ten
Harper Apple
I don’t hear from Royal for the first week of winter break, but I figure he’s with family, so I don’t make a thing about it. I don’t hear from anyone at school, either. Not that I thought I would. In fact, Mr. D is the only person who messages to say Merry Christmas, which is pretty fucking sad and probably reflective of some of the poor life choices I’ve made. I shrug it off and spend the week vegging out in front of the TV, watching boxing tutorials online, and punching the bag in the basement. It’s boring as fuck.
I’m way too happy when Royal texts me the day after Christmas saying he wants to meet. I can’t sit still any longer, so I step outside when I see Blue and Olive. I make my way across the scrap of yard between our houses and join them. We sit out on their woven plastic lounge chairs in the sun, smoking cigarettes while Olive lines up the Hot Wheels collection Blue got her.
“How’s Faulkner?” I ask. With everything that’s gone on lately, I’ve barely seen Blue, and even though we were never close, I feel some weird kind of guilt for it, like I’ve abandoned her for the rich kids. She’s not the kind of person who would hold me back or blame me for wanting to better myself or my circumstances, but it’s like when we left the trailer park. There’s a solidarity in our poverty. We’re all in it together. When I step into the world of Willow Heights, I’m leaving them behind in squalor while I rise.
“Same,” she says with a shrug. “You still one of the popular kids at Willow Heights?”
I open my mouth to deny it automatically, that shame rising in me. I’ve never in my life thought about being popular or even wanted it. I don’t think any less of people who do—Jolene’s dream of popularity is no less real than my dream of escape—but it’s just never held much appeal for me. When I think about Blue’s question, though, I realize she’s right. I went shopping with the queen of Willow Heights last week. I hang out with the Dolce girls, sit at the most coveted table, have the most coveted boy’s attention.
“I guess I am,” I admit.
Blue just nods and looks thoughtful as she draws on her cigarette. A few minutes later, Royal’s SUV pulls up and stops at the curb. He rolls down his window and gives me a lazy wave.
I turn to Blue with a shrug. “Want to go with us?”
The corner of her mouth tugs up in a tiny smile. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t even know what to say to a rich guy.”
“Basically, you just say yes,” I say, though I know it makes me sound like a whore. Maybe that’s what I am now, though it’s more accurate to say I’m a dumb bitch or a slut, since I’m not getting paid for this. Pleasure is the only thing I get out of it, same as him.
“Come on, Jailbird,” he calls.
“See you around,” Blue says, tipping her cigarette at me. I can feel all of their gazes on me as I make my way down the walkway and hop up in Royal’s car.
“Not into meeting my friends?” I ask as Royal shifts into gear, pulling away from our house.
“We’d have nothing in common.”
“You never know,” I say. “You might be surprised.”
“I’d be very surprised if I have anything in common with that girl.” He smirks over at me. “Besides, I’ve already got friends. I don’t need to make more.”
“Sounds like someone’s nervous about making a good impression.”
“I’m not your boyfriend, Harper. I don’t want to meet your friends. Christ. Next you’ll be asking to meet my mother.”
“Is she in town?”
“No,” he says, scowling at me. “Is your dad?”
“No clue. Never met the guy, remember?”
He shifts in his seat and glances at me. “You don’t know who he is?”
I shrug. “Some dirtbag my mom went home with.”
“She never tried to track him down to get child support or anything?”
I laugh at that.
“What?” he asks, frowning.
“Do you know how hard that is? How much it costs to track someone down, take them to court, force them to get a DNA test, and then get them to pay up?”
“No.”