Free Life Is Funny by E. R. Frank Page B

probably be quiet, but it doesn’t seem right. They’re just handing this to me. They aren’t asking me to do anything, even.
    â€œWhat’s the product?” my mother asks again.
    â€œPerfume,” the man with the goatee says. “For teens. It’s called Future.”
    â€œI don’t really wear perfume,” I tell them.
    They laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. My mother tries hard not to glare at me.
    â€œShe’s definitely the one,” the goatee man says, looking over at the others. “Right?” They all nod.
    â€œUsually we let you know through the agency,” the goatee man tells my mother. “We’ll make it official tomorrow morning.” Then he turns to me. “But you’re the one.”
    Before we leave, I find out that the people sitting down are the client, the producer, the client’s lawyer, and the artistic designer. The director is the goatee man. It’s a TV commercial, not a magazine ad. Which means more money and, if I don’t screw up, more work, too.
    â€œWhy did I have to wear a white shirt?” I ask the director.
    â€œYou didn’t,” the director says. “Our people made a mistake.”
    I can’t help it. I roll my eyes. The director rolls his right back, which makes me smile. He looks like I just shot him or something.
    â€œYou have a stunning mouth,” he says, “but don’t smile on the shoot.”
    *  *  *
    â€œRude,” my mother accuses as soon as we get home. Walker’s there, with sparkling cider as a stand-in for champagne, since my mom isn’t allowed to even have one sip of anything alcoholic.
    â€œI got it,” I tell him.
    â€œI knew you would,” he says.
    â€œYou could have lost the whole thing, telling them you don’t wear perfume.”
    â€œIt just came out, Mom.”
    â€œAnd you gave him that face !”
    â€œHe didn’t mind.”
    â€œHow do you think that makes me look?”
    â€œI made a great dinner,” Walker interrupts. “I thought we could celebrate.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” I try. “They gave it to me, didn’t they?”
    â€œDon’t tell me it doesn’t matter,” my mother snaps. “Don’t tell me what matters!” Her voice is getting witchy.
    â€œJudy,” Walker says, using his let’s-just-stay-calm tone. Sometimes, coming from him, it works.
    â€œDon’t Judy me,” she spits at him.
    â€œI got the job,” I remind her. And then I can’t help myself. “Nobody was thinking about you. They were thinking about me.”
    â€œThat’s it,” she says, and her voice goes really soft. When her voice gets soft instead of louder, it’s way worse. I can feel myself stiffen up, even though she hasn’t hit me for a long time. “Forget it.”
    There’s this big silence. Walker and I look at each other.
    â€œForget what?” I finally ask.
    â€œForget the job,” she says. “You’re not doing it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re not doing it.”
    â€œWhat about college money?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” she singsongs, making fun of me.
    â€œJudy, that hardly seems fair,” Walker tries.
    â€œDon’t you start with me!” she yells at him.
    I don’t yell. I can’t. I can hardly get the words out.
    â€œYou’re a goddamn bitch,” I whisper. “And I hate you.”
    She hits me hard. With her fist. The force of it knocks me off my feet, and I stumble backward onto the floor. The part of my head above my left ear feels like it’s been blown up. I don’t cry. I just stare at her until she walks into her room. Walker helps me stand, and then he leaves.
    *  *  *
    I hide out under the bleachers the next morning waiting for China and Ebony to find me. They show up for second period.
    â€œYou didn’t