“I’m tired of the arguing, of you breaking the rules,” my mom continues. “This is the final straw, Luna. If you don’t stop being such an utter disappointment, your father and I will have no choice but to take more drastic measures.” My mom shoves the chair back from the table and snatches up the empty pan as she rises to her feet. “Now, go work on your homework.”
Fighting back the tears, I run out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I pace the floor several times, telling myself I’ll live, that it’s just hair. No need to get overdramatic. But as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t keep the tears from overflowing.
My clothes are always too big and baggy when I like them to fit. I’m wearing a long-sleeved, yellow and pink shirt, and I don’t even like yellow or pink. I have no makeup on, and while I’m not a huge fan of it, I do like lip-gloss and eyeliner sometimes. My hair is the only thing I’ve ever gotten control over. I’ve always had it long and loved it that way. I can braid it, put it up, leave it straight, do whatever I want with it. What happens when it’s gone? Will I even know who I am when I look into the mirror?
I glance out the window, debating whether to jump out of it and go to the store or not. Take back control. Alleviate the pressure in my chest. Be the bad person my parents have always told me I am.
You’re such a terrible daughter, an utter disappointment. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
I curl my fingers inward and fight down the compulsion as I grab my phone to text Wynter.
Me: SOS
She responds within two seconds.
Wynter: On my way.
Thirty minutes later, Wynter is crawling through my bedroom window and into my room.
“Man, I haven’t climbed up that tree since freshman year,” she says as she plucks a leaf out of her hair. She inspects the mud caked on the bottom of her four-inch, platform shoes. “I forgot what a pain in the ass it is to get up it.”
I glance outside at her car parked on the corner then slide the window shut.
“I’m sorry for making you do it.” I sink down on the edge of my bed. “But I knew they wouldn’t let you come up if you knocked. They’re too pissed off at me.”
Her eyes skim my bare walls, my organized computer desk, and my perfectly made bed. “It’s okay. I’m cool with climbing up a tree for you.” She takes a seat beside me. “I have to prove my love for you somehow, right?”
I crack a small smile. “I guess so.”
She wiggles around then leans against the headboard and stretches out her legs, getting comfortable. “All right, spill the beans. What happened this time? Or is it still that thing about the clothes?”
I comb my fingers through my hair. “She wants me to cut off all my hair.”
“What the fuck?” she says a little too loudly.
I cover her mouth with my hand. “Shhh . . . Or they’ll hear you.”
“Sorry.” Her lips move against my palm.
I pull my hand away. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I mean, who makes their friend climb up a tree just so they can talk?”
“The kind who’s deserving enough to have a great friend.” She puts a hand over mine. “Look, I know how tough it’s been for you. I’ve known you for, like, forever, and I’ve seen the shit your parents put you through. And your dad is really, really scary, especially when you accidentally microwaved a fork.”
“We didn’t do that on accident, remember? Beck told us that, if we did, it would melt into silver.”
“God, we were really naïve when we were ten, weren’t we?” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes I miss it.” She looks almost pained, and I wonder if she’s thinking about something other than the memory of trying to melt the fork.
“We’re still kind of naïve when you really think about it,” I say. “Think about some of the dumb stuff we’ve done recently, like sneaking out to parties.”
“That’s not naïve.” She smiles again, shaking off whatever’s troubling her. “It’s called having fun, which most people do . . . But, anyway, you’re missing my point. My point was that, for the last ten years, I’ve watched your parents try to control you, and while I love you and how nice you are to everyone, I think you sometimes let people get away with too much. You’ve always worked so hard to not make anyone angry, even people like Logan who freakin’ deserve to be told how big of an ass-hat they are.”
I frown. “I don’t like making people upset. I always feel so bad.”
“I think that’s because your parents have branded that into your head. I think they were mainly trying to get you to act that way to them, but it ended up being a big part of who you are.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying it’s bad to be nice. It’s a good thing. But you’re eighteen now, and it’s time to start living your life for yourself. You can say what you feel sometimes without worrying, and it’ll be okay, even if someone’s feelings do get hurt or people get upset.”
“They’d kick me out,” I whisper. “If I pushed them too much, they wouldn’t let me live here anymore. They’ve been saying that a lot lately . . . more than they normally do. I can feel it coming.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” She pulls a pillow onto her lap and picks at a loose thread. “I know you’ve been afraid that’ll happen because your mom says that to you all the time, but I don’t think you get that parents never go through with half the threats they make.”
“I don’t think so. You know my mom has a sister, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, did you know that my grandma kicked her out of the house when she was seventeen because she was dating this guy they didn’t like? They didn’t even give her a chance to break up with him. They just told her to get out and didn’t even let her take any of her things with her.”
“If my parents were that way, I’d be screwed.” She pulls her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. “What happened to her?”
“I have no idea. No one’s ever seen her since she moved out. At least, that’s what my mom says.”
“Was your mom upset when it happened? I know what she’s like now, but back then she had to be different, right?”
“No, my mom had already had me by the time this all happened. There was a huge age gap between the two of them, but that’s not really the point. The point is that my mom has always been as strict as my grandma, and I know she’ll kick me out. I think she’s already considering it, and the messed up part is that I kind of wish she would. But then what would I do? I don’t have any money, and none of my family will take me in. I don’t have anyone.” I don’t realize I’m crying until she scoots forward and wraps her arms around me.
“That’s not true at all. You have me. You have Ari, Willow, and even Beck. We’ll all be there for you, no matter what happens.”
I sniffle. “Even if I’m homeless?”
“You’ll never be homeless. If you have to, you can come live with me. I’ve been thinking about getting my own place, anyway. Hell, maybe this weekend I’ll move into the pool house. I doubt anyone would notice.”
“Your parents notice you. They just get distracted sometimes.”
“Yeah, tell that to my empty house. Neither of them have been home in, like, two weeks, and I don’t even know where they are.”
I pull back. “Really?”
She nods then heaves a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, though. I’m almost eighteen; it’s not like I need an adult around.”
“Yeah, but they shouldn’t just take off and leave you alone for that long,” I say. “And, if they do, they should at least tell you where they’re going.”
“I’m used to it by now.” She gives a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug then sits up straight and lowers her feet to the floor. “But enough about our lame-ass parents. Let’s talk about something fun.”