Page 32 of Love Me Steadfast
Morgan’s always been a bit of a handful. “High energy” Theo calls it. I know he worries about her. I guess if I was her big brother, I would too.
“Our mom’s…off the wagon and headed for the land of self-destruct again,” he says with a heavy sigh. “It’s not a coincidence that Morgan’s acting out.”
Off the wagonechoes through my thoughts. Is she an alcoholic? “That sounds rough.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to unload on you.” He picks at a loose thread on the steering wheel.
“It’s okay.” I’m glad he told me. I may not be able to do shit, but at least he’s not in this alone. “My mom has…substance abuse issues.” I don’t think about Mom so much anymore. Last summer, when Zach told me that he lost track of her, I wondered if she was still alive. When Kristov went to prison, it meant that Mom was truly alone. Zach and I tried to get her help, but she refused. It sucks, because even after everything that happened to us, the least she could have done was try to live. But she chose to feed her demons instead. “…it started after my dad passed. She met this creep, and things got out of control pretty fast.”
He winces. “God, I’m sorry.”
I run my thumb along the hot windowsill. “It’s okay. Things are good now.” It’s a thousand percent true. I stopped yearning for our old life long ago. It’s gone, and what matters is making now count.
It makes me think of Charlotte, and everything I’m keeping inside. Things I cannot say or do without fucking everything up.
Chapter Eleven
CHARLOTTE (AGE 15)
“Ow!”Morgan bellows, jerking back from the hairbrush in my hands.
“Do you want braids or not?” I ask.
Morgan huffs. “Do you have to pull so hard?”
Theo looks up from assembling the three lunches on the opposite side of the counter, and our eyes lock for a split second.
It’s her first day of high school, his look reminds me.
If she wanted fucking French braids, she should have gotten up when I told her to, my look fires back.
“I’ll do my best,” I say to Morgan as I start weaving again. To distract myself from the butterflies tickling up my chest, I go through my schedule again. Choir, Math, AP Lang, first lunch, Chem, History, and the dreaded P.E. At least I got P.E. at the end of the day, so I won’t have to sit through my classes all sweaty. And I have Math and AP Lang with Wren, and choir with Emmie.
Do William and I have any of the same classes this year? I’ve seen him off and on all summer, but only in passing. He’s either just coming off the field from practice while I’m arriving for marching band, or I’ll see him from afar at the lake, or at the Sweet Spot,surrounded by his football friends and the pretty girls who follow them around like sheep. What’s it like never having to beg for attention? To be surrounded by people who adore you?
Ten minutes later, we’re climbing into Theo’s truck—me in the back and Morgan in front with Theo. Secretly, I love the first day of school. New backpack, new pencil case, new classes, new beginnings. Everything is clean. Fresh. Open. The possibilities are endless.
“Lemme borrow your phone,” Morgan says to Theo.
“Nope.” He turns out of our driveway.
Morgan gives a loud groan. “I’m getting a job so I can get my own.”
“Your job is to focus on school this year,” I say, then regret how bossy it comes out. I sound like someone’s prim governess.
Morgan rolls her eyes. “It’s dumb that lunch is closed-campus.”
Theo and I make eyes again. “There are clubs you can go to if you don’t want to eat in the cafeteria,” he says.
Morgan gives another heavy sigh. “Is it June yet?”
Theo pulls into the student parking lot and we pile out. The second Morgan’s feet hit the ground, she races off, calling someone’s name. I squint into the sunshine, but all I can make out is a group of kids huddled in the courtyard.
“She’ll be fine,” Theo says in a soft voice.
We bump fists before heading in our separate directions. When I get to choir, I’m mauled by Emmie who wraps her arms around my shoulders and squeezes the stuffing out of me.
“We’re so doing a duet this year,” she squeals.
