I slosh through the parking lot with a spare warm-up basketball jersey draped over my wet, torn clothes in a pathetic attempt to keep my dignity.

Thankfully, my old silver Toyota is the only car in the parking lot. The last thing I want is to face the humiliation of someone seeing me, soaking wet, half-naked, with blue hair that has been sprinkled with wet toilet paper.

Just the thought of what happened makes me furious all over again. Foster wasn't so happy when he walked in on an even messier locker room. And who got the blame? I did. He didn't even look at Hayden. All he did was shout and scream like we were getting ready for war.

"Fuck Foster. Fuck Cross," I mutter. If I get any angrier, I'll turn into the Hulk.

Which, I guess, turning into a strong, green monster that can destroy anything it wants to wouldn't be too bad. It would sure help me with the whole 'bad boy' situation. And I've always wanted to be in a Marvel movie.

In the distance, football players pile into the bus to take them to our rival, Carol High School, for a game. The cheerleaders are right behind them and the school mascot, an eagle, has its head out the window, fist pumping.

The day is exceptionally bright and cheery — the exact opposite of my current mood. I'm not going to be thrown around by Hayden. I'm not going back to a time like that.

I'm in control.

I pull an old sweatshirt that's been gathering dust from the back seat of my car and hastily replace the wet clothing with it before playing a voicemail on my phone from my mother.

"Hey sweetie! I know it's last minute, but I'll be at work late tonight. Can you whip up some food for you and your brother? I know Del-Mart's deli is open late! Thank you! I'll see you when I get home!"

If she comes home tonight. That can be a big mystery when she's "working late". I toss the phone on the passenger seat. Staying late at work — yeah, sure. Who is she trying to fool?

Staying late at work only meant two things for my mother: Either her boss decided she was his favorite employee that night or Stacie Chance would be taking another trip to the local bar. Which of course meant she'd find herself a new friend to spend the night with.

I massage my temples.

I don't know which one is worse.

When I call my brother, he informs me that he's going to go out to look for our mother. Maybe this time, she'll listen. I know she won't. She never does. It will be exactly like the last time and the time before that. Stacie will cause a scene and break down because the stress of being a single parent is just too much. That's her excuse for hitting the bottle. I tell Corry not to bother, but he insists.

"I really think I'm finally getting to her," he explains. It hurts my heart to hear the confidence in his voice and it only makes my anger toward my mother grow. He's been saying the same thing for the past two years.

"Just please be careful." I tell him for the hundredth time. "With all of this crime stuff you keep talking about... and Mom...doing what she does, I don't want you to get hurt. If the worst comes to worst, she'll find her way home."

Corry's exhaustion practically seeps in from the other end of the line. "You can't mean that."

Maneuvering out of the school parking lot, I think about his words for a moment. I think about my mother getting too drunk for her own good and trying to find her way back home, only to cause a scene when she walks through the door. I shake my head.

"I mean every part of it."

* * *

The drive to the deli is quick and the mouthwatering scent of the freshly baked bread snaps me out of every sour emotion I previously had. The small shop is relatively empty and across the street, the convenience store we talked about in our current events class is still swarmed by news, police, and civilian cars. Corry should be out there at the convenience store shadowing his officer, seeing his future-career up-close. Instead, he's looking for our alcoholic mother every second minute like he always is.

Though the convenience store is relatively small, there is a forensics truck parked right up front. I wonder what else they could be looking for. That truck has been there all day.

"How are you doing tonight, Ember?" Mr. Aplin smiles as I approach the counter. We've known each other since I was fifteen and helping little troopers with Girl's Scout Cookie sales outside his door. Mr. Aplin is the same as always: wiping the counter for no reason, checking on the rotisserie meat, and arranging pastries on their trays.

He squints at me, lips curling at the corners, and chuckles. "I see you've changed your hair since this morning."

I self-consciously play with the damp curls itching the back of my neck. "Trust me, I didn't want this."

With a sympathetic look, the deli owner motions for me to continue while he prepares my food. I've paid enough visits for him to know what I always get, and he inclines for an explanation with the slight nod of his head.

"Haven't you heard?" I question with a dry laugh. "Hayden Cross is back!"

"I'm so sorry to hear that sweetheart," he frowns. "I hope you two can make peace this year."

"I'm assuming he's the one who did this to you?" a new voice says from behind me.

When I turn around, I'm both startled and in awe. I don't expect this stranger to be close and so nosy. And not to mention cute. He could be no than twenty-five years old, the definition of lean muscles outlined by his gray jacket,

"Um, yeah," I answer slowly, slightly confused. Do I know him?

The stranger grins and extends a hand. The edges of a dark tattoo poke out from the sleeve. With a face like that, he should be unforgettable. So why don't I remember seeing him around?

"Sorry for listening in," he apologizes. "I'm Derek. I know Hayden through a friend."

The mention of Hayden's name produces a sour taste in my mouth. At a second glance, I assess the stranger more carefully, taking in the ever-growing tense, uncomfortable air surrounding him and the sly playfulness in his brown-eyed expression. It might have been charming if it weren't for the fact that he doesn't seem to have blinked in the last minute or two.

"I'm Ember. Nice to meet you." I lean against the deli counter and dig through my purse for my wallet, eyes flickering to the ink exposed on his neck. Derek takes a step forward and the hairs on my arms stand on end. Maybe it's from him standing too close. Maybe it's from how tall he is.

He's going from cutie to creep faster by the second.

Or is that your ridiculous paranoia again?

I clear my throat. "So, you're friends with Hayden?"

"I know him through a friend." He scratches the back of his head and pulls his hood down to reveal a mop of dark brown hair. He doesn't elaborate further.

Maybe he's from Westwood? It could explain the weird vibe. But how old are parole officers?

Mr. Aplin hands me my change. "Well it was nice meeting you." I smile. "I'll see you around, I guess."

His stare makes my skin prickle. "I hope so."

A manic vibration in my pocket makes me jump and when I look, Corry's name appears on the screen of my phone. I know what he's going to say, but it doesn't stop the anxiety of my brother or mother possibly being injured flourishing through me. Corry almost got his arm snapped in two the last time my mother went to the sketchy bars outside of town. Pressing the phone to my ear, I make a B-line for the door as quickly as possible. I don't notice another customer in as much of a hurry to leave as I am until we collide.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" I shout. The contents of his bag spill all over the floor. I dive toward his groceries. "Here let me help you—"

"No." He doesn't look at me, face hidden by a red hood, and scoops up as much as he can before storming out the door.

"Everything alright?" Mr. Aplin calls.

"Yeah." I assure him, kneeling to gather my own bag. My gaze wanders to the disappearing headlights outside the door and I frown.

I know that voice.

* * *