Free Punch Like a Girl by Karen Krossing Page A

knows it’s a shelter? I try not to show my surprise.
    He grins, heading across the street toward me, stripping off his gardening gloves one at a time. “We all know it’s a shelter. I mean, look at the cameras.” He points to the one above the gate to the backyard. “It’s pretty obvious.”
    I glance at the shelter and then back at him, feeling uncomfortable. He’s right, but Peggy told me not to talk about it. For the safety of the residents , she said.
    â€œYeah, I know all the people there.” He steps too close, and I can smell his musky aftershave mixed with the scent of gasoline. “Peggy Epstein tells me about them. Rachel is a sweet girl, and Casey too. Do you know them?”
    I step back. Is this guy a creep or just sickeningly nice? “Uh, I’ve got to go.” I hurry away without glancing back.
    â€œOkay. Bye, Tori.”
    Did I tell him my name?
    From now on, I’ll be avoiding that guy.

CONCEAL
to keep secret
    Getting ready for school the next day is worse than usual.
    Joel takes more than his share of time in the bathroom, and when I do get into the stinky, soggy mess he leaves behind, I slip on the wet floor and whack my sore hand on the edge of the counter. I can’t easily shave my head with my broken hand, even though my hair is growing in. In front of the mirror, I find that my concealer refuses to hide the cut over my left ear.
    Dad has already left for his shift, and I’m waiting for Mom to holler up at me to come for breakfast. When she squeezes into the bathroom with me, I’m surprised.
    â€œAre you going to be okay today?” she asks.
    She’s wearing dress pants with a neat crease down each leg, high heels and a freshly ironed shirt. She smells like perfume and coffee, and in the mirror beside me, her makeup is good enough to make me feel like a preteen trying to do my face for the first time.
    I dodge around her to grab my concealer off the counter. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I dab more on the cut and blend it in. I don’t want people yapping about it at school. I’m wearing a loose, long-sleeved black shirt that hides most of the cast, even though it’s warm again today.
    My mother smooths in the concealer behind my ear.
    I jerk away. “I can do it.”
    â€œI know.” She frowns at me in the mirror. “Just stay out of trouble today. Dad and I don’t know what to expect from you next. I still think a therapist would be a good idea.”
    â€œForget it, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
    â€œIs that so? You hardly eat anymore. You’re withdrawn, and you’re always preoccupied.” She waggles her schoolteacher finger at me. “Maybe you’re having trouble with something or someone? Maybe a boy? If you won’t talk to a therapist, you could at least talk to me about whatever’s going on with you.”
    In the mirror, my face goes white. “I’m fine, Mom.” Like I’d ever talk to her about Matt.
    She studies me and then glances at her watch. “I have to get to school. We’ll talk later,” she says, like it’s decided.
    Not if I can help it.
    I endure the kiss she plants on the top of my head and lock the bathroom door after she leaves. I know she means well, but my mother talks more than she listens, and she’s a control freak. The middle-school kids she teaches don’t dare cross her, and at home she runs our lives too. Sometimes I can handle it, but mostly I just want her to let me live my own way.
    I sweep my concealer off the counter and into my makeup drawer. I hope this lousy start to the day isn’t a sign of what’s to come.

    As I’m heading toward World History, sweating in my cast and long-sleeved shirt, I see Jamarlo with Carmen, who’s in my class. She’s dressed in a faded jean jacket, white jean cutoffs and ripped black tights. He’s in a