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  It doesn’t.

  It sounds terrible—I hate cabbage. I could smell it as soon as I walked in. But I’m not about to throw my mother under the bus, even if she can be a bitch with me sometimes, too. I think she blames me for the situation we’re in, and I guess it’s understandable. If she hadn’t gotten knocked up with me, she could’ve remained a ballerina. Maybe she wouldn’t have married my dad, and we wouldn’t both have to live in hell.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be standing in a rundown kitchen in Indiana, making cabbage for an asshole who doesn’t even appreciate it.

  “Speak up, Son!”

  “It’s fine!” I tell him, not covering my annoyance with him.

  “Cabbage is not fine!” my father roars. “Fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week I work, to provide for this family, and I eat cabbage? What the fuck do you think I work for, breaking my hands day in and day out, if not to have a decent meal waiting for me when I come home?”

  “Dimitri,” my mother tries in a small voice. “The electric bill is two months overdue. And the gas…”

  He glares at her, his gaze seething. “Don’t talk about those things in front of the son,” he shouts as if my knowing that we’re behind on our utility bills is somehow worse than seeing domestic abuse in the kitchen.

  “We don’t have the money…”

  This is my cue to slink away. I feel guilty, leaving my mom to his anger. It could be worse, but he won’t hit her when I’m home. He knows it’ll be a fight between us, and he can’t send me to school with bruises. So now he just riles himself up until he passes out, but it still fucking sucks.

  When I make it to my bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I want to lock it, barricade it even, but I know that if he decides to come in and shout at me, barring his way will just make it worse in the end, and I’d rather him yell at me than her. When I was younger I cared, I hated it, but now I don’t give a shit.

  My stomach growls, and I groan as I flop back on the bed. No dinner for me tonight. There’s no way I’m going back out, and the idea of cabbage and beef again makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  A slight breeze blows in through my open window, and I glance over at it. I could run away. I could pack the duffel bag under my bed with the few things that matter to me, and take off. I have some cash under my mattress from odd jobs I’ve worked over the summer. I was supposed to hand all of it over, “contribute to the family,” but I managed to squirrel a little away. It would be enough for a Greyhound ticket and a few dollar-hamburgers to get me through until I found some kind of work.

  I could be gone before my parents get a missing persons report out. I could just disappear. Get as far away as I can—Chicago isn’t far enough, maybe New York or Florida. Hop the border and go to Mexico. Anywhere to escape this. But it’s not so bad. Soon he’ll stop yelling, they’ll make up, and it’ll end with her groaning his name.

  It’s disgusting, but it could be worse, I guess.

  I pull out the book I got from the library, Ender’s Game. It’s pretty decent. I make it a few chapters before Rain pops into my head. I don’t know if her family situation is as bad as mine is.

  My whole life, I’ve been helpless. As soon as I was old enough to realize the dynamic between my parents, I was also old enough to realize that there was nothing I could do to help my mom. She’s someone that doesn’t want to be helped. Her sister tried taking us away when I was about seven. We spent three months with her, and it was probably the best part of my childhood. My mom had a job working in an office or something. My aunt and her husband James were nice to me and always gave me snacks when I came home from school. My mom smiled and was happy. I didn’t have to hear yelling and shouting or crying, but my dad came back with fake tears and a bullshit apology, and off we went back to our shitty house, with barely any food, and my mom being used as a punching bag. It wasn’t four days before things were back to our fucked-up normal.

  But Rain—I can do something for her. I can help her not get shit on at school. I can make sure that she has someone on her side.

  I remember the way she looked up at me earlier as we were walking to her house, her eyes bright and fixed on my face. But I quickly shrug it off. She’s young—thirteen might only be two years younger, but it feels like a lot.

  I’ll be her friend, I think decisively. And maybe she’ll want to be mine.

  Chapter 3

  Rain

  Present day

  The next day at work, I’m nicer to the customers than I’ve ever been. To be fair, I’m more desperate for tips than I’ve ever been. I’ve never been rude to them, but I’ve never been this inviting. My job entails me putting my body on display as much as legally possible for a restaurant and bar serving horny men or unsuspecting families that walk in thinking Funbags is some sort of kids' place.

  After six months of working here, I have become completely immune to the unwanted grabs and touches on my body. I’m completely indifferent to drunk customers' lustful looks. I wasn’t like this at first. During my first day at work, I almost quit. I thought I couldn’t take it. I was completely disgusted with myself and my boss. But I didn’t. Somehow I hung on, and I’m a little hardened to it.

  Almost like a callus.

  Two men get seated in my section and I tell myself maybe they’ll be nice and respectful and leave me a good tip.

  “Hi, welcome to Funbags! My name is Rain and I’ll be your waitress today,” I say happily as their eyes roam every inch of my body. “Can I get you started with some drinks, or would you like to hear about our appetizers on special?”

  One of the men finally looks north of my breasts; neither of them had gotten that far yet. “How much for a side of your fine ass?” he asks.

  Normally, my reply would be along the lines of “Let’s stick to the menu, buddy.” But instead, I smile and giggle. “Unfortunately, that’s not on the menu.”

  I pray he won’t keep pushing the issue. I don’t know how much longer I can play along. He lets out a laugh and grins. “How about you just get me a beer then, a tall Bud?”

  Now that I can do. I grin back at him. “Sure thing.” I turn to face the other guy. “How about you?”

  He nods and says, “I’ll have the same thing.”

  “Okay, guys. I’ll be right back with two beers and to take your order.”

  Being nice with a tad of flirtation to the men all day long has earned me more in tips than a normal day, but it still isn’t nowhere near enough. I’m going to have to beg my boss for more hours, which I absolutely hate doing. Funbags is owned and operated by a man named Benny Wang. A middle-aged Chinese man that is as sleazy as they come. Rumor has it that he wanted to open a strip club originally. When he couldn’t get the necessary permits, he decided to open a knockoff Hooters. Luckily there was enough room in Chicago for restaurants that had half-naked waitresses. I can’t complain about his questionable business practices much anyway. Those practices are what lets me serve alcohol even though I’m a year shy of twenty-one.

  I woefully knock on the door to his office, a room that I don’t enter unless I absolutely have to.

  “Come in!” he shouts impatiently.

  I push the door open and step inside. “Hey, Benny, could I talk to you for a moment?”

  He looks up from his paper and nods. “Sure thing. I always got time for my girls.” His words make me want to cringe. Instead, I step all the way inside and plaster a grin on my face. I am about to grovel, so I might as well start buttering him up now. His hair is black, shot with grey from time. He keeps it spiky and gelled on top and almost non-existent on the sides. His buggy eyes stare at my exposed skin. His irises are so dark they are almost black. The whites around his eyes bloodshot and grey from all the alcohol he keeps in his system.

  “What can I do for you, sweetcheeks?” he asks me after I shut the door completely. I hesitantly stepped forward until I am directly in front of his cheap desk.

  “I hate to ask, Benny, but is it possible for me to pick u
p any more double shifts?”

  His eyes study me more intensely than before. “We have enough girls on the floor this week.”

  I sigh and decide to try honesty. “Please, Benny. Dena disappeared with our rent money. Mallory and I have to pay three months of rent in five days.”

  Benny leans back in his chair without taking his eyes off of me. “She didn’t show up for work today either.”

  “We don’t know where she went. We gave her our rent money for this month, and we haven’t seen her since,” I tell him, hoping to appeal to his softer side.

  “Sorry angel, I have way too many girls on the floor already, and you know how they start giving shit service when I have to split the floor more than I tell them.”

  I can already feel tears developing in my eyes.

  “Okay,” I nod. “I understand.”

  I turn around and start to walk out of his office.

  “I may have something else you could do to make more money.”

  I turn back around with my eyebrows raised. I would do almost anything. “And what’s that?”

  Benny clears his throat. “I know of some guys that might want some company...”

  Is this asshole asking me to be a whore?! It’s not surprising, but still so messed up!

  It takes everything in me to swallow down my indignation and urge to slap him across the face. “Thanks Benny, but no thanks,” I growl before storming out of the office.

  I fight my tears until I’m outside of the restaurant, then they start to fall. I try to get rid of as many as I can before I board the bus to get home. I haven’t felt this hopeless since he left me…well, this is nowhere close to that. That pain was like nothing I ever felt before.

  When I get into the apartment, Mallory is sitting on the couch, her eyes glued to her phone. She looks up, hearing me come through the door. “Did she show up?”

  “No. Benny says she didn’t call out either.”

  Mallory glares as she rolls her eyes. “Big surprise there. I’m pretty sure that she skipped town.”

  I collapse onto the couch next to Mallory. “What if she’s in some kind of trouble?” I sigh.

  “I guarantee that she’s in some sort of trouble because she’s dead when I find her!” Mallory growls.

  I wasn’t surprised that Dena didn’t show up for work. She didn’t care about her job at Funbags at all. This wasn’t the first time she’d do a no-call, no-show. The only reason Benny keeps her around is because she’s hot and has a lot of regulars.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks.

  I run my hand over my face. “Are you sure you can’t ask your parents for a loan?” I plead, but she immediately shakes her head.

  “How much do you have?” I ask hesitantly.

  “If I only eat ramen for the next week, $600.” She winces. God, our rent is $850 per month, and Jack wants three months’ rent. I only have $520, and that’s with me not paying my cell phone bill and getting an extension on our electric bill.

  “That’s not even a month and a half.”

  “Maybe he’ll take what we have?” Mallory says, trying to be optimistic. I smile, telling myself that some money is better than none, but after not getting rent for three months, I don’t know if it’ll be enough. I suck in a deep breath and cross my fingers and toes before calling him. He answers on the second ring.

  “You have my money?” he asks gruffly without as much as a greeting. Mallory and I exchange a hopeless glance.

  “We have a little over eleven hundred,” I say quickly.

  “That isn’t even two months!”

  “I know, I know. We just need more time. Please, Jack, if you could give us another week to try to make it up,” I plead with him.

  “Try? Try to make it up? No, that’s not good enough,” he says coldly.

  “Three days. Can we have three more days?” I ask desperately. There’s a pause, and I’m biting my lip so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed.

  “Send me what you have right now, and in three days, I want the rest. No excuses.” Both Mallory and I let out big sighs of relief.

  “Thank you Jack!” we both say in unison.

  “We’ll send it right now!” Mallory promises him. He grunts.

  “Thank God!” Mallory says as she starts to transfer what she has over to me.

  “Yeah, but I have no idea what we can do in three days to make that much money.” I let out a small breath and swallow every doubt inside of me and pray like hell I can convince Mallory to just ask her parents. They’re not rich, but they’re comfortable from what I know of, and we’re running completely out of options.

  “Mal, I know you said that you can’t ask your parents, but could you just try? I promise I’ll do whatever we need to pay it back,” I plead.

  Her eyes go wide in horror as if I just suggested she kill them. “No way. I can’t ask my parents. I just got a thousand dollars from them last week. They’ll freak out!”

  “And what happened to the money?”

  Her big brown eyes avoid mine as she plays with her fingers. “I may or may not have spent it on a new Fendi bag.”

  “Mallory!”

  Is she serious! She got a thousand dollars from her parents to buy a freaking purse, and that’s the reason why we may end up on the street? Well, no, why I may end up on the street. She’ll go back, her pride a bit hurt, but settle into her comfy middle-class household.

  “You’ve got to take it back!”

  “I can’t, I’ve worn it in!” she screeches as if the suggestion is horrifying.

  “Then you’re going to have to sell it.”

  She’s shaking her head again. “It’s my favorite! It’s a limited edition. I may not be able to buy it back!” She’s squealing, and I grip my head, not believing that there are real-life people that actually think and make stupid decisions like this.

  “Shit! Fine, I’ll sell it, but even if I do, there’s no way I can sell it in three days…and the only place I know that I can sell it for same-day won’t give me anywhere near the full amount.”

  “Just try, okay!” I tell her tightly. I head to my room and flop on the twin-sized bed, hoping to come up with some type of miraculous idea to get us out of this mess. Even if she does sell the bag, like she said, it won’t be for the full amount, and we’re still going to be short.

  I hear Mallory leave the apartment. I try to sign up for as many side gigs as I can. Postmates, Instacart, even a dog-walking service. But they’ll all take more than 48 hours for me to get verified and set up.

  After a few hours, Mallory’s back, wearing an expression that looks like she just sold her best friend. “I got $700 bucks for it,” she murmurs. I don’t say anything but go and give her a tight hug. She only returns it weakly before flopping dramatically on my bed.

  “We’re still short…” she says with a frown, her big green eyes practically watering, and I bite my lip. She’s bitten the bullet and came up with what she could, and now it’s my turn.

  “How much was the actual bag?” I ask her cautiously. She looks away from me guiltily.

  “Well, plus tax…$2600,” she admits reluctantly. It takes everything in me not to cringe.

  “So for a $2600 bag, you got a little less than half back for it?” I grumble, trying to run numbers in my head.

  “Yeah, it was sort of like a pawn. I have the option to pay on it if I want to get it back,” she admits.

  “Would they have given you more if you outright sold it?” I ask, keeping my voice light to encourage her to tell me the truth, not a lie.

  “Only a few hundred more…it’s not like that would make or break us at this point,” she adds hesitantly.

  “So if you had more stuff, they’d buy it from you the same day?” I ask her quietly.

  “Yeah, but…I don’t have anything else like that to sell. My old Louis’ and Guccis won’t get nearly as much as that it was my first big splurge a present to myself that I have with me…” she explains, her words
running together. I nod to stop her.

  “I’m not talking about your stuff,” I say quietly. She narrows her eyes at me and comes and sits closer beside me.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks, and I think carefully before I answer her. What I say next, I won’t be able to take back. Mallory and I are from two different worlds. Our circumstances at this moment are similar, but the outcomes of them very different.

  If this doesn’t work out for her, it won’t be a catastrophe. Maybe a little embarrassing, but that’s all. Her parents will welcome her back with open arms. This would be it for me. I would have to sleep in a shelter or, worst-case scenario, shitty hotel rooms that will eat into whatever money I make that will keep me from getting a real place. I can’t go back home; they downgraded to a smaller place to save money when I moved here, and my sister’s room can barely fit her, let alone me. Even though Funbags is crappy, there’s nowhere in Indiana I can make the kind of money I do here.

  This is it.

  “I was thinking I might be able to get some things for you to take back there.” Her perfectly dark brow arches at me.

  “You mean like designer bags?” she asks, a flicker of excitement in her eyes.

  “Possibly…” I say. She looks almost gleeful, as if I’ve been hiding a horde of Chanel bags in my closet.

  “Why didn’t you say anything! I didn’t even know you were into that kind of stuff, Rain.” She laughs, relieved. I sigh, wondering how nice it must be to think it's completely normal that girls our age have such disposable income so readily available that I’d have a closet full of expensive bags.

  “I’m not. I don’t have them, but I might be able to get some things. Just enough for us to make rent,” I tell her, and her wide smile begins to disintegrate.

  “What do you mean?” she asks. I bite my lip and look away from her.

  “When I was younger, back home…sometimes…I was pretty good at…borrowing things,” I say reluctantly, my cheeks heating up.