She parked along the curb and darted back inside, cursing the fifteen minutes she’d taken trying to wake Joann and Mom, hunt for the keys, and move Joann’s car.
Despite her rush, Hayden was careful not to speed. She stopped fully at every stop sign and went slowly through the school zones. The last thing she needed was a ticket. She was almost to the school when she realized she’d left her mostly uneaten Pop-Tart on her dresser. Ugh. Now she’d be starving by third period, and she never bought lunch at school. Sometimes she packed a lunch, but not today, of course. No time.
The parking lot was devoid of bodies; everyone was in first period.
She’d already accumulated a couple tardies this semester. Another one would land her in detention, and she didn’t have time for that. Kids who didn’t have jobs to get to could waste afternoons in detention. Not Hayden.
First period was health class. Coach Alvarez wasn’t going to let her slide in late. Some teachers were cool like that. Not him. Excuses didn’t matter. It was black and white. Unless she had a doctor’s note, a tardy was a tardy.
He was counting the days until retirement and wanted to be here even less than his students. He wasn’t inclined to do anyone any favors.
Coach was partial to his athletes, but even they couldn’t get in without a tardy slip or note from another teacher. He definitely wasn’t going to let Hayden in, of all people.
There was only one possibility. She hurried down the hall with one hope, one objective in mind. Get to Ms. Mendez’s class. If any teacher liked her well enough to help her out, it was her art teacher.
“You there,” a voice called sharply.
She froze, closing her eyes in a slow blink.
Hayden turned, dread making her limbs suddenly heavy and sluggish.
A teacher advanced on her. The grumpy sort. Middle-aged. Permanently etched frown lines. Eyes that looked her over with disapproval. As though there was something inherently wrong with her ripped jeans and T-shirt that showed a sliver of belly. “You there,” she said again. “Where are you supposed to be?”
That was always the question they asked.
Where are you supposed to be? She’d like to know the answer to that too. It was the one thing she chronically asked herself.
Not here.
She knew that much. She’d known that since elementary school, when her classmates started leaving her off the invite lists to their birthdays. Her peers didn’t want her at their parties . . . and their moms definitely didn’t want Hayden’s mom coming around either.
Too many temptations for her mother. Too many things her mom might help herself to. Things like husbands.
Mom had a penchant for other people’s husbands. Well, her penchant was for men in general. But especially for husbands of women who had more than she had. Which was pretty much everyone, considering they had next to nothing.
Natalie had been her best friend in kindergarten. Back then, at the very start of school, not everyone thought she was trash.
Hayden had a flashback of walking in on her mom making out with Natalie Washington’s dad. Actually, the flashback was of Hayden, Natalie, and Mrs. Washington walking in on them.
Best friend no more.
Unsurprisingly, Hayden had never been invited over to Natalie’s house again. Not after she had to flee it with Mom hastily shrugging back into her clothes and Mrs. Washington screaming behind them.
Hayden had cried in the car as they drove away. Great snotty tears had rolled down her face, knowing she’d lost her friend. Mom had just laughed, her unbuttoned shirt gaping open as she drove. You don’t need that stuck-up bitch or her daughter. You can do better, Hayden.
She never did better.
Sometimes she spotted Natalie in the hall.
Whenever their eyes met, Hayden saw that Natalie still remembered and she felt the same shame and embarrassment all over again.
Nat was a cheerleader now. Pretty and popular, with lots of friends. That was her life. Hayden’s life was different. No escaping that. At least not while she was still in high school and living with Mom.
Soon though. Soon.
The teacher stopped before her. “You’re late.”
“Yes, I realize—”
“Office. Now,” she cut in, without giving Hayden a chance to even say anything. It was grossly unfair. What if she had something important to say? Something life-and-death important?
That was the thing that sucked most about being a teenager. So many adults thought they didn’t have to listen. They thought they didn’t need to listen, that youth negated one’s voice. Made them “less than.”
In Hayden’s situation, she was also poor. Poor and female and without anyone to stick up for her. That made it easy for grownups to trample over her. No outraged parent was ever going to bat on her behalf. Sure, this woman didn’t know all those details about her, but Hayden knew. Hayden knew herself and was aware of the obstacles.
“I just came from Ms. Mendez’s class. I forgot to get a pass.”
Yeah, it was a lie, but it was also her only hope.
The teacher stared with pinched lips, considering Hayden’s explanation.
Hayden jerked a thumb behind her in the direction of the art room. “I can go get a pass now to show—”
“Yeah, I’ll go with you.” The lady nodded with sudden resolution, looking a little smug, as though she knew she was going to bust Hayden in a lie.
Great.
It wouldn’t be the first time some self-righteous adult nailed her for a real or imagined infraction.
Heaving an internal sigh, Hayden forced a bright smile. “Okay.”
They turned and walked toward the art room. She knew she should probably be nervous. As close as she was to her art teacher, it was a lot to ask her to cover for her.
Ms. Mendez was about to confirm this woman’s suspicions that Hayden was tardy. Then Hayden would probably be sent to the assistant principal’s office, because it wouldn’t just be about a tardy anymore. She’d lied to this teacher and the teacher knew it. Hayden could feel the woman’s righteousness vibrating from her in waves. She wanted Hayden punished.
The teacher stepped ahead of her and rapped sharply on Ms. Mendez’s door before pushing it open.
“Ms. Mendez, I found this girl loitering in the halls—” Hayden rolled her eyes at the use of the word loitering. She’d been marching very quickly and very purposefully. “She claims you forgot to write her a pass.”
Ms. Mendez paused at the front of the room, where she had presumably been giving instruction before the other teacher interrupted her.
Mr. Mendez’s gaze flitted back and forth between Hayden and the woman. The art teacher’s bright purple glasses did nothing to take away from the look in her wide dark eyes. Those sharp eyes missed nothing.
Hayden gazed at her in silent entreaty. She was the one teacher who got her . . . the one person in this building who cared about her and took any interest in her and her future.
“Ahhh,” Ms. Mendez began. “Yes, yes, of course. I forgot.” She moved to her cluttered desk. “I’ll do that right now.”
The other teacher huffed and sent a suspicious glance between the two of them. Clearly she did not buy the story. It probably didn’t help that Ms. Mendez looked so young. She was actually thirty years old, but other teachers mistook her for a student. She once told Hayden that she got stopped in the hall during her off period on the regular and was often asked if she had a pass.