Page 155 of The Broken Note

“How many times did he discharge? Were you using protection every time? Was it around or before your period?”

My eyes widen.

Vi’s are about to pop out of her head.

My chest heaves, but I’m trapped. Mom is going to keep talking about this in front of Vi and I don’t want her to hear such crude discussions.

At least, not when I’m the subject.

Muscles so tense I feel like I’m a walking tin can, I stalk past mom and open the door. She doesn’t immediately follow me. Instead, she goes into my room.

“Get out of there!” I hurry after her.

But I don’t have to drag her out. She meets me in the hallway and tosses my purse at me.

“Why do you have this?”

“You’re gonna need that.” Her expression is hard.

Thoroughly pissed off, I trail mom to the door.

“Where are you going?” Viola’s voice trembles.

“Vi, lock up behind me. We’ll be right back,” I say. I try to muster up a smile, but I can’t pull it off.

Vi gives me a worried look, but I don’t have time to comfort her. Mom is already halfway down the stairs.

I follow my mother outside. “Where are we going?”

She doesn’t answer. Her body cuts through the night, dipping in and out of the shadows and the pockets of light offered by the lampposts.

We jog through the streets for what feels like hours.

Finally, I get enough and wrench mom around by the shoulder. “Tell me where we’re going.” She opens her mouth, but I stop her with a raised finger. “And if you think I’m going to buy you drugs right now, you’re insane.”

Mom gestures to the store up ahead. It’s the same pharmacy where Dutch bought me flip-flops and patched up my bleeding heel.

The man behind the counter is the same guy from that night too.

He points at me. “Flip-Flops.”

I frown.

“Where’s the Tattoo Guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“How long have you been here, boy?” Mom grunts. “Don’t you know not to ask questions in this neighborhood?”

The clerk’s smile disappears and he gives mom a sullen nod.

I stumble when mom yanks me down an aisle. Past the tampons. Past the pads. Past the pregnancy tests.

“Grab them.” She reaches for a thin box and then another.

The price tag makes me gag.

I stop her, my hand on her wrist. “What are you doing?”

“We can’t take any chances.” Her voice is low, urgent. She sounds like she’s about to rehash her alien abduction. “Grab those over there. They’re more experimental, but it might be effective. We may already be too late. It’s hard to be sure.”

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