The drive home is quiet. Ruby is quiet. The streets are empty, the orange glow of the streetlights holding in the silence. Only the oil pump at the corner of Main and Third disturbs the calm. Her car idles at the stop sign. She watches the pump, still so much the horse of her childhood. Her eyes trace the edge of chain-link holding it in. A car behind her honks, and she moves on through the intersection.
She piles the pennies into groups of one hundred. They lie like little hills on her ivy print bedspread. Eleven copper hills waiting to be rolled into rent. The coffee can was backup. Only if she absolutely needed it. She needs it now.
Thirty-Eight
She runs through her mental list, the small circle of maybes in her life. Uncle Clint and Aunt Patsy are still paying off Aunt Patsy’s medical bills. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, they might tell. Monica never has two cents to her name. Reid? No. Not Reid. Not now.
She can’t ask just anyone. She wouldn’t. It would make her no different than Mama. But a can of pennies and hope aren’t enough now. She winces and presses her stomach. It burns. She ate the last stale chocolate cookie for breakfast this morning and washed it down with a flat Dr Pepper.
But Carly.
Maybe.
Zoe could ask. She loaned Carly money once. It was a long time ago, but she knows Carly would remember. She could ask her at the next break.
She waits on the brick planter outside Math Lab until Carly arrives.
“You didn’t call,” Carly says.
“Sorry.”
“Not a big deal. Things were just weird the other night.” She digs with the word “weird,” waiting for Zoe to fill in the holes. Zoe tries to shrug it into something else.
“It was strange, having everyone over to my own place—”
“No. That’s not what I mean. It was Reid. He got a strange look on his face when Carlos came. I asked him about it on the way home, but he wouldn’t say anything. What’s up?”
Zoe’s stomach throbs, and a salty film coats her mouth. “You know he’s always had a crush on me. That’s probably all it was. I didn’t really notice. You have a water bottle on you?”
Carly digs through her backpack. She hands Zoe a half-empty plastic bottle. “You okay?”
“Just my stomach.” She takes a swig from the bottle. “And…I need to ask a favor. Can I borrow some money?”
Carly doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. How much?” She reaches into her backpack again. Zoe puts her hand on Carly’s arm to stop her.
“No. I mean a lot of money. More than you’ve got there. I need ninety dollars.”
“Shit. You really need money.” Carly sets her backpack down. “Yeah, I can get it to you. I’ll have to go to the bank. When do you need it by?”
“Friday.”
“You getting a boob job or something?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“I’ll bring it on Thursday.”
Zoe is glad Carly doesn’t ask what it is really for. The warning bell for first period rings and they part.
The days are getting cooler, but through each class Zoe feels a thin sheen of sweat layering her face, throat, even her wrists. Her stomach is raw. Her concentration is feverish, spiking and melting away.
Carly will come through. Ninety. Thirty-one. Tips.
Counseling on Wednesday. A new day. I have to remember.
Will Carly remember? Thursday, she said.
Be a good girl, Beth. A good girl.