Free One Good Hustle by Billie Livingston

put the car into drive. Streetlights illuminated the hard, red bumps on his skin, turning them purple in the night. He was so embarrassed about his zits. In this light they made him look wounded. I wished we could be quiet and hug for a long time. But we didn’t do that sort of thing. Drew and I aren’t touchy types. So, instead, we eased forward, Drew’s hands firmly at ten and two o’clock on the wheel.
    As we got closer to the station, the streets got grimier and lonelier—as if the whole neighbourhood was a place that served you right for being a screw-up. It was past one-thirty when we parked in front of the station, a big, ugly brick building with small, caged windows lit yellow. Drew turned off the ignition.
    “I can’t do this,” I blurted.
    He looked at me. “You want me to go? I’ll go.”
    I nodded and handed him the bag of clothes. He handed me the car key. “In case you want to listen to the radio or something.” He got out.
    He blinked up at the police station a moment. I watched his skinny legs as he climbed the concrete steps.
    Once he disappeared through the doors, I stared at the dashboard and listened to the engine click as it cooled.
    “ I’ll kill you! ” someone yelled. I twisted around to see two guys staggering down the block. One guy threw a fist into the other’s chest and sent him sprawling. These two assholes were loose and Marlene was behind bars. In the movies, they always make it look all adorable when some chick is drunk off her butt. But in real life, people hate her—they want to make her disappear.
    I clicked the lock down on my door.
    Eventually Drew and my mom pushed through the front doors, Drew with a red-plaid sleeping bag under one arm and his opposite hand under my mother’s elbow. Marlene pulled free, leaned on the banister and slid the rest of the way down the stairs. She stumbled off the last step and Drew caught her elbow again.
    Giggling, she said, “You are my prince,” and grabbed Drew’s face.
    “Shut up,” I said to the dashboard.
    “God, you’re cute! ” she yelled at him.
    Drew kept a hand across her back and brought her over to the passenger side. I shoved my door open. Marlene’s face lit up when I got out.
    Then, reading my eyes, she said, “Oops. I’m in trouble. My little girl thinks I’m a loo-hoo-hooser .” She made an L out of her thumb and finger and planted it on her forehead.
    I handed Drew the keys and got into the back. I wanted her up front, not sitting behind me, playing with my hair or trying to maul me. I watched Marlene watching Drew as he closed the passenger door and I wished we had put her in the trunk.
    As he walked around to the driver’s side, Marlene turned around in her seat and looked at me. “He’s a doll ,” she said. “You should marry him.” She blinked and then reached for my face. “Look how pretty you are … my angel. You’re my sweet angel.” She went suddenly serious. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead, you know.”
    My mother’s fingers kept reaching, and so I leaned forward, took hold of them and pressed them to my cheek. Her eyes welled up until tears dribbled down.
    You’d think, after everything, that Marlene would have given up hustling and drinking. That she’d have gotten religion—maybe joined a choir! Instead, it was me nosing around the church pews hunting for peace and someplace quiet.
    It was going on three in the morning by the time we got back. Marlene giggled as Drew and I steadied her down the hall of our building. Coming through the apartment door she started to groan about being tired.
    “I got to catch a few Zs,” she said. “A few Zs!” she repeated, and laughed her head off.
    I flicked the light on in our hall. Drew had never been in our apartment and now the dirt on the walls stood out in relief,the stains on the carpet, the stale smell of the place. He seemed to avert his eyes, trying not to look around.
    Marlene suddenly grabbed Drew’s chin and kissed his