Shift by Ginger Scott

20

Hannah’s parents forbidding her from prom wouldn’t be the end of the world. All I could think about after she mentioned the dress shopping was the money it was going to cost me to go. Money I don’t have.

Money I have no way to get now that my car is down two tires.

I hate that money is a barrier. As much as I don’t want my life to be about money, it seems I’m always desperate for it. Two hundred bucks from last night’s race isn’t going to stretch far, and I have a lot of bases to cover. Tux rental, prom tickets, dinner somewhere fancy, pictures, flowers. Hannah would pay for it all, but she shouldn’t. I don’t want her to. But damn, at this point, I can’t even pick her up in my own car.

Hannah will be out with Bailey most of the afternoon. She might be a tough girl who likes dirt tracks, but she’s also a sucker for all things pink and frilly. She could honestly show up in a sack for a dress and she’d be the most beautiful girl at the prom. In the town. Fuck, in Arizona. But she wants this to be a dream kind of prom, and though her parents won’t be on board at all—despite what she says—I’m going to do my damnedest to make her night perfection.

Tommy pulls up to my house, shifting into park a couple trailers away from mine. He’s done this enough times to know the drill. If Colt’s around, it’s better that he doesn’t hear a car pull up. He likes to mess with Tommy, probably because he gets off on making my friend nervous.

“I’ll be in and out,” I say, patting the windowsill twice before walking toward the quiet trailer at the end.

The normal flash of the television isn’t shining through the crack in the blinds, which means my mother is either asleep or not at home. If she isn’t home, it’s possible she was able to get herself to work. It’s a miracle she hasn’t been fired from the job at the gas station. I think they’re so hard up for people that whenever someone who isn’t the owners can come in, they jump on it.

I fish my keys out of my pocket and use my hip to crack the door open completely. The lock doesn’t line up right ever since Colt kicked the door open one night and I had to replace it. There’s a small light on in the corner of the living room, but other than that, the place seems dark and empty. I push the door shut behind me and quietly move into the center of the room.

“Mom?” My voice is even. Not loud, but quiet enough not to stir her if she is asleep. The ashtray on the coffee table is overfilled, so I carry it to the kitchen and dump the debris into an old coffee can. Mom set fire to the garbage once, and since then, we’re careful with her ashes.

The place smells like cat piss, which probably means she’s taken in a stray again. I search the corners of the kitchen and the back bathroom to see if there are any traces of an animal. I find a fairly full litter box, so I nudge it with my foot, shaking fresh litter to the top.

I leave the bathroom door open behind me in case the cat is hiding somewhere. I don’t want to get in the way of a cat and its shitter. My eyes scan the counters, table, and sofa as I work my way to the back rooms, looking for anything out of place. Nothing seems off, though, so I let my guard down a touch as I enter the hallway. Mom’s bedroom door is open, and the oscillating fan hums inside her room. I dip my head in for a quick peek, relieved when I find her sheets twisted on top of her empty mattress, a few dresses laid out on her floor. I stare at the pale yellow one for a beat, the floral pattern scratching at old memories. My mom took me to church once and she wore that dress. I was maybe three or four, but I can pull the visual of her long, blonde hair and the way the skirt of that dress blew in the wind as she stood on the church steps with me in front of her. The material flapped around me as I hugged her knees. The dress looks more like a rag now.

I blink a few times and leave her open door behind before slipping into the room that’s technically mine. There aren’t many things worth much in this room, but I grab the few items I can sell from the top drawer of my dresser, like the Oakleys I haven’t worn in a year and the platinum money clip the Judges bought me for Christmas. I let the weight of those things sit in my palm as I hold my breath and make the slow turn toward the closet, pausing at the door to allow a few more seconds to pass to ensure I’m here alone.

Eyes squeezed shut, I press my empty palm to the door and slide it over, delivering a silent prayer that the money I saw in here last time hasn’t been taken. When I spot the wrapped bundle, I let out an actual giggle, quickly shoving my knuckled fist in my teeth between my grin.

My heart is pounding and as I lift my free hand to pull the money bundle down, my fingers tremble. I squeeze then flex them to calm myself enough to get through this next part. I thought about this all night long. It’s the solution to everything, and it’s also just and right. I’m only taking the money that’s rightfully mine—the money Colt stole from me. Two grand, and we’ll call it even.

I kneel down, setting my sellable items on the floor so I can unwrap the money bundle carefully. I pick at the plastic seam with my thumbnail and peel it back, flipping the brick over four times until bills are exposed. My breath hitches at how accessible the answer to all my problems suddenly is.

Temptation sits in my throat, burning like a swallow of wasabi. Is two thousand so different from three? I could run up to Vegas and get a race this weekend maybe, turn that cash into six and put it back before Colt ever notices.

A sudden thud behind me rocks me back on my ass and I clutch my chest, expecting a blow to my head. When it doesn’t come, I twist my neck to find the source of the noise, relieved to find the heavy book flat on the ground behind me. Stretching along the floor to reach it, I glance to the space underneath the dresser and am met with a pair of glowing eyes. I abandon the aging copy of fairytales nobody ever read to me and turn my focus on the tiny kitten quaking under the bottom drawer.

“Hey, little guy,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together softly in an attempt to draw the animal out. He purrs after a few seconds and eventually slinks his way from under the furniture until he’s rubbing along my leg, looping under my knee and crawling on top of my thigh.

“Yeah, I see how you suckered my mom into keeping you,” I say through a crooked smile. I rub his head with my thumb a few times, my soul quenched by the welcome affection.

“You deserve better, buddy,” I say, pulling him to my face and touching his cold, tiny nose to mine.

A faint meow slips out so I set him back on the floor between my legs where he continues to curl into a tighter and tighter bundle until he’s coiled and satisfied enough to shut his eyes. Why couldn’t my mom have rescued something like this when I was a kid? I would have loved to not be so alone in this house. A pet like this would have saved me.

I indulge in nearly a full minute of kitten cuddling then cut myself off, deciding it’s best I don’t push my luck with the cash. I slip out two thousand bucks in hundreds and rewrap the bundle, slipping the bills in my pocket before sliding the brick of money back in its place. I close the closet, grab my glasses and money clip, and scratch the kitten on top of the head one last time before leaving my room and this hellhole of a home.

I’m careful to leave everything as I found it, shutting the door quietly and locking it before sliding the planter back to the right to block the door from swinging open. Both Colt and my mom think having an object in the way of the door will deter people from trying to get in. I have my doubts that the kind of people Colt is worried about are deterred by a dead aloe vera plant and some dry-ass dirt in a clay pot, but what do I know?

Tommy seems anxious by the time I get back to the car, so I stave off the attempt to mess with him and tell him Colt was inside. I don’t mention the cash until we’re on the highway, halfway back to his place.

“Mind following me to Earl’s so I can drop off the Supra?” My question catches Tommy off-guard and it takes him a minute to realize what I’m implying.

“You found your money?” he responds, genuinely relieved and happy for me.

“Well, there was money there, and he took mine, so—” I leave out the important details, like the money I found was wrapped up, ready for a deal exchange.

“Hey, his fault for not hiding that shit better after stealing it from you, bro. Yeah, let’s go get some tires.” Tommy holds his fist out for me to bump. I do, but an uneasy feeling washes over my insides. Instead of letting it bring me down from this high, though, I block it from my mind and imagine how gorgeous Hannah is going to look in whatever dress she picks out today.