Before she knew what she was doing, she was pulling into the drive-through.
Emmaline beamed and bounced in her seat. “My treat!” She dug through the outer pocket of her backpack.
Hayden felt lighter, happy that she’d made Emmaline smile. It didn’t take much.
“That’s okay. I’m fine.” Hayden wasn’t planning on getting anything. Yes, she was hungry, but she was accustomed to deprivation. Besides, there was a peanut butter sandwich waiting for her at home. She’d bought a fresh loaf of bread and a jar of Skippy yesterday and stashed them in her bedroom. It would get her through the week.
“I insist. You’re going out of your way and giving me a ride home. Least I can do, since I kind of forced you.” She thrust a five dollar bill at Hayden like it was no big deal. “Sour green apple slush for me, please.”
Nodding, Hayden accepted the money and turned to speak their orders into the intercom.
“This is fun,” Emmaline declared.
Fun. That was a word. Not a word Hayden would use to describe this encounter, but a word.
Emmaline faced forward again and continued, “You have a lot of homework tonight?”
“Not much. I have study hall second period. I can usually get it all done in there.”
“Lucky you. I have a truck-ton of homework.”
“I’m guessing you’re in all AP classes.”
“You’re not in any AP?” Emmaline asked.
“No. What would be the point?” She couldn’t juggle such rigorous courses and work thirty to forty hours a week during the school year.
“It looks good on your transcript. Where are you going to college?”
Their drinks arrived. Hayden took a sip of her peach iced tea and secured it in her cup holder, wondering if Emmaline was ever going to get around to the reason she was sitting in Hayden’s car. “I’m not going to college,” she answered as she pulled out of the Sonic parking lot.
“You’re not?”
She rolled her eyes. “There are alternatives to college, you know.”
Emmaline fell silent for a few moments and Hayden shot her a quick glance. The girl looked so deep in thought that Hayden knew this must be a revelation to her. She was one of the privileged who had honestly never considered a future that did not consist of attending college. She’d probably been told she would go to college ever since she left the womb.
“Like what?” she finally asked.
“Lots of things.” She had a list of possibilities. Too many things to rattle off. She had options upon graduation. She’d researched several possibilities if her first goal didn’t work out, but she had her heart set on becoming a tattoo artist. She appreciated the skill that went into crafting and etching ink onto a person’s skin. It was transformative—living art that lasted forever, or at least for a person’s lifetime—and she wanted to do that.
She’d taken some design classes as electives—and art, of course. She’d been working hard on building an impressive portfolio, all the while corresponding with a couple of tattoo artists in Austin, emailing them samples of her work. They were willing to meet with her and discuss a potential apprenticeship.
Sure, if she was another kid who had been raised differently, by parents who took an interest in her education and future, she might have applied to design schools, but those places were so expensive. Apprenticing for a reputable, established tattoo artist could lead to a serious career—and in less time than it would take to attend a costly design college.
She’d never be rich, but she could be comfortable. She could be independent and in a creative profession, working as an artist. It’s all she had ever wanted.
As soon as she graduated, she was packing up, getting in her car, and going. She had saved what money she could. Just a couple grand so far. Not a lot to most people, but it was huge for her. It was everything. It would get her there. Give her a start. She could find a place and get a job while she completed her apprenticeship. She’d work two jobs if she had to. She’d do whatever necessary. She was going to make it happen.
Emmaline slid her a dubious look and pointed for her to take a right turn. “You’re not considering a career in something illegal, are you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No.” She didn’t add anything else. The only person who knew of her goal was Ms. Mendez, her art teacher. Even her mother didn’t know. Her mother had no clue of her plans. It was Hayden’s dream, her goal, and it was personal.
“My house is the third on the left,” Emmaline directed.
Hayden pulled up and parked in her driveway, but kept the car running. The house was typical middle-class for the area. A two-story brick colonial very similar to every other house on the street, but still nice. Where nice people lived. Nice families with moms who baked brownies.
“Well, here you are.”
“Would you like to come inside?”
Hayden grimaced. There was nothing she would like to do less than step inside this girl’s cookie-cutter house. There was probably a mantel full of figurines and family portraits on the walls. “No,” she answered. “That’s okay. I need to get going.” Back to Hayden’s own neighborhood. To her side of town, where there might be bars on the window, but she felt safer there. More at home. More herself.
“I’d really like you to come inside. So we can talk.”
Hayden flexed her hands on the steering well. “Look. You seem nice, but I can’t imagine what we have to talk about that you can’t just say right here.”
Emmaline visibly swallowed and Hayden felt a pang of sympathy. Apparently whatever she wanted to say wasn’t easy.
“Okay.” She sucked in a big breath. “I want you to teach me how to seduce a guy.”
Hayden had not seen that one coming. “Seduce a guy?”
“Yeah.”
Her mind raced. “Okay . . . there are so many things I want to ask, but let’s just start with this: What makes you think I know how to seduce a guy?”
“Well, guys find you irresistible.”
Hayden laughed. She laughed so hard tears pricked her ears. She actually held on to her aching sides. She couldn’t help herself. It was the most ridiculous statement she had ever heard. Sure, she knew a lot of guys were into her, but she did absolutely nothing to encourage them. Most of the time she was rude. Indifferent at best. Her clothes came from thrift shops and couldn’t be called the height of fashion by a long shot. The makeup she wore came from the dollar store. Her hair had never seen the inside of a salon. Her mom attended two weeks of cosmetology school and she’d learned enough to perform a decent haircut when Hayden needed one.
Hayden knew nothing about seduction. When she was with a guy, instinct led her. How could she teach this girl when she didn’t really know the tricks herself? “I’m not—”
“Don’t deny it. You are. All kind of guys . . . you attract them all. You have this look . . . this style.” She waved a hand at Hayden.
Hayden snorted. “It’s called thrift shop, honey.”
Emmaline continued like she had not spoken. “You ooze confidence. You’re just cool and sexy and you have this edge and—and I want you to teach me how to be more like that. More like you.” She exhaled and gulped a fresh breath, her eyes shining hopefully.