Page 216 of Filthy Elites

I think about her often, especially when I see her at school, but we don’t talk much anymore. I can’t even remember the last time she sent me a text message.

Grabbing the phone, I touch the screen to brighten it so I can read her message without sliding it open. It’s just one line: What are you doing?

In general, or right this moment?

I slide the message open so I can type back. “Homework. You?”

“Still?” she texts back. “God, you must have got a late start.”

“Yeah, I was doing stuff with my mom,” I type back.

“Oh, sure. How is she doing?”

“Pretty much the same. Just taking things one day at a time. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she texts back. “Really good tonight. I’m actually at this really cool party and I was wondering if you’d want to meet me here. We haven’t hung out in a while, and I’m sure you could use a break for some fun.”

I’m torn. It would be nice to see Janie again and hang out like old times, but I’msotired. Plus, if I go over there I’ll be around other people. That means I have to shower again as soon as I get home, and just thinking about doing all of that when I’m already exhausted…

I text back, “I wish I could, but it’s late and I still have a ton of homework to do.”

“It is Friday,” she points out. “The homework isn’t due until Monday. You can always do it over the weekend.”

She knows I like to get my homework out of the way on Friday night so I don’t have to think about school again until Monday, but it’s not just that. Since most of my weekend time is already set aside to work and hang out with my mom, I also need to get some sleep over the weekend. That’s when I catch up so I can function throughout the week. I’m always worn down by Friday night.

If I go to this party to see her, that means no homework gets done tonight. That means I have to do all of it tomorrow, so I’ll have to stay up late again, which means I get zero hours of extra sleep this weekend.

This is why I let the friendship go in the first place. I donothave time for it.

But, despite all my good reasons, I feel guilty about telling her no. Even though I tried explaining to Janie that it wasn’t personal, I know she took it that way. Why wouldn’t I hang out with her if I truly wanted to?

She doesn’t understand that I’m stretched so thin I feel see-through, and I literallycan’tjuggle one more ball, no matter how much I might want to.

I don’t expect her to understand what life is like for me now, though. Why would she? She’s never had to shoulder so much responsibility. Grown men have turned away from the weight I have to carry every day.

For a moment, I feel sad for myself, but as soon as I realize what I’m doing, I stop. There isdefinitelyno time for that bullshit.

Out of time.

That perfectly sums up my entire life right now, actually. I need more time, and there’s no way to get it.

It’s a frustrating realization. I reallywantto have time for Janie, I just… don’t.

Right?

It feels impossible to add one more ball to the ones I already have in the air, but every bit of this has felt impossible, and here I am, doing it.

So I don’t get enough sleep this weekend—that’s why coffee is a thing.

Surely I can rearrange my plate to fit just one more thing.

I check the time. It’s a little after 11—way too late to go to a party, but showing up now could work in my favor. I don’t have to stay as long as if I had gone when the party started, but I’m still putting in an appearance, so at least Janie will know I’m making an effort.

I’m already dressed in my “vacation clothes,” so I’m pretty much ready. I grab my purse and smear some lip balm on my lips, then I clear off my bed since I expect to be dead on my feet when I get back home.

Am I forgetting anything?

Oh, right.

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