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  Mom chuckled and put the remote down. “Okay.”

  I didn’t have to try too hard to come up with sarcastic comments about most of the news stories. The top story of the evening was an interview with a local college student whose pet turtle “ran away” and how she found him, two days later, sunbathing by a neighbor’s pool.

  But when the story about Angel’s Den came on, I couldn’t find anything sarcastic to say.

  I fell silent and listened as Mr. Toupee looked into the camera and, obviously reading from a teleprompter, said, “If you’ve ever passed the shelter known as Angel’s Den on Martin Luther King Blvd. you’ve probably wondered if it looks as bad on the inside as it does on the outside.”

  Mom chuckled. “Well, that’s a terrible way to introduce the story. My god, who writes this stuff?”

  I faked a laugh and continued to listen as the image of Angel’s Den returned to the screen and the anchor said, “For the past ten years, the small, non-profit has been struggling to remain in existence. Its needed roof repairs, a fresh coat of paint, new floors, a new air conditioning system, and so much more. Well, now it’s going to get everything it needs. Just ask Missy DeRouche, Angel’s Den’s Executive Director.”

  The smiling woman from earlier was back on screen, still grinning as she spoke into the mic a reporter held towards her, “An anonymous donor gave us eighty thousand dollars, which is unbelievable. We’re so thankful. It’s like a miracle. Now we can update and enlarge our space, which is going to do so much for the women and children who depend on us for support…”

  I held my breath as she went on to describe how blessed she felt and how whoever had done this was a true angel.

  I was so caught up in my conflicted emotions of pride and shame that I almost didn’t hear mom say, “Wait a second, didn’t Chicken’s lose exactly eighty-thousand dollars in that fire they’re saying was arson? I think that’s what they reported last night.”

  I stared at the television while mom grabbed a couple of Cheetos. “I’m pretty sure they said eighty-k was missing. I bet whoever started that fire, felt bad and donated the money to this place.”

  Now I couldn’t breath and my heart was racing like I’d just run a marathon. Even my eyes went blurry with panic.

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “Oh, I know these things,” Mom said with a chuckle. She ate the Cheetos and spoke with her mouth full, “Remember what I do for a living? Whoever did that was me back in my teens. I was like that. Trying to be Robin Hood, not realizing that your first duty is to yourself. Keep the money. Spend or save it wisely, in a way that it can’t be traced back to its roots. Once you get rich, then you can give back to charity.”

  My underarms were beginning to sweat.

  Mom laughed again. “My god, that was so me when I first started. Always trying to prove I was still good at heart.”

  My mouth went bone dry and I gulped, loudly.

  Mom stopped laughing and glanced at me. “Are you okay?”

  I stared, unseeingly, at the TV, trying to think of something to say that would distract her from the obvious fact that I was reacting to everything she’d just said.

  “Manda, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m-I’m, like, so hungry all of a sudden,” I managed to squeak. “Can we order pizza?”

  There. That should do it.

  Mom’s mouth took on the pinched look she gets when she wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s the way she looks when she wants to talk about my weight.

  “You know,” she slowly replied, “I’ve been thinking that we never eat at Panera’s. What if we just pig out on a couple of their salads tonight? I’d really like to make up for all these Cheetos I’ve been stuffing my face with.”

  “Um, sure.”

  Just then, my phone rang and, thankful for the distraction, I got up to grab it out of my backpack.

  After digging it out of a side pocket, I held the phone with cold and clammy hands and saw that the caller ID said Kimberly.

  “Hey, Kimberly,” I said, planting myself on the carpet beside my bag.

  In the corner of my eye, I could see Mom, her gaze straight ahead on the television and another handful of Cheetos making its way to her mouth.

  She was great at pretending and I knew that’s what she was doing right then- pretending to watch the news while she listened to me.

  “Libby,” Kimberly said, her voice low and full of emotion. “We need to talk.”

  I cringed and closed my eyes, guilt tugging at my innards.

  Clearly, she was pissed all the way off with me for the insults I’d hurled at Jen during lunch.

  “I know,” I said, my voice sounding shakier than I’d expected. “I’m so sorry about everything I said. I know Jen’s your friend and I’d never intentionally say anything to hurt her. I honestly don’t know what came over me. All I know is that I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Oh,” Kimberly said. “No. No, that’s not what I’m calling about. I’m so not worried about that. I know you didn’t mean it. There’s something else super important we need to discuss, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. So, can I pick you up for school tomorrow morning?”

  Relieved, I opened my eyes. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

  “Perfect. Text me your address.”

  “Okay.”

  “Later, homie.”

  With this, Kimberly hung up.

  I texted her my address and slid my phone back into the side pocket of my book bag.

  With this, I grabbed my bag and stood. “Guess I’d better start on my homework.”

  Mom arched an eyebrow, but didn’t remove her gaze from the television.

  “Nah,” she said, dusting off her hands and then rolling up the bag of Cheetos and setting it aside. Without looking at me, she continued, “First, you’re going to tell me who Jen is, and why you went off on her.”

  I tensed.

  Talking to Mom about personal stuff is always … weird. First of all, she rarely asks what’s going on with me. So, when she does I always feel sort of flattered. But, I also know, in the back of my mind, that whatever I say is going to be met with unrestrained criticism. She’s going to tell me exactly what she thinks I’m doing wrong and what I should do to be a better person or whatever. So, I’m never sure if I feel more emotionally unburdened or emotionally beat-up by the end of our heart-to-hearts.

  “Uh, Jen’s just this girl from school.” I shifted on my feet. “She’s the one whose house you brought me to last night.”

  “Oh, the trailer park chick.” Mom nodded and pat the empty spot beside her. “Come, sit. I almost didn’t want to leave you there, you know.”

  “Really?” I asked as I reclaimed my seat on the floor next to her. “You didn’t act like it. I figured you must have had a date you were late for the way you left so quickly.”

  Mom glanced at me. “No, I didn’t want to be clingy and annoy you. So, I made myself pretend you were just an adult friend who’d asked for a ride home. But the truth is, as soon as we pulled into that trailer park, I wanted to make a U-turn and forbid you from staying the night with that girl.”

  For some reason, this sent warmth to my heart and I found myself smiling.

  “Well, Jen’s not so bad,” I said with a shrug.

  “Then why’d I just hear you apologizing for going off on her?”

  I toyed with the hem of my jeans and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  A part of me wanted to keep my mouth shut and protect myself from the criticism I knew would come, but another part of me just wanted to talk to my mom.

  I went with the second part.

  “There’s this guy,” I said. “Jonathan. He’s a senior too and he’s really nice. And I thought… well, I only just met him yesterday but, it seemed liked he liked me. We just clicked, you know?”

  “Okay.”

  I sighed. “But then, at lunch today Jen came and sat with me and Jonathan. And she started f
ull-on flirting with him. She did the whole white-girl thing, the hair-flipping, the submissive eye-contact, the laughing at everything he said, like he was the funniest person in the world. And the thing is, Jen is not, like, a super-friendly person. She’s sarcastic and rude. And she was being so fake and it was annoying to watch. So, I just kind of went off. I basically called her trailer trash, without using those exact words.”

  I glanced at Mom and braced myself for her wrath.

  Her warm brown eyes were trained on me and she smiled. “Good for you.”

  Shocked, I stared at her as she leaned towards me and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Manda,” she said, hooking an arm around my shoulders. “You did the right thing, sugar plum. You saw that a girl was trying to move in on your territory and you warned her off. There’s no shame in that.”

  “Jonathan’s not my territory,” I blurted. “He’s a person. And he’s not even my person. He’s just a guy I know-”

  “A guy who you obviously want to do more than just talk to,” Mom interrupted. “Am I right?”

  Heat crept into my cheeks.

  “Come on, Manda. I’m a realist. You can be honest with me,” Mom chuckled.

  “Maybe.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with exploring that part of yourself,” Mom said. “And how can you explore that part of yourself if some girl swoops in and steals your guy?”

  I shrugged. Mostly because I didn’t know how else to respond. Also, I was shocked that Mom wasn’t reprimanding me.

  “So,” Mom continued. “You warned her off today. But if she’s still sniffing around Jonathan tomorrow, it’s time to take the next step.”

  I glanced at my mother. She looked back at me, cheerful anticipation in her eyes. It was the way I imagined a normal mother would look as she and her daughter talked about planning a party.

  “The next step?” I asked.

  “Yep. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Measures like borrowing Jen’s phone and sending super-flirty texts to a bunch of other boys at school.” Mom grinned. “That’ll keep her too busy to even think about bothering Jonathan. And would he even want to be with her once he hears what kinds of texts she’s sending to other guys? If Jonathan has any common sense, he’ll leave her alone and return his attention to you- the sweet girl who he really likes.”

  I stared at Mom, fascinated and yet horrified.

  “You’re seriously suggesting I steal Jen’s phone?” I asked, just for clarity’s sake.

  Her shoulders went up and down. “It’s not stealing so much as borrowing. And it’s for the good of everyone involved, really. Jen needs to focus on her grades so she can get out of the trailer park, and you need to explore your blossoming femininity with a nice guy like Jonathan. So, it’s a win-win.”

  I blinked back at my mom. No response for what she’d just said came to mind. For the moment, my mind was as blank as a Taylor Swift fan’s.

  “Just remember,” Mom said lowering her voice. “This thing with Jonathan isn’t real. It’s like, an experiment. Or a science project. You’re just using him as a way of testing your own abilities as a woman. So, whatever happens don’t get attached to him. He’s the white rat, and you’re the scientist.”

  I frowned. “Did you actually just call my friend a white rat?”

  Mom laughed. “Not in a mean way. In a scientific way; scientists use white rats for research. And that’s what you are right now- an adorable little scientist who’s studying her own potential.”

  Mom unhooked her arm from around me, planted another kiss on my forehead and stood as she said, “I think I’m ready for that salad. What do you say we head to Panera’s?”

  Without a word, I nodded and got to my feet.

  Mom continued to talk, but I was tuned in to my own thoughts.

  I knew my mom was an incredibly smart, but her methods weren’t my style.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around Jonathan being nothing more than a rat in an experiment. And I couldn’t fathom stealing Jen’s phone and using it to ruin her reputation.

  Essentially, I didn’t have what it would take to keep Jen away from ‘my territory.’ That meant, Jonathan was going to end up with Jen. And I was going to end up alone, as usual.

  Sighing, I followed mom to the car as she grabbed her keys and chatted about how good our salads were going to taste.

  But I didn’t look forward to dinner, and not just because we were eating rabbit-food, but because sweet and friendly Jonathan was going to end up with mean-girl Jen Struthers and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Kimberly showed up bright and early, just as she’d promised.

  As soon as I slid into her black Range Rover and shut the door, she started talking.

  “So, I’ve been up all night thinking about this,” she said, her voice sounding dangerously close to the tone it had taken when she’d asked me to help her burn down her father’s dealership.

  I glanced at her.

  Her eyes were bright and she was sitting ramrod straight as she headed towards our school.

  “About what?” I asked, hearing the hesitance in my own voice.

  “Did you see the news story about Angel’s Den yesterday?” As Kimberly turned to face me, I could practically feel the excitement emanating from her.

  “Yeah,” I slowly replied.

  “That woman they interviewed was just like, amazing,” she said with a dreamy sigh. I arched an eyebrow at her. Either she had some pretty strong sexual feelings for the Executive Director of Angel’s Den or there was something I was missing.

  “Amazing how?” I asked.

  Kimberly laughed and looked at me like I was the lunatic.

  “Libby, she called us angels,” Kimberly exclaimed, pounding the steering wheel with her tiny fist. “And she said our money was going to help countless women and children! Can you believe that? We’re making a difference in people’s lives.”

  I lightly bit down on my bottom lip, conflicted.

  A part of me was proud of our decision to support Angel’s Den with 80K, but an even bigger part of me was concerned by what we’d done to get the money. Especially my part in the whole thing. Had it been Kimberly on her own, that would’ve been different. She was just lashing out at her gross dad and taking money that was rightfully hers. But, me? I had no place in her family. And that money had been stashed in my pockets when we left the car lot and headed to Angel’s Den.

  “When was the last time you were able to help an abused woman or child?” Kimberly asked, her voice breaking into my anxious thoughts.

  I considered her question carefully.

  When was the last time I’d helped an abused woman or child?

  “Well, I guess back when I helped my mom,” I said. “But I don’t know if that counts, because she was my mom.”

  Kimberly’s eyes widened. “Your mom was abused?”

  Only then did I realize my mistake. I’d opened my big fat mouth and said too much.

  I tugged at one of my earrings and scrambled to backtrack, “Actually, um, my dad died. So, well… I don’t really want to talk about it. But to answer your question, I guess I haven’t really helped anyone until yesterday.”

  Kimberly nodded. Uncomfortable silence sank down on us.

  I cleared my throat and started to say something, but Kimberly beat me to it.

  “You know, you can talk to me about stuff,” she said. “I know we only just became friends. But you’ve been there for me more than Jen and Lindsey ever have. And I’ve told you things I’ve never told them. So, if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you.”

  A twinge of something like warmth and sadness crept into my heart.

  No one had ever said anything like that to me.

  Unsure of how to navigate the moment, I laced my hands together and tried to think of the right thing to say.

  I wanted to flat-out tell Kimberly that as much as I liked her, there was no way I could t
rust her with the truth. But, that wasn’t likely to go over too well.

  So, I settled on smiling at her and saying, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  Kimberly returned my smile, hers exuberant as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and said, “Well, I meant it, girl! You’re the best, I’m really glad we’re friends.”

  “Me too.” I grinned, glad to be able to say something that was true.

  I really did like Kimberly.

  She may have been a little on the nutty side, but she had a good heart and it wasn’t her fault that her dad and uncle had basically broken her childhood and then left her to pick up the pieces. As far as I was concerned, she was doing a pretty good job of putting herself back together.

  She sighed and said, “So, seeing that lady from Angel’s Den talk about how much she appreciated us and how what we did really helped people, it made me think about all the other people out there who need someone to care about them. You know?”

  I nodded.

  If someone had been there for my mom maybe she wouldn’t have turned to conning men out of their money. Maybe with some guidance and a little bit of a financial boost she could’ve gone to school and learned to make a career out of something that was equal to conning in creativity and logistical-skill, but much less … shameful.

  “Like the black lady Mr. Pruitt was talking about yesterday,” Kimberly went on. “The woman is like, missing and no one seems to care. Someone should care!”

  “I know,” I agreed. “But that’s the way it is. When you’re the wrong color and you find yourself in a sticky situation, society looks the other way and pretends like they don’t see you struggling.”

  “That’s horrible,” Kimberly said, her voice lowering to a growl. “It just isn’t right.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at her, watching sincere empathy take hold of her features. It reminded me of how much Jonathan had seemed to care yesterday.

  Maybe the world was actually full of unicorns, and I just hadn’t been looking for them.

  “You know what though?” I said.

  “What?”

  “It’s people like you who help make the world a better place,” I said. “You don’t have to care, but you do. That’s why I bet one day things will get better. Because people like you exist.”