Page 12 of All the Ugly Things
Itook all my classes for my second year at community college on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It gave me the weekends and a couple nights during the week to work at Judith’s and still find the time to study and remain caught up on sleep. It also meant I spent all day on campus surrounded mostly by recent high school graduates who reminded me of who I used to be and who I could have been.
It was a slow-drip kind of torture. The consistent reminder of who I’d never be again slapped me in the face every time I passed a gathering of friends.
Classes were long. Some more difficult than others. The days dragged on while I listened to eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls without seemingly any problems in the world giggle about boys in other classes, parties on the weekend, whining about parents they still lived with being overprotective and still requiring curfews.
It was difficult some days not to shake those girls. To tell them they should feel lucky they had parents who gave a shit about them and didn’t throw them to the wolves. They had moms who still cooked them dinners and made them their favorite desserts.
They didn’t have parents who moved after sending their daughter to prison and then didn’t bother sending a forwarding address so the mail was returned undeliverable.
Given the age gap and the complete differences in life, it wasn’t easy to make friends at school, not that I was really looking, but someone to eat lunch with occasionally wouldn’t have sucked. Word got out fast and spread even faster regarding my status on campus. It took one absent-minded professor to say my name during my Basic Finance class with a furrowed brow. He mumbled something about the prison program loud enough a couple of guys in the front row heard.
Everyone turned, spotted my cheeks burning and my quickly learned resting bitch face in place to give me away.
After that, I could hardly find anyone willing to do group projects with me. A few times I’d asked teachers if I could do them by myself. They’d agreed—possibly afraid to let me around the youth of America, than to attempt to get to know what happened.
I was an idiot. That’s what happened. I trusted those who should have been the most trustworthy and they screwed me over. Big time.
At least the school had a cafeteria though and seriously decent food. Although in honesty, food inside wasn’t all that horrific. Better than what I’d expected, but definitely not going to win any Michelin Stars. And while the cafeteria wasn’t going to win any awards either it was pretty damn tasty. Better seasoned. Juicier meat on my cheeseburger I was currently chewing on while groaning and griping over my accounting work.
This class was going to kill my GPA.
Not like it matters. What respectable company is going to hire an ex-con who can’t drive for three more years?
Movement across the table from me grabbed my attention right as a pale pink and black checked backpack slid onto the tabletop.
“Hey. Mind if I sit here?”
For a moment, I was stunned. No one had spoken to me on purpose in weeks. And certainly, no one ever sat with me. Still, I kept my head down on my computer. Minding my own business was always safer.
“Go for it.” I was occupying a table for eight. There was plenty of room.
“Um. My name’s Angie. You’re Lilly, right? I think we have accounting together?”
I eyed her through my lashes while she spoke and ran her hands together. She was effortlessly pretty with dark brown skin and large brown eyes. Her makeup looked like she was ready for a night out with friends, not school, and her braids hung well past her breasts.
I knew who she was. I made it a point to sit in the back row in all my classes. Habit formed from the last few years.
I knew she spoke quietly, if she spoke at all. She was pretty quiet unless she was with a group of four guys she sometimes hung around with and then she mostly stood back with a frustrated look on her face.
“Yeah. I’m Lilly.”
I waited for her to say more. She wobbled the table by the way she bounced her foot on a leg. If she was so damn nervous, she didn’t have to sit by me. There were plenty of open tables around.
My gaze narrowed on her as she pretended to open her laptop. Mine was on its last dying breath. Hers looked brand spanking new.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said when she didn’t stop fidgeting and didn’t do any actual work.
She looked up and flailed her hand in the air. “Oh, I don’t think that.” She whipped her hand again and sent her water bottle flying right off the table. “Shoot!”
She bent to grab it and I slid my homework into my backpack. Lunch was ruined. So much for wanting company.
“Wait,” she said and slammed her hand down on the top of my backpack.
I gave her one slow arched brow and that hand disappeared into her lap, probably tangled with the fingers on her other hand.
“I came to ask you something. But um… well... I didn’t want to be rude. Or offend you.”
“You’re worried about offending me when everyone knows I’ve been in jail?”
