Free The Art of Lainey by Paula Stokes

he reaches out for my hair.
    Instinctively I slide away from his outstretched hand, bumping my back against his closet doorknob.
    “Chill, Lainey.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I was just checking out my sister’s mad skills.”
    I got so distracted thinking about where Micah might take me I completely didn’t realize Trinity had finished threading the streak into my hair. I twist around to check myself out in the smudgy mirror. A teal-blue stripe runs behind my left ear. I have to admit I kind of like how it looks.
    Trinity returns with a pair of needle-nose pliers. She pinches the clip tight where she attached the colored extension. “Now it won’t fall out,” she explains. “Not for a while.”
    “Are you done making her hot, Trin?” Micah asks. “I’m starving, and you know there’s always a wait.”
    “Unless Lainey wants to borrow my shoes.” Trinity kicks one of her clunky cat shoes up in the air. They actually have little braided tails coming off the heels. “We look about the same size.”
    “I’m good,” I say. And then I start wondering if Micah just implied that I was hot? Or did he mean to say I
wasn’t
hot without his little sister’s help?
    Dude, this breakup is seriously messing with my head.
    Trinity nods. She packs up her tackle box of beauty products and slides out of the bedroom. “Have fun, you guys,” she calls over her shoulder.
    Micah turns off the TV. He grabs a tube of somethingfrom a drawer and squirts it into his hand. With the tips of his fingers, he combs his hair toward the ceiling until it stands about three inches tall. It looks cool. Creepy, but cool.
    The door to his room bursts open again. A woman with bleach-blonde hair and a whole sleeve of tattoos pokes her upper body into the room. “What’s going on, Micah?” she asks.
    “Hey, Mom. Nothing.” He fidgets with his barbed-wire bracelet. “What are you doing here?”
    “I live here,” his mom says. “My last appointment canceled. What are
you doing
with a girl in your room?”
    “Oh, I’m not—” I start to explain to Mrs. Foster that Micah and I are just friends.
    He cuts me off. “It’s Elaine from elementary school,” he says. “She barely even counts as a girl.”
    “Micah! Don’t be rude.” Mrs. Foster flashes me an apologetic look.
    “Trust me. I’m used to it,” I tell her. “And I go by Lainey now.”
    She gives me a quick once-over but doesn’t seem to recognize me without the crooked teeth and straggly hair I sported back when I was eight. “Well, aren’t you pretty,” she says after a few seconds.
    “Don’t encourage her,” Micah says. “Seriously.”
    Mrs. Foster blinks rapidly. “Is that your father’s?” She gestures at Micah’s shirt.
    He’s wearing a black T-shirt as usual. This one has fourgray bars on it, with the words BLACK FLAG printed below them. It must be a band or something.
    “So what if it is?” he asks. “I have lots of his shirts.”
    “It’s fine. I just didn’t realize you wore them.” His mom sniffs the air. She narrows her eyes, causing a fine network of wrinkles to form at her temples. “Have you been smoking in here?”
    “No, Mom.” He sighs. “Jeez. Quit embarrassing me.”
    Mrs. Foster turns back to me. “Has he?” she asks. “Has he
ever
smoked around you?”
    Only, like, every single day at work. “No, ma’am,” I say quickly.
    Her eyes return to normal but she doesn’t look completely convinced. “Where are you two headed?”
    “We’re just going out to eat.” He grabs his wallet out from under a pile of dirty clothes and clips the chain to one of the loops on his jeans.
    She nods. “Don’t be too late, okay? I’ve got to work until midnight at the diner. I expect to see you home when I get here.”
    “Right.” Micah grabs my arm and tugs me past his mother and down the hallway. “Let’s get out of here.”
    I smile a good-bye to Micah’s mom over my shoulder as he practically drags me out of the