I climbed the concrete steps to the porch, and the screen door whined when it opened. I could hear Gina’s music from the other side of the door, and hesitated just long enough to psych myself up for whatever awaited me on the other side. When the door swung open, and I saw that the living room was empty, I hurried to my room and shut the door.

The music was coming from her bedroom, down the hall from mine. I could smell the weed as soon as I walked in, so she was probably smoking and relaxing in her bed, which was always preferable to a drunken rage.

The loose strings of my apron untied easily, and I peeled off the rest of my clothes, throwing them into a full hamper. Most nights I was too tired to do laundry, so it piled up until I hauled it to the Laundromat a few blocks south of the Dairy Queen. Being alone at the Suds & Duds was creepy at night, so I preferred to wait until early Saturday afternoon. Gina was awake then, and it was a good excuse to get out of the house before work.

I slipped on an oversized, faded black T-shirt that read Oakland Raiders. I’d assumed it was my dad’s, but I wasn’t sure. It could have been one of the random items Gina picked up from the secondhand store. But for some reason, I liked to think it was his—whoever he was—and wearing it made the roach-infested termite palace we lived in feel a little more like home.

I sat on the green carpet in my bedroom. It was once something similar to shag, but it had become matted over the years and looked more like the pelt of a very ugly animal. I had a page of Algebra II to finish; then I crept down the hall to the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth to the muffled lyrics of Soul Asylum. Gina was definitely high. “Runaway Train” was her go-to song when she scored a dime bag of weed.

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and watched my reflection in the mirror atop my dresser. They were from the second hand store, like everything else in our house. The mirror wobbled when anyone walked across my floor, and most of the dresser drawers didn’t open right, but they completed their function, and that’s all I needed. I brushed my dark brown hair away from my face until the brush could pass every strand without catching then smoothed it back into a ponytail.

The aging springs of my bed complained when I crawled under the covers. The ceiling fan bobbed as it turned slowly, lulling me to sleep as whatever song Gina was listening to hummed through the walls. I took a deep breath. The next day would be long. The senior class meeting was mandatory, and I dreaded going. I generally avoided school functions, just to save myself the humiliation suffered at the hands of the other Erins. Middle school taught me that any attempt to socialize was not worth the inevitable teasing and sometimes bullying that ensued. At times, teachers intervened, but mostly they didn’t. The Erins, along with Brady Beck and a few of their friends, relished only one thing more than taunting me—making me cry. That always seemed to be the goal, and the more I resisted, the harder they tried. So for the last four years, I kept to school and work, and myself. I had won a scholarship, and between that and grants, I was getting the hell out of Blackwell, away from the Erins, Brady, and Gina.

I reached over and pulled the lamp string. As much as Sonny genuinely wanted me to, I wouldn’t turn out the light and kill myself. I was going to rest, save my strength for another grueling day. Tomorrow would bring me one day closer to the freedom that Frankie dreamed about.

Chapter Two

Thirty minutes before the first bell rang, I adjusted my backpack and set out on my morning trek. Blackwell High School was just a few miles away, so unless something wet was falling out of the sky, the walk really wasn’t that bad. It was these quiet moments between Gina and school that I savored the most—but I wouldn’t miss them. I wouldn’t miss anything about Blackwell, except for Frankie, her snot-nosed kids, and maybe Weston’s green eyes.

Oklahoma State University’s campus was just under an hour away by car, in Stillwater. The campus was small enough that I wouldn’t need a car and the transit system would take me anywhere else I needed to go nearby. But I had to figure out a way to OSU. The acceptance letter came in the mail a couple of weeks before, and I celebrated alone, jumping up and down in the kitchen. Gina didn’t know. I hadn’t even told Frankie. I didn’t want to jinx it.

Half a block before I reached the school, the sky opened, and a cold spring rain poured down. My pace broke out into a sprint. I didn’t want my shoes to slosh and draw attention more than my sopping hair already would.

Once inside, I walked straight to the east wing bathroom. It was next to the office, so teachers were more likely to be in there. Sure enough, Mrs. Pyles was drying her hands under the automatic dryer.

She greeted me with a smile, but once she recognized how drenched I was, her expression changed. “Oh, Erin!” She yanked paper towels from the holder and handed them to me. “Didn’t you know it was going to rain today?”

I shook my head. “I had a feeling. Hoped I could make it here before it started.”

She helped me slide my backpack to the floor and took my jacket, holding it under the electric dryer. “I’ve given you my number a dozen times. Why won’t you call me?”

I shrugged. “I like to walk.”

She frowned. “Next time the weather man calls for precipitation before school, I’m going to be parked in front of your house.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “You’ll embarrass Gina. She won’t like it.”

“I don’t care.”

I pushed the silver button and leaned beneath the dryer. “I just have a couple more months. It’s not worth it.”

Mrs. Pyles shook her head, her bright blue eyes heavy with sadness. “I haven’t done enough for you, have I?”

“You’ve done plenty. See you in class.” I left her alone in the bathroom.

Mrs. Pyles cared about her students, and she’d asked me so many times if everything was okay at home. It had to be so frustrating to be in her position. Gina had a bad temper, and she was a mean drunk, but DHS had been called a few times before and they could never find a good enough reason to save me. Mrs. Pyles always seemed to be in a mood the day after DHS made a surprise visit to my home. It had occurred to me that she might be the one reporting Gina, but I’d never asked. It didn’t matter, and no one should have to answer for trying to protect someone.

First period was Mrs. Merit’s Advanced Biology class, and I shared it with Brady Beck. Four students sat at assigned seats around five round tables with black counter tops, carved with initials and pluses or hearts, the abbreviation “Sr.” followed by every year since 1973, and inappropriate pictures.

I sat in my seat at the middle table and watched other students filter in. Brady and his friend Brendan ran in just before the bell rang, sliding into their seats with shit-eating grins on their faces. They were both at the corner table. Brady had traded spots with Andrew at the beginning of the year so he could face me and mouth things like whore or skank. Sometimes he said it out loud, but Mrs. Merit wasn’t one of the teachers that minded if I was bullied.

Once the shrill beeping of the bell ended, Mrs. Merit offered them an annoyed smile, and began setting up for the lesson.

Sara Glen sat across from me at our table. She was only chatty with me when she wanted to tell me what rumor was spreading about me that day, like when Brian Grand began a discussion in health class about how disgusting it was that I wore the same dirty jeans every day.

I had two pair that I’d found at the Second Hand, and they looked nearly identical. Once I’d spilled something on them two days in a row, and because of work, I didn’t have time to take them to the Laundromat. That was when Brian noticed, and I couldn’t argue, because it was true.

“Erin,” Sara whispered. She put her elbows on the table and leaned in. “I heard you got fired from the Dairy Queen for spitting in Sonny’s ice cream. People are saying you have AIDS and were trying to give it to her out of spite.”

“AIDS. That’s a new one,” I said, doodling in my notebook.

“So it’s not true?”

“No.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Sara seemed satisfied, so she returned her gaze to the teacher.

“Spring break is the week after next, people,” Mrs. Merit said. “We have a mid-term test. I’ll hand out the study guide a week from today. Look it over.”

Mrs. Merit’s study guides were the questions and answers, albeit worded slightly different, of the test, in order. Even though it was supposed to be an advanced class, studying consisted of memorization, so it didn’t surprise me that Sara didn’t know AIDS couldn’t be transmitted through a little bit of spit. A percentage of the girls in our class hadn’t even gotten to graduation before getting pregnant, so basic biological knowledge didn’t seem to be a priority among these students. Or maybe there just wasn’t enough to do besides stand around and drink at bonfire parties at the Diversion Dam or have sex.

Lunch came and went, then I had fifth period Health class—my least favorite—with the Erins. I had third period Calculus with Alder, but she didn’t speak to me without her cohorts around. Brady was in fifth period, too, but he typically left me alone to pick on Annie Black, a sweet and incredibly smart junior with cerebral palsy. He did an Annie impression every time she passed him in the halls. Only a few people called him out on how disgusting he was. He was born into one of the most affluent families in Blackwell, and his parents were pillars of the community. His father had donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to the school, and his mother was a rather rabid bitch and shrieked to her good friend the superintendent whenever someone dared instruct her son on rules or common courtesy, so even the teachers tried to ignore his antics. Brady Beck had been caught vandalizing the school, drinking on school grounds, skipping class, and bullying dozens, but he never once sat through Detention. He was everything that was wrong with our little town.