Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

MAYA

“ A ll this fuss for me,” Mom murmurs.

I almost tell her this was her idea, me handling the bills and everything in her room. She “wants to help,” but she can’t accept we’re long past that. Her Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis has reached the stage where just being able to talk or croak is a victory.

“We can make it work for a couple more months,” I say. “I just need to pick up more work.”

“College—”

“Can wait,” I cut in.

I can see she wants to argue. She used to be such a tough woman. It’s like the old Mom is trying to press through her skin. “Maya …”

“Mom, I was studying English Lit because I didn’t know what else to study. You talk about college like I’m missing out on this whole other world, but I’m not, okay? I’m happy to take care of you. It’s not like this is even a debate. We need the money. You need a nurse here.”

“Do you think I enjoy being a strain on your life?”

“Do you think I enjoy it when you say things that aren’t true?”

As I go through the bills, figuring out which ones I can get away with not paying, I try not to let silly thoughts into my head. When Mom got sick, I became superstitious, thinking a bunch of unhelpful stuff. Now, the thought replaying repeatedly is, “ Something bad is going to happen because Loki ran out on us .”

“You already work a full-time job,” Mom says.

“The waitress hours aren’t exactly reliable.”

This works for and against us sometimes. The unreliability means that now and then, my boss will want me for seventy hours one week, but then it might be nothing for a while.

“I’ll go into the city,” I say, “ and hand out more resumés. That’s how I got this job. They liked the personal touch.”

“I wish I could help.”

Putting a bill aside, I reach over and touch Mom’s hand. “The best thing you can do is stop beating yourself up. I want to approach this with a positive mindset, okay? I can’t do that if you’re …”

I cut myself off. I almost said, “ Playing the victim.” That’s not what Mom’s doing at all, obviously.

“Sometimes I just wish you’d let me?—”

Leaping to my feet, I wave my hand, cutting Mom off. There’s no way I’m going to sit here and listen to Mom say a bunch of crazy, twisted stuff like that. Let her—and I know where it was going to go. It wasn’t going to be that she wanted me to let her live .

“I need to check if I have any more resumés. I’ve got a shift at one. If I hurry, I can cover some ground before then.”

Mom doesn’t reply for a moment, and then she with a sigh says, “That sounds great, dear.”

It’s not very convincing, but at least she’s trying.

“ Can you work more, though?” Riley asks on the phone as I walk through the city, heading toward a salon. I know nothing about hair, but I’ll try anything.

“I don’t have the luxury of thinking like that,” I tell Riley, my best friend since high school. “Mom needs medical care. That’s all there is to it. If I had the luxury to choose, do you think I’d be a waitress?”

“I wish I could help,” Riley murmurs.

“Neither of us is rich,” I remind us.

“If I win the lottery, I’m buying us both an island.”

“I’ll sell my half.”

She laughs. “No— each , silly.”

“It’s hard even to imagine anything like that.”

“It’s my fault. I’m trying to cheer you up in the lamest way possible.”

“No, trust me. I appreciate you even trying to cheer me up.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she mutters. I can hear the tightness in her voice. Riley has always said I have an excellent ability to read people. When she was drunk once, she told me that’s why I’m so good at reading books. I know how to read the characters just like I watch people in real life. Yet, classic Riley, she didn’t remember it the next day.

“Maya?”

“I’m here,” I say as I nudge my way through the never-ending flow of foot traffic. “I’m just busy.”

“I’m not going to forget about you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden, Rye,” I say with a sigh.

“Nobody here calls me Rye. Anyway, I thought you hated that.”

“Hated what?”

“When people say they are burdens …”

“Ah, UNO reverse,” I grumble.

She’s got me there. I hate it when Mom says that to me, but that’s not really fair. I’m not dying.

“Listen, I need to go,” I say tiredly.

“Maya, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid. Hey, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love ya.”

I hang up. I don’t have the energy to continue our conversation, not when there’s no changing my situation.

Ducking my head under the low doorway, I walk into the basement of what appears to be a bunch of different call centers. Heck, I’ll take anything at this point.

A man sits at the front desk. I guess he’s maybe in his mid-twenties, but I’ve never been very good with age. He’s got his feet on the desk, legs crossed, chewing a cocktail stick. His hair is slicked back, and when he smirks, there’s a hint of silver at the back.

I notice it because, well, it’s noticeable. He smirks as if to say, Ah, you’re impressed , but I’m not. I could sell that and pay for some of Mom’s bills.

“Hello,” I say, using my polite voice. I must’ve handed out at least one hundred resumés, maybe more at this point. “I was wondering if I could leave a?—”

“A job, yes? Work?” He leans against the desk, lightly rapping his knuckles against it as if he wants me to hurry up. “A girl like you, you could have any job you wanted.”

He looks me up and down in a pretty obvious way. But the thing is, I’ve never been the prettiest girl. I’ve never gotten the attention of boys or men. I’m just not the standard of beauty the world wants with my curves. And if Riley’s right, and I can read people, this man is mocking me but thinks I’m too stupid to realize it.

“Oh, you think?” I say.

I can’t have an ego. If he thinks I’m a ditz, let him. Maybe it’ll make me more memorable, and he’ll pass my resumé on instead of throwing it in the trash like at least half the other places must’ve done. Who am I kidding? It was probably more.

“One hundred percent,” he says. “Have you modeled before?”

I almost laugh at this, but I haven’t got the energy for an argument. He might think I’m insulting him. “No, never,” I say while silently adding, obviously . I don’t think I’m ugly. I mean, what is ugly or pretty? I don’t dislike my appearance. I’m just not in the habit of deluding myself, either.

“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning back with a big, broad smile. I wonder if he honestly believes I don’t see right through him. Or maybe he knows I can. Perhaps he likes it. “You have just the … style for it. Why don’t I give you a flyer? We’re having auditions tonight. A girl like you could make a lot of money.”

“Could I hand you this too?” I say, gesturing with my resumé.

He scowls as he takes a flyer from a pile next to his keyboard and starts scrawling some words. “Why would a tasty girl like you work in a place like this?”

Cringe doesn’t even come close to describing the feeling washing over me when he says that. Tasty? Seriously?

“I need the money. My mom is sick. She’s dying. I just want her last few months—or maybe even year, fingers crossed—to be as comfortable as possible.”

He’s focused on scribbling with the pen the whole time I talk. I don’t think he even knows I was talking. When he looks up, he’s got that same smirk. “Come here tonight. Shake those … brains, hey?”

He basically shoves the paper into my hand.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say, stuffing it into my pocket and walking away.

It’s pretty obvious what sort of deal this is. Girls come here thinking they’re going to get some legit modeling gig. Next thing you know, the sleazeball comes out, and then what? Stripping? Worse? Leaving the building, I reach into my pocket, meaning to throw the flyer in the trash.

But what if …? I mean, it’s pretty sick to even think about it. What if things get really bad one day, and there are no hours at the restaurant, no jobs, and I need to make money? Am I really above this when I get right down to it? Can I afford to be above this?

I keep the flyer in my pocket, then take out my phone and search “ Nearby Businesses .” That’s all I’ve been doing, and it’s worked so far; at least, it got me the waitressing gig. My heart does a funny shudder when I read Tristan’s Tails: Dog Sanctuary . That’s the same place that’s on Loki’s tag.

Once, I thought about applying there, but I went on the website and saw how far from the restaurant they were and decided against it. If my search has brought me out this far anyway, I’ll probably have enough time to dart back across town for work. I decide to give it a try. What can it hurt?