Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I kick off my shoes by the door and head to the kitchen. “Move them before they get thrown in the trash. After the day I’ve had, that’s not an idle threat.”
“Wow,” my younger brother mutters. “Hostile.”
“Trust me, you haven’t seen hostile yet.”
That gets me absolutely nothing except a dramatic sigh from him and a snort from the table where Faith is hunched over her laptop, pencil tucked into the messy knot at the top of her head.
At least one of them is doing homework. We’ll consider that a win.
Caleb, unfortunately, is standing on a kitchen chair while rifling through the cabinet. “We’re out of crackers.”
I drop my forehead briefly against the refrigerator. “Sounds like you’ll have to survive without them tonight.”
He groans. “But I like crackers with soup. It’s my favorite.”
“I know,” I say, straightening and reaching for the pot I shoved in the fridge this morning before my bakery shift. “I’ll pick some up at the store tomorrow. Promise.”
“Can’t you go now?”
When I narrow my eyes at him, he flashes a dimpled grin in response.
Damn him.
It’s impossible to stay annoyed with the kid when he’s such a cutie.
I point at the table. “Homework, kiddo. I’m sure you have a math or reading sheet.”
His smile widens. “Nope. We did it at school.”
I don’t even blink. “Liar. Should I call Ms. Jennings right now? You know I have her number.”
With a pout, he hops down from the chair and drags it toward the table.
I move around the tiny kitchen, reheating soup, pulling out bread, and checking the clock on the microwave, all the while mentally running through tomorrow’s schedule. A headache is already brewing behind my eyes as I unscrew the cap on a bottle of ibuprofen with one hand and swallow three pills dry.
Bakery at six.
Sawyer has a math quiz tomorrow.
Caleb needs a permission slip signed.
Faith has dance after school.
I have a paper due Thursday, and an exam on Friday I’ve barely studied for.
Oh, and the electric bill is due in three days.
Which reminds me, I still need to email the financial aid office back.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, I’m supposed to sleep.
Sure.
My siblings don’t ask who’s going to sign the field trip form or pick up crackers from the grocery store. They don’t know which day the rent clears or whether there’s enough detergent left to make it through the week. They just expect me to do it because they’re still kids and life has dealt them a shitty hand.
After Caleb was born, our mother decided that being a parent wasn’t in the cards for her and she skipped town without a word. By day three of her being MIA, I realized she wasn’t coming back.
So I got the job at Lakeshore Sweets and, thank God, it’s usually enough for us to squeak by.
I set bowls on the counter and wave the boys over while balancing my notebook open beside the toaster. My sociology notes stare back at me like a neon accusation.
Faith frowns at her screen. “Can you read this paragraph? I don’t know if it makes sense.”
“Nothing makes sense after eight-thirty at night,” I tell her. “You’re tired.”
“It’s only seven-forty.”
“Then why does it feel like midnight?”
No one answers because they’re too busy eating, arguing over who got more soup, and accusing each other of stealing chargers they absolutely all stole from each other at some point. Disappearing chargers are basically a recurring household crisis.
It’s exhausting.
I sink onto a chair with my own bowl and then read the same sentence in my notes for the third time without processing a single word.
That’s when my eyes start to burn.
There’s still flour dusted on the sleeve of my black shirt from the bakery, and my hair has fully given up on the claw clip I shoved it into at five this morning. Both my shoulders and lower back ache. At this point, even my eyelashes are tired.
Across from me, Sawyer nudges Caleb with his elbow and Caleb shoves him right back.
“Stop it,” I say automatically, not bothering to look up from my notes.
“He started it,” Sawyer says.
“I did not!” Caleb huffs.
“Did too. You breathed on me.”
I lower the paper and glare at both of them. “I swear to God, if either of you makes me referee a breathing argument tonight, you can both wash dishes for the rest of the month.”
There’s a brief moment of silence before Faith snorts into her soup.
I point my spoon at her. “You too.”
She raises both hands. “Hey, I’m innocent in all this.”
“No one in this apartment is innocent.”
When my phone buzzes against the counter, I ignore it. A few seconds later, it vibrates again.
Sawyer glances at it. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get a hold of you, Sis.”
“It’s probably a scam call,” I mutter.
My sister lifts a brow. “Scam calls don’t text memes.”