How (Not) to Fall in Love(99)

My mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. She definitely remembered, and I could see she cared about it as little as if I had said I was going to get a drink of water.

I turned to Mr. Hanson before she could answer. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hanson. I really appreciate the opportunity, but I already have plans this summer.”

My mother took my hand in one of hers in what would look like a loving gesture if she weren’t digging her fingernails into my skin. I tried to pull away, but she had a grip of steel. “Don’t be silly, Alexis. You have plenty of time before your camp, and you don’t make money playing ball with little kids.” She laughed lightly. She seemed to have missed the point of volunteering. “SmartMart is offering an excellent opportunity here, and I think you need to take it.”

“But—”

“Mr. Hanson,” my mother said without lifting her eyes from me. “Would you give me just a moment alone with my daughter?”

No, don’t leave me with Crazy! I wanted to shout. But I just watched, helpless in her grip, as the store manager nodded and bowed out, giving me a sympathetic look before shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the latch clicked, my mother’s pretense at charm and grace dropped. “I’m going to say this once, Alexis. If you don’t accept this man’s offer, you’ll end up with shoplifting on your record that will follow you around the rest of your life. And think about what everyone will say about my parenting skills.”

“This has nothing to do with you—” I started, but she pulled me closer. I got a strong whiff of her perfume and tried not to choke.

“This has everything to do with me, not to mention your sister. Can you imagine if this followed us through the circuit? I’d be criticized for being one of those mothers who can’t control her kids, and Aurora’s career would be over.”

Aurora’s career? It was true that my mother loved pageant life more than anything else—her claim to fame was being runner-up in the Miss Florida pageant when she was young. Pictures of her glory days hung in pride on our wall, and we endured story after story about how she should have won, and how the judges just felt sorry for the girl who actually won because of her poor background. She had even tried getting me involved in pageants when I was too young to know better, except I hated every single moment of it and finally refused to do it anymore. So yes, I knew she took the whole pageant thing seriously. But a seven-year-old’s career? I knew better than to roll my eyes, but in my defense, they kind of moved on their own.

They could’ve at least waited until my mother’s back was turned.

Her lips pressed together in a cold line. “Control yourself,” she hissed. “Now, you are going to take this job and be glad about it. And if you don’t, you can spend your entire high school career taking the bus instead of that car you want so badly, got it?”

She had me now. I needed that car, and my mother knew it. “Wait a second, that’s not fair. I’ve been saving up—”

“Not even enough to fund the tires,” she finished. “You’re expecting us to foot the rest. Which we won’t do if you don’t get serious and take this job. And by the way, your camp is at the end of summer, so if we agree that you can go, it shouldn’t interfere.”

“But Let’s Have a Ball camp—”

“You put in what, five or six unpaid hours a week there?”

“Eight,” I mumbled. It would be more if I had a car to drive myself, but I didn’t want to go there.

“Exactly. Plenty of time left for a real job.”

“Dad won’t—”

“Your father will agree with me. You have your choice. Take it or leave it.”

Some choice. I knew I would have to do what she said. The car and my softball camp were the only things she could really hold over my head. “Fine,” I whispered.

She turned on a heel and opened the door. “Mr. Hanson?” Her voice sounded musical again.

He entered the room, his face politely inquisitive.

“She’ll be delighted to accept the position.”

Hanson clapped his pudgy hands together. “Wonderful! Welcome to the team, Alexis.”

I reached out to shake his extended hand, trying to smile. I sucked at acting. My eyes dropped to the floor while he and my mother chatted.

SmartMart—Where Everybody Farts. That’s what everyone called this place ever since some guy posted a People of SmartMart video on YouTube. It was a contest for whoever could take the funniest video or picture with their cell phone and post it on his blog. I sent in two—one of a woman walking around with a dressed-up dog in a stroller and another of an employee talking animatedly to herself. I didn’t win, but the one that did showed a guy bending to pick up something and farting really loudly. The woman’s puckered face behind him was priceless.

I felt sick to my stomach as my mother and I left the store. The fact that I wasn’t going to jail should’ve made me feel relieved, but at the moment, all I could do was feel sorry for the situation I’d gotten myself into.