By the time I reach my apartment, the buzz of the previous night’s excitement is pretty much extinguished. I look around the parking lot, not that anyone here pays attention to me anyway, but I want to make sure no one witnesses what is so clearly my classic morning-after ‘walk of shame.’
Here I am, a massive case of bedhead, a wrinkled evening dress, carrying my shoes by the straps, wearing a ratty jacket, and trying to walk barefoot over bumpy asphalt pavement to reach the stairs to my floor.
It’s a pretty gross building where I live. More like one of those old-school motels than a real apartment building. Crappy security, which is why I sleep at night with my dresser pushed in front of the door of my one-room place. But it’s cheap and will continue to serve its purpose for as long as I need it to.
After fumbling with the key, I push my door open with a sigh of relief, content to be back in my crummy little home, the only place in the world that’s mine and no one else’s.
But as soon as I cross the threshold, I drop everything I am holding, keys included, and scream.
I’m not alone in my apartment. Not by a long shot.
And when my eyes fully adjust to the dim light, I see I’ve been joined by my mother, father, and the youth pastor from our church, the disgusting Sandy Rollins.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” I cry. “How did you get in?”
I hold onto the doorjamb, my heart pounding from the adrenaline rush.
The three of them are looking me up and down as Mom crosses her arms and presses her lips together. “Lucinda, you know better than to take the Lord’s name in vain.”
What? She shows up with Dad and the creepy Sandy in tow, somehow having managed to break into my home, and all she can do is scold me for sayingoh my god?
Am I hallucinating? Please let me be hallucinating.
“How did you get in?” I repeat.
Mom helps herself to a seat on the edge of my bed. “Your landlady is very nice. She and I really hit it off, especially when I gave her one of my glazed tomato soup loaf cakes. I brought you one too.”
My landlady? She bribed my landlady? That chain-smoking potty mouth, who wears too much makeup and a teased black wig every day?
Dad clears his throat. “What I want to know,” he pauses to wave his hand at me, as if that sums up my admittedly slovenly appearance, “is what this is all about.”
A sideways glance at Sandy—his presence is even more random than my parents—reveals his arms crossed tightly, his face wearing an expression of grave, grave concern.
If the entire situation weren’t so crazy, I might actually laugh out loud.
I walk across the room—myroom—and pull some jeans and a T-shirt out of my dresser. “I was at a party. It was late, I spent the night.”
Hard to argue with that, right?
I duck into the bathroom to change my clothes. I run a comb through my hair, put on deodorant, and rejoin the three intruders.
I still don’t know what they’re doing there, but I do know I want them to leave.
I embrace the same sort of stern expression they’re throwing my way and stare right back. “While it’s nice to see you, I have studying to do. I’ve got a test coming up.”
Sandy takes a step toward me. “Oh, for the ‘course’ you’re taking?” he asks sarcastically, using air quotes aroundcourse.
What is that supposed to mean?
“Um, yeah. For thecourseI’m taking. Which I am getting A’s in, by the way,” I say, reaching into my backpack and pulling out my latest A.
Sandy scoffs at the paper I wave in front of him, probably because he never earned an A in his life, narrowing his eyes as if I counterfeited the darn thing. “Lucinda, we are here today for what you might call… an intervention.”
“What?”
“Your mother has been calling you for weeks, you haven’t been getting back to her. We know you’re surrounded by sinners, and we’ve come to get you.”
I look at my parents. “Is that true? You’re having Sandy do your bidding? You think I’m more likely to jump in the car and head home with you if he makes the request?”