Free Notes to Self by Avery Sawyer

here?” Em put both fists under her chin and leaned forward onto her knees like I was about to tell her where babies came from.
    I crossed my eyes at her. She did her best iguana face, which involved touching her index fingers to her thumbs, inverting her hands and pressing them up against her eyes, then sticking out her tongue and hissing. Even though I’d seen her do it a million times, it always cracked me up. It usually made even the teachers smile, unless they were half dead already, which some of them were. We giggled and slurped our drinks and every time I thought I was done laughing, Emily would hiss, just a little, and set me off again. I wished we were sisters so we’d never have to spend time apart. Finally, I took a swallow of the cold chocolate coffee and it slid down the wrong pipe, directly into my lung. I had one of those huge, embarrassing coughing fits that you only get when you’re trying to tell a story to, like, nine people who know they are cooler than you. Emily giggled at me, whacked me on the back a couple of times, and went and got a cup of water from the barista. I sipped it until the frappucino gradually dissolved out of my poor, abused lung. We were cured of the giggles.
    “Are you going to call me ‘Runaway Train’ from now on?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Great.” I sat quietly for a couple minutes while Emily waited. I could tell she was letting me gather my thoughts because she didn’t even take out her phone to see if she had any texts. She just sat there. It was an unusual thing to sit there with another person, not talking, not texting, just being. If the person you’re with will wait for you to work out what’s in your head so you can make them see, you know they care. I wondered if I even needed to say anything. It was like she understood already—the way Reno used to, before he got annoying.
    “So technically, I shouldn’t be doing this, because my mom isn’t so bad. In the scheme of things,” I added.
    “In the scheme of things,” she repeated, nodding.
    “But I’m just tired of doing all the work. Ever since she started school, I have to get groceries, and do the laundry, and clean the bathroom, and make dinner. It’s not fair! Plus, she’s always super bitchy because she’s so stressed out.”
    “That sucks.” Emily had been over to my place enough times to observe my mother staring into her empty cup of tea and rubbing her eyes as she tried to meet a paper deadline.
    “And it makes me feel so guilty to even complain about it. Because before she started school, I hated her being so pathetic about Dad. She was always waiting for him to come back. And now she’s not doing that anymore, and it’s worse .”
    “Why should you feel guilty?” Emily pointed out. “You shouldn’t have to do everything. That’s messed up.”
    “I don’t know. I guess. Let’s go.”
    After several hours of trying on clothes, we settled in for the night. The plan went perfectly. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, my cheek against the softest sheets I had ever felt. When my phone alerted us that it was close to opening time, Emily and I climbed out of our downy beds and hid under them. We waited as the employees arrived.
    After about forty-five minutes, I knew the store was open and it was technically safe to come out of my hiding spot, but I decided to wait a few more minutes. If we didn’t give the place enough time to fill up, employees would notice us and we wouldn’t be able to sleep there again.
    I texted Emily to tell her not to move for a while and closed my eyes again. We could sleep another half hour and then spend the day doing whatever we wanted. The thought thrilled me.
    Then, the worst possible thing happened.
    Someone—not Emily—lifted up the comforter hanging down over the bed. A face peered in to my hiding spot. It was, of all people, my mother. Awesome.
    “Hi, Robin.” She didn’t sound mad. She sounded amused. I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could