and Joel walks in.

“You look exhausted,” I say. He has dark circles under his eyes.

He runs a hand over his hair. “It was a busy day at the restaurant. But I might have made a good connection for a better job after I graduate.”

I brighten. “That would be great. Then you wouldn’t have to work so much, huh?”

“That’s the hope.” Joel eyes my sandwich.

I push the plate and the apple into his hand and return to the kitchen to make another.

“Thanks, sis. I’m so tired of dealing with food, there’s no way I’d make myself anything.”

As I pull out the fixings again, I ask, “What’s the new job?”

“I don’t have it yet.” Joel talks around a big bite. “But it’s at a manufacturing company. They make something that has to do with construction. Houses. I’m not really sure. But the man recognized me from soccer. His son is…was on the team, too.”

I smile sadly at Joel’s slip in tense. When the season finished, the thought that he might never play again sent Joel into a temporary depression. I flash a questioning look at my brother. “Does he offer jobs to all the kids on the team?”

Joel laughs. “No, I guess he was always impressed with my work ethic. It seems kind of weird, since it was a soccer team, right? I wasn’t working. But he said I was always helping load up, set up, gather stuff.” He shrugs. “Whatever I was doing, he said I never stopped and never had to be asked to help. He said he wanted employees like that and that if I’m interested in a full-time job, I just need to submit an application and mention his name.”

“Wow, Joel, that’s great.”

He nods and chews thoughtfully. “It would be great to make enough not to worry about my portion of the rent, too. With the restaurant job, I’d have to rely on tips and those aren’t always consistent.”

Finished making my sandwich, I put all the stuff back again and wipe down the counter before leaning against it and taking my first bite. I study Joel. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look any different to me. But recently he’s been acting different. “You sound so grown up.”

Joel glances at the basement door and then raises his eyebrows. Our code to ask who’s around. I bob my head toward the basement stairs and then jut my chin toward the other stairs to indicate anybody could be listening. When he continues, his volume is pitched a decibel lower. “I really want to do it right, you know? I don’t want to end up…” He twirls a finger in the air.

I understand better than anyone. He doesn’t want to end up back here. Still, my heart aches and my pulse races at the idea of living here without him. I tell myself it’s only for a year, but that’s a long time to face the misery on my own. “I should probably think about getting a job.”

Joel nods. “This summer would be a good time for you to really start saving up money.”

Joel’s savings began growing last summer when he started at the restaurant. First he bought his beater car, but since then, he barely spends any money on himself, and he’s still worried that it isn’t enough. That’s scary.

“Moving into a place is super expensive. You have to fork over deposits and rent. And you have to put deposits on the utilities and stuff. It’s a lot of money.”

My eyes grow big. “I should probably already be working.”

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