Free Foreign Exchange by Denise Jaden Page A

door opening. Sawyer walks outside through it, his backpack slung over a shoulder.
    It’s not his car. He wasn’t out with another girl. I let out a breath, surprised at the relief I feel , the excitement I feel with him headed this way.
    Until.
    I see whose car it really is.
    My mother’s.

Chapter Seven
     
    Mom and Sawyer walk up the porch steps at the same time. I whip open the door so Sawyer’s not stuck facing her alone.
    “Hi, Mrs. Monroe,” I hear him say. Mom’s head is downturned. I don’t hear her reply and I wonder if she gave one. Sawyer squints at me and I can see his confusion. Like, Is this some kind of joke?
    “I thought you were working tonight,” I say to Mom, to help clear it up for him. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they're a mistake.
    Mom’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks between Sawyer and me. “You did, did you?” She doesn’t trust teenage guys, even ones who live right next door. She keeps eyeing Sawyer, like she’s waiting for him to drop me to the ground and pounce on top of me.
    “Well, yeah,” I mumble, trying to come up with something. “Sawyer was just coming over to work on some homework for our World Architecture class.”
    Sawyer, catching on, holds up his backpack. “I brought my notes, so it should be pretty straight forward.”
    Mom thinks about this for a few seconds, then with the hand that’s not holding her purse she rubs her temple. “I had to leave work early. I have a migraine. This is all I need with my upcoming time booked off, Jamie. You two better keep it quiet.”
    Mom works as a bartender , mostly because of the hours—she can work when I'm home to watch Eddy. When I was little, when we lived in Italy, she cut hair at home during the day. She was happier then. Or else now she uses up all her happy words behind the bar.
    Mom pushes past me and I back up to let Sawyer inside. He looks hesitant, but finally moves through the door. After he takes off his shoes, I lead the way to the stairs, figuring Mom will want us out of her range of hearing, but she says, “Where do you think you’re going?”
    I pause mid-step, horrified at what I suddenly know is coming. “Um…I thought you’d want us to work quietly upstairs?”
    Mom drops her purse on the dining room table with a thud. “You will not be bringing him up to your bedroom .” The way she says the word, it might as well be brothel .
    Upstairs is where our computer is, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I’ve invited Sawyer over and I’m not sure I’ll have the guts to do it again. Especially after this episode.
    Sawyer has moved over to the couch, probably trying to get as far out of the line of fire as possible.
    “Hey, little buddy,” he sa ys, even though Eddy’s not looking at him.
    “The dining room table’s fine,” I tell Mom. “We’ll work right here.”
    A s I pull out two chairs, Mom heads for the kitchen, mumbling about working and Tylenol and I don’t know what else. She hasn’t even said hello to Eddy, and she never leaves work sick, so I’m guessing her headache is pretty severe.
    “I’m so sorry,” I say, as Sawyer and I sit down.
    “What’s th at?” Mom calls from the kitchen through our paper-thin walls.
    I ignore Mom and hope her Tylenol kicks in soon. “Why don’t you get your notes out,” I say to Sawyer, loud enough so my mother is sure to hear it.
    He takes his computer out of his backpack and sets it on the table. He presses the power button, but as usual, it takes forever to boot up. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to talk—to Sawyer, the guy who I can barely speak to at the best of times—with Mom eavesdropping from fifteen feet away.
    Instead I do what I usually do: The cowardly thing. “You need the channel changed, Eddy?” He’s not looking my way, so I move to the living room to sign it to him. He’s actually pretty absorbed in a puzzle I’d left for him on the living room floor, and I feel bad for diverting him to