Tuesday morning another stack of papers lands on my desk. I barely got any sleep last night because my dad went on another drinking spree and stayed up all night shouting about money. So it’s probably because of my exhaustion that I don’t register who hands me the papers at first.

“Hey,” I say quickly, snapping my head up to look at Clarissa while she’s still facing my direction.

She nods to the papers, and that’s the only form of acknowledgement I get. I flip through them and see that they’re blueprints, printed off some website called Easy Greenhouse Construction.

“This is everything we need,” she says. “I can bring all of the tools.”

“Tools?” I flip through the papers, grateful that they make some kind of sense to me. I’m not a carpenter, but I can read instructions. This doesn’t look too hard.

“Saw, hammers. That kind of thing.”

It’s the most she’s talked to me since we went on that date. I try to smile. “Sounds good. I can’t wait to get started.”

“When will that be, exactly?” She’s staring at me now, like she’s finally decided to acknowledge that I exist, but the quirk in her lip tells me she could change her mind any second. I’m sitting in my desk and she’s still standing, hovering over me, her eyebrows taut and lips pressed together.

“Soon,” I say, realizing that’s not a good enough answer. Right freaking now, is what I wish I could say. Let’s blow off school and spend the day together. Instead, I quickly think over my schedule.

“Wednesday. I’m off work so we can start right after school.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Clarissa says. “Do you mean tomorrow or next Wednesday?”

She’s so mean it’s almost sexy. “Tomorrow,” I stammer. This girl’s got me all flustered. I hate thinking it, but I’m still holding out hope that she’ll decide to give me another chance. “Sorry, I meant tomorrow.”

Her expression softens a little. “Then why didn’t you just say tomorrow?”

I shrug.

She swallows and then sinks into her chair. “Tomorrow then,” she says, and then she turns toward the front of the class and continues to ignore me.

 

*

 

That conversation with Clarissa haunts me while I’m at work. The second I’d walked in the door of Magic Mark’s, my boss had pulled me aside and asked if I could come into work tomorrow. I told him no, and he seemed annoyed, but he let it go.

But now, I’ve had to listen to two voicemails from my mom and I’m wondering what the hell I should do. After my next delivery, I park back at the pizza shop, pull out my phone, and play the messages again.

“Honey, it’s Mom. Your dad’s not going to tell you this, but he was laid off from work two days ago. He told me I wasn’t allowed to tell you, but I am, so please keep this between us. I know I said I wouldn’t borrow money from you again, but if you have any to spare, we could really use it. I love you, Gavin. Call me back.”

The second one is much shorter.

“Hey, sweetie! It’s Mom again. I know you’re busy at work but can you call me ASAP?”

I dig in my pocket and pull out the wad of cash I’ve received in tips tonight. Twenty six bucks. I know there’s around a hundred left at home and my paychecks are much higher now that I’m working five days a week. I’ll get paid on Friday, so I add it all up in my head, minus the money I need for gas.  Then I call my mom.

“Gavin! I’m so sorry I kept bothering you.”

“Mom, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Did you listen to my voicemail messages?”

“Yeah. How the hell did Dad get fired?”

She sighs. “Apparently he just wasn’t working hard enough. Probably because he goes to work hungover every damn morning. Honey, I don’t even know. I’m trying to pick up extra shifts but they don’t want me going over thirty-nine hours a week. I even put up an ad on Facebook saying I can clean houses on my days off.”

I grit my teeth. My mom already works her ass off at her job and at home, taking care of us and the house. She doesn’t need a second job.

“How much money do you need?” I ask.

Another sigh. “Just anything you can spare.”

I stare into the storefront of Magic Mark’s as I talk on the phone. Inside, Pete, my boss, is running around like a crazy person. He usually spends his shifts sitting on his ass while the teenage employees do all the work, but Jayson’s mom is in the hospital and our other pizza maker, Zoey, just came down with mono.

They could really use me tomorrow, and it would give me more money to help out my family. But working tomorrow would mean I’d have to cancel my plans with Clarissa.

“I have about a hundred dollars right now,” I say. “And then I get paid on Friday. Is Dad already looking for another job?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “You know how he is.”

Dad is a pathetic drunk, but he’s also a good worker. He’s been fired or laid off a few times in life, but he’s always found another job right away. Lately, his drinking has been worse than ever, but I have to believe that he’ll find his way back.

“We’ll be fine, Mom. He’ll get a new job.”

“I know,” she says, and her voice cracks. I press my ear to the phone and I can hear her crying. The sound breaks my heart. I can’t remember the last time I saw my mom cry, or if I ever have seen he cry.

“We’re not going to make the mortgage payment,” she says, still sobbing. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“It’s okay,” I say, but even I don’t have much faith in my words. “Don’t they take like three months of missed payments before they start to foreclose on you?”

I hate that I know this fact about mortgages, but I do.

“Yes, Gavin. But this will be our third late payment.”

My stomach clenches. Shit. Things are worse than I thought. As a kid, my parents would argue about money, but then my dad would pull through and get some great job and we’d be fine again. I never really worried about it, but now I’m a few months away from being eighteen and it’s all I can worry about. I don’t want to hear my mom cry anymore. I don’t want my dad to drink himself stupid every night because he’s stressed about not having enough money.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I can make a difference. “Mom, it’ll be fine. I’m working extra shifts and I’ll have more money. It’s all yours.”

“Gavin, I can’t ask you to do that,” she says, her voice still broken up from crying.

“You’re not asking,” I say, knowing this decision won’t win me any favors from Clarissa. “I’m insisting.”

 

*

 

I wait until the next day at school to tell Clarissa the bad news. She walks into homeroom right before the bell rings, which is her new routine. I tap her on the shoulder.

“Bad news,” I say.

She turns around, one eyebrow lifted. I’m surprised how much I don’t want to tell her something disappointing. I had thought about texting her instead, but this way is better.

“I’m really sorry, but I got called into work tonight.”

She just stares at me, as if she’s waiting for me to continue. She’s going to make me tell her in detail that I’m cancelling our plans. I swallow. “It’s one of those situations where I can’t get out of it. Can we start the greenhouse next week?”

“What day next week?” she asks after a nerve-racking few seconds of silence.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I don’t know the schedule yet.”

“Tell me when you do.” She turns back around, leaving me feeling like shit. I wish I could tell her that I’m working to save my family and if that weren’t the case, I’d be there in a heartbeat. I’d never bail on her if I had any other choice. But my old soccer friends are in the next row over, just waiting to hear me say something they can mock, and the teacher is walking to the front of the class, and there’s just no time. I’ll explain everything to her later.

And that’s what I keep telling myself as I’m forced to bail on her for the next three weeks.