Authors: L. Duarte
“Fuck you, Jake.” I planted my hand on my hips. “There! Are you fucking happy? I happen to choose not to use foul language. But
better than anyone, know what I’m capable of.”
Jake paled. It was a low blow to remind him, but I needed to get my point across.
“Okay, let’s plan this right. You’re in middle school, which makes it ridiculously risky to sell drugs,” I said.
“Pot, Luna. Pot!”
“Whatever. So, here is what we’re gonna do. Since I’m in high school, I’ll sell it for now, and when you reach ninth grade, if we still need the money, you can sell too.” I dared dreamed our situation would miraculously have changed by then.
“I don’t see why I can’t sell it,” Jake said with a pout.
“Because, middle schoolers are a bunch of babies. They’ll tell on you.” I put the money back and hung the birdhouse.
“Thank you for doing this for Mom.”
“I’m not doing it for her. I’m just tired of being hungry.” I dropped to my bed. “But here’s the deal. After expenses, we save the rest, and when I turn eighteen, we’ll hit the road.”
“And go where?”
“Far away from this hellhole.”
“What about Mom?”
“She won’t mind, Jake. She’ll be thrilled to be relieved of the burden of having us around.”
Sorrow clouded Jake’s eyes. He sighed, a sigh so sad it made me want to wrap my arms around him.