“That woman who took your pictures, yes. But he’s just as much a victim as you are and look at that face.” Gram turned toward the TV with a soft expression I found deeply unsettling. “He has an honest face. Maybe you should give him a chance.”
The most honest faces told the best lies.
I didn’t have the energy to point out that he was still lying about the fly ball. At least he’d been nice enough to say we didn’t have sex in the bathroom, and that was how far my expectations of human decency had fallen in just a day. I’d become pathetically grateful for him simply telling the truth about one thing.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
Peg gave me a smug grin, which I ignored as I texted Elise to let her know what was going on, and went to go dig up enough quarters to finish the laundry. After going through the junk drawers, between the couch cushions, and behind my dresser, I came up with just enough to maybe finish two loads. If I could shove them both into one dryer. I’d bring along four nickels and five pennies, just in case I needed that extra eight minutes of drying time. I loaded up my baskets and soap into Peg’s car.
I hated going to the laundromat. It sat right in the center of town, with wide-open windows to reveal all the people who couldn’t afford a washer and dryer. Even though paying to do laundry weekly cost so much more money. Being poor was damned expensive.
I pushed the door open with my butt, a basket under each arm, and nodded to Gina, the woman in her late forties who owned the place. Her bangs were teased with so much hair spray, the ozone wept. Monday afternoon meant I had my pick of washers. I threw my dirty clothes into the one in the back, farthest away from the windows, and passed the time doing BuzzFeed quizzes on my phone. I’d finally gotten my fill of Twitter for the day, though I had no doubt I’d be back on there later. Once my clothes finished washing, I hauled them plus the ones I washed at home into a single dryer and fed it every last quarter I had, praying the fifty-six minutes I’d been able to buy would dry two loads.
With two minutes left on the dryer, I opened it up to check on my clothes. Warm steam blasted me in the face as I shoved my hand into the pile. Damn it. I needed more time, and trading my nickels and pennies for a quarter still wouldn’t buy me enough. I couldn’t bring my clothes home wet. The last time I’d done that, everything I owned had dried stiff and crunchy. I could barely stand to let those clothes touch my skin.
Midnight was at work. She might have a few quarters in the cup holder of her car. If I offered her a few popcorn packets from home, maybe she’d be willing to trade me. Glancing at the dryer still spinning my clothes, I told Gina I’d be back in a few minutes. She ignored me and kept thumbing through the pages of her year-old copy of People magazine. Which was whatever. It’s not like I had the kind of clothes worth stealing anyway.
I went outside and stopped short. Someone had dropped three quarters, and I nearly started crying at the sight of them. Jared—last year’s graduate and future Creeper Feature of the Week in Mug Shots magazine—and his buddy Brett hung out in front of the hardware store. Farm boys. They’d been raised on corn and testosterone, and their idea of a fun night consisted of PBR and beating the hell out of each other. Most of us in town avoided them.
I ignored Brett’s snickering and dropped to the ground next to a crushed Styrofoam cup, an undecipherable pink puddle, and old cigarette butts. My fingers slipped right over the quarters, and I tried again. They didn’t budge. Brett and Jared started laughing. At me. I couldn’t grab the quarters because they’d glued them to the sidewalk.
“Problem?” Jared asked with a bite in his tone. A shadow fell over me, and the steel toe of his farm boot stopped right under my line of vision. “Look at the famous Macy Evans, crawling on her hands and knees for a couple of quarters.”
Tears gathered under my eyelids as the deeper fire of humiliation burned in my gut. I kept my gaze on the sidewalk, refusing to look up, refusing to give them what they wanted. “Don’t you have a sheep you should be fucking right now?”
He placed the tip of his boot under my chin and used it to lift my face. He smirked at me, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to claw his eyes out. I had no doubt he would’ve been more than happy to stomp that boot against my throat. “There’s a bathroom in the hardware store, and I have more quarters in my pocket. Or are you only interested in fly balls?”
I willed the tears back—pushing against that voice in my head that told me I’d never get out of this town and away from these people. I’d never escape this life. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Fuck you.”
Jared bent down, beer already on his breath, even though it was just past noon. “I was willing to be a gentleman. But now—”
“Hey. What are you doing?” Brady marched up the sidewalk from the pharmacy and shoved Jared. “Leave her the hell alone.”
Jared sized up Brady, the sheer mass of him, and I had a brief glimmer of satisfaction as Jared backed up a step. Brett had disappeared into the hardware store, no doubt worried about the handful of people who had stopped to gawk. Not to do anything or help me in any way, but to watch it all go down.
Jared shook his head. “Forget it, man. We were just having a little fun.”
Brady stood next to me, staring Jared down. With a last sneer, Jared turned around and went back into the hardware store.
“Thank you,” I said, too quietly.
“No problem. I can’t stand those guys.” Brady held out his hand to help me up, and as much as I hated every second of crouching on the ground, I needed those goddamned quarters. I pulled my phone out and slammed it against the glue holding them to the sidewalk, breaking them free so I’d have just enough money to finish my laundry.
I put the quarters in the dryer and found the darkest corner in the laundromat to curl up against.
I loaded the rest of my clothes into my laundry baskets as soon as the buzzer went off. Somehow I managed to get out of there without making eye contact with anyone who passed me on the sidewalk. As soon as I got home, I dragged the laundry through my front door and then checked YouTube. All of my videos had now gone over a hundred thousand views. Depending on how many clicked the ads, the two hundred dollars I’d been earning would increase to somewhere around three thousand. In a month.
I bit down on my fist. I’d never had that kind of money in my life. For the first time I’d be able to open an actual savings account without paying fees, instead of using my dresser. I’d be able to afford the rent in Chicago. I’d never have to scrape another quarter off the sidewalk again. All because a stranger had wanted to tweet about a meet-cute so bad, she invented one where it didn’t exist.
I opened my DMs. Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and FaceTimed Eric.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
ERIC’S FACE FILLED THE screen, just as chiseled and perfect as it had been at the game and on TV. The snake. “Macy.” He said my name with the kind of awe reserved for the church we never bothered attending. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Why? Because you’re hungry to extend your fifteen minutes?” He came off as all sad and sincere, but I wouldn’t bend. Not on this.