Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I smile and pass her the tin of cookies McKenna and I made especially for her last night. There aren’t many and they’re just shortbread—the cheapest cookie you can bake—but they still serve the purpose. They’re a bribe of sorts.
“I’m here to talk about McKenna’s future.”
Her brow quirks with intrigue as she opens the tin and inhales. Ah yes, that buttery smell would bring anyone to their knees. When she pushes them aside and turns her attention back to me, I swear her gaze is slightly less severe.
“Your sister is only a freshman, if I recall. It’s a little early to be talking about—”
I lean forward and ensure my words are enunciated. I want her to understand me and take my words to heart. “It’s not too early. I want to ensure that McKenna stays on track all four years. I want to ensure that she’s in the right extracurriculars and keeping her grades up. I want to make sure she’s taking as many advanced courses as she wants to take. When it’s time for her to take the SAT, I want you to look into free classes or guides she can use to boost her score. I’ll do my part too, but—”
She waves her hand to cut me off. “I understand what you’re saying, and while I will happily help your sister in any way I can, I don’t think you have to worry. Just last week, she was in my office, pestering me about taking dual credit courses in her sophomore year so she can earn college credit early. Your sister seems to be far more focused on her schoolwork than you were at her age.”
I try not to let her words dig at me. Even still, they hurt.
“And what about you? What are you doing now?” she says, peering down at the sweatshirt I’m using to hide my maid’s uniform. I have to go straight to work from here, and unless Jeremy can extend his lunch break at the lumber mill, it looks like I’ll be walking there. “You’ve been out of high school for a while now.”
I’m too embarrassed to answer, so I don’t.
She still gets the message loud and clear. “There are still options for you.” She turns and grabs a pamphlet for a community college she keeps on a small stand behind her desk. The campus is a few hours away. I know because I’ve looked into it before, years ago.
She unfolds the flaps and I’m confronted by the smiling faces of co-eds throwing frisbees and performing experiments in lab coats. It looks like a Gap ad and I’m not sure where the girl from the trailer park fits in. Oh, there I am—the custodian in the background taking out the trash.
“They have online classes,” she says, sounding hopeful.
I don’t have a computer.
“And flexible course schedules in case the weekends work better for you.”
It doesn’t really matter what days I’d have class because I still don’t have a car.
Even so, I don’t want to be rude by rebuffing her kind suggestions, so I accept the pamphlet and stand, thanking her for her time and insisting she notify me if McKenna’s grades start to slip or she seems to be losing track of her studies.
Then I walk out into the hall with that pamphlet burning a hole in my palm.
What business do I have thinking about college? I don’t even know what I would want to be, if I could be something other than what I am in this moment.
Just the idea of hope hurts.
No. I put away that dream a long time ago.
College isn’t in the cards for me. All I can do is focus on McKenna and make sure, out of the two of us, she’s the one to make it out of this town for good.
A week later, I’m sitting at the kitchen table in our trailer, counting my tips from my shift at the motel. I lucked out earlier. One of the women I work with clocked out at the same time I did and offered to give me a ride home. I had to pay her for the gas, but it was worth it considering I’ve had to walk home a few times now and my tennis shoes aren’t holding up all that well.
“How’d you do today?” McKenna asks, dropping a small plate of spaghetti beside my pile of tips, and by tips, I mean garbage—literally. I think most people just reach into their pockets and leave behind anything they happen to grab. Surely the maid who’s had her face level with the shitter all week wants my lint-covered candy wrapper!
Other than that, there’s a few dollars, some change, and one very pleasant note scrawled on the back of a receipt:
Hey, saw you cleaning. Your hot. Call me if you want to grab a beer.