Layla could feel herself blushing. The men behind her were hooting and hollering, and she could only clench her fists—she needed this job. Still, it wasn’t like she hadn’t had lewd jokes thrown at her before. Megan gave her a sympathetic look and shrugged. It was the price of working at The Poker House.

But even in the back, Layla could still hear the men laughing. She wished she could put them in their place. Their behavior wasn’t acceptable, and at any other time, she would have relished giving them a piece of her mind. She was on shift now, though, and the customer was always right. Whoever came up with that saying’s an idiot.

Instead of dwelling on it, she grabbed the beers and hurried back to the table in question, doing everything she could to keep a neutral look on her face. She knew from experience that showing her discomfort would just encourage the bad behavior.

“Come on and join us, gorgeous,” one of the men slurred as she put the beers down on the table. Staring at her, his eyes definitely weren’t on her face.

Layla felt another surge of anger just as she put down the last of the beers.

And, suddenly, everything exploded.

She shrieked as beer and glass flew all over the place. In a moment, the men were spluttering and swearing, soaked in sticky beer even though it somehow seemed to have missed her, despite the fact that she was standing right next to the table.

A couple of people looked over and chuckled before going back to their drinks. It was lunchtime, after all, and they’d probably been as annoyed with the table as she had. Layla wasn’t worried about them, in any case. She was worried about Jason, her manager.

For the last week, ever since her eighteenth birthday, there had been non-stop accidents happening around her. She’d begun to wonder if she was cursed.

“Layla!”

She grimaced and turned to face Jason. His face said it all—he’d heard the noise even from his office and come storming out with every expectation of finding her at the center of it.

“I’m so sorry, Jason! I don’t know what happened…” She trailed off. How could she explain what was happening to him when she didn’t even know herself?

“Layla, I’ve had enough,” he said, coming closer and pulling her aside even as the men behind her began demanding fresh beers. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do this anymore. You’re lucky those guys are laughing instead of shouting and banging on my door, but you know as well as I do that it’s just that—luck! Remember that woman yesterday? The one threatening to sue? This is it, Layla. Consider this your last shift.”

Layla felt as though she’d been slapped, but he looked like he’d made up his mind. She’d known things were bad, but how could Jason blame her for the kinds of things that had been happening?

“I put those glasses down before anything happened,” she insisted. “I wasn’t even touching them when they… exploded or whatever! I swear I didn’t do anything.”

Jason shook his head, his frown deepening. “You can spend the rest of your shift working in the back.”

He turned and stalked away, and Layla just stared after him. She could probably put up a fuss about wrongful termination… but who was she kidding? Jason would find another way to get rid of her. He was right about that woman threatening to sue. Somehow, Layla had become toxic to have around.

Megan was waiting for her in the back with a sympathetic look and a hug. “He’s really out of line,” she said.

Layla shrugged, her eyes already on the dishes needing to be done. “I’ll find another job. It’s not like I really enjoy waitressing, anyway.”

Still, it was hard to hold back tears as she busied herself with washing dishes. She wasn’t sure that she should be trusted around all this glass and porcelain after what had happened, but at least she wouldn’t be around customers if something else went wrong. And at least it would mean a full shift’s paycheck.

Fortunately, the rest of her shift went off without a hitch. She hesitated at Jason’s office before leaving, but wasn’t optimistic about him changing his mind.

“Here’s your last paycheck,” he said briskly, handing her an envelope. “Make sure to clear out your locker.”

She bit her lip and nodded. She could argue, but she’d spent her life learning to avoid conflict. Better just to leave. It wasn’t much consolation, but she had a bit of money saved; she’d been hoping to use that for college. Her mother certainly wasn’t going to offer any help on that front.

But while Megan was on her side, Layla didn’t miss the looks of relief from some of the other staff. Her sudden accident-prone streak had affected all of them, and she saw it in each embarrassed wave that got sent her way as she collected her things.

Outside, she sat in her car for a few minutes, unwilling to leave, knowing this would be the last time she was here. She wouldn’t miss the job, but she’d miss the hope it had symbolized—hope for college and a better life. Somehow, she doubted Jason would be giving her a good reference.

The drive was quick, but by the time Layla reached her room, her control was ready to crack. She curled into a ball on her bed and cried. Why did everyone turn away from her in the end? What had she done to deserve such bad luck? Surely, she’d had enough to last a lifetime at this point.

She let herself indulge in an hour’s worth of self-pity, and then she dried her eyes. She’d been through this enough times before, having an opportunity shut off when she’d been hoping for so much more. Cry, get up, and move on. She didn’t allow herself to think about the fact that, each time, it got harder to get up; more and more, she doubted that she’d ever have a normal life, with people who loved her and didn’t leave her.

Already planning what was left of the day, Layla headed downstairs to make some popcorn. It was her go-to comfort food, and she needed it now.

She should have known better.

The popcorn had been in the microwave for barely a minute before she started to smell smoke.

“Damn it!”

Layla wrenched the door open to find the smoking ruins of her snack. More urgently, the microwave was smoking. She could already hear her mother’s voice in her head.

Useless, stupid, ashamed of my own blood…

Dumping the popcorn in the trash, Layla left the microwave open to get out the worst of the smoke, then cautiously examined it. It didn’t look like there was any lasting damage, but she wasn’t going to test it out—with her luck today, she’d just cause another fire.

Feeling dejected, Layla wondered whether it was worth walking to the shops to get more popcorn. Probably not. Not if the price for actually eating it was going to be her burning the house down.

Deciding she needed to wash up and get herself together, she ran water over her face and then paused to examine herself in the bathroom mirror, wiping a smudge of soot from her nose. Her blue eyes stared back at her, as always looking too big, framed with long wavy brown hair. Layla didn’t think she was ugly, but her mother constantly implied that she was, and she was beginning to wonder. Maybe that’s why she didn’t have any real friends, and why she’d never had a boyfriend.

Perhaps her mother was right, thinking that she wasn’t worthy of love. There was nothing to love inside of her, nothing worthwhile. She’d only been friendly with Megan, and she was sure that fragile comraderie would fall apart now that she’d been fired. And really, who could blame her? Layla was just a weird girl who couldn’t even keep an ordinary job.

After hiding her purse underneath a loose floorboard—a habit she’d picked up when she’d realized her mother had been raiding it for cash to get drunk on—Layla went to look at the food situation. For all her mother complained that Layla was useless, Layla didn’t see her doing the cooking or grocery shopping.

She decided to make something nice for supper. Perhaps if she did something well, her mother would approve enough to be proud of her. Or at least she wouldn’t be mad.

Soon there was a roast in the oven, and Layla flicked through TV channels while keeping an eye on it. Tomorrow, she’d start getting serious about applying for jobs—hopefully, she’d find something better than waitressing. It seemed doubtful, though, without any experience on her side.

Maybe once she’d done some applications, she’d work on her college portfolio, too. Of course, it looked like it wouldn’t be needed for a few years, but she’d looked up the requirements of some of her top choices anyway. Whenever she did a piece she particularly liked, she added it to the ‘portfolio potential’ pile. The pile had been getting pretty big actually, and Layla had been pleased with it, but then she’d had to start all over again. Her mother had stumbled in drunk and spilled a bottle of wine all over everything. All the paintings and drawings had been ruined.

Layla tried not to think of the painful incident as she carefully pulled out her new, smaller collection. She now kept it wrapped in plastic, hidden under the same floorboard as her purse. She wasn’t taking any chances.

There were two drawings and one painting. The painting was of the moon on a cloudless night and had an almost ethereal look to it. One of the drawings showed a falcon soaring over the horizon, the other having more abstract elements in showing a mass of swirls and petals with roses falling around a stone door.

Carefully wrapping everything back up, Layla tried to shake her downcast mood. She’d had bad luck before, and at this point, it didn’t look like she’d ever escape it, so she might as well get used to it.

Maybe no one would ever love or appreciate her, and maybe everyone would leave eventually, but she could at least make the best of whatever scraps were left. She was a survivor, and she’d keep surviving. It was all she knew how to do.

Survival was still on her mind some hours later when the sun was setting behind the palm trees, creating a beautiful glow that showed their silhouettes perfectly. Her pencil scratched against paper as she worked on capturing the sight. This drawing wasn’t one of her best, but the act of drawing itself was enough to lift her mood. She’d never really had friends, so drawing and writing stories had taken their place. She could always lose herself in a beautiful scene or a captivating story.

She glanced at the clock again, knowing her mother should be getting home soon. Layla wasn’t exactly sure what she did all day since she’d been fired from her fifth job in a row, but she always came home in the evening, expecting dinner to be on the table.

Layla got the roast out of the oven and did her best to set the table attractively with the limited decorations they had. Nervous, she then went back to sketching. The sun was sinking below the horizon now, but she remembered the bright flare shining through the palms’ leaves.

And then the door banged open. Layla’s shoulders slumped. She should have expected this. Her mother came home drunk most nights. Why did she keep hoping for an exception?

“Layla! Where are you?” her mother screamed.

“Here, Mom.” Layla stashed her sketchpad. Her mother considered art a waste of time. How she could think sketching was a waste and that spending hours doing nothing but drinking wasn’t, Layla couldn’t imagine, but she never brought it up. No point in making more trouble than there already was.

“Supper’s on the table,” she called out. Hopefully, food would distract her mom, and she could escape to her room. No good would come from a conversation with her in this state.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Layla stopped, her foot on the bottom stair.

“I was going to tidy up my room.”

“Not even going to keep your poor, hard-working mother company while she stomachs whatever slop you’ve dredged up today?”

Layla debated whether things would go better or worse if she made further attempts to go to her room. Deciding that her mother wouldn’t allow it, not when she clearly had things to say, Layla reluctantly came back to sit down at the table.

She wasn’t hungry anymore, but she forced herself to nibble on a bit of potato.

“What have you been doing?” her mother asked.

“I went to work, then came home and made supper.”

“And slobbed around the rest of the day, no doubt! Who would’ve thought I’d raise such a useless lump?”

Layla knew that her mom’s attitude would improve slightly when she was sober, but not by much; rather than provoke her, she just shrugged.

“How many shifts do you have next week?”

Layla cringed—so much for hiding the fact that she’d gotten fired. And Layla’s mother always berated her for not working enough shifts already, even when she worked overtime hours.

Her mother glared at her, and Layla felt her will to keep the secret shrivel. “I… I got fired,” she admitted, not daring to meet her mom’s gaze.

“You what?”

“I got fired,” Layla said, slightly louder.

Her mother shot to her feet, sending the meticulously prepared food everywhere.

“You disgraceful bitch! You worthless, stupid girl! What kind of 18-year-old can’t even keep a job like waitressing? There’s always been something wrong with you, Layla, always. I never should have hoped that you’d actually be able to do something right for once.”

She knew she should hunch her shoulders and wait until the shouting stopped. Then she’d nod and apologize before slinking off. But after the day she’d had… for the first time in what felt like years, her anger got the better of her.

“Like you’re one to judge!” she snapped. “You haven’t had a proper job in years. You try working for Jason; he’d have you out in minutes. It wasn’t my fault!”

A ringing silence followed her words as Layla braced herself. Her mother seemed momentarily shocked that Layla had spoken up for herself.

A second later, though, Layla was forced to duck under the table as a plate came flying at her. It shattered against the wall. Layla stumbled backward, but her mother was charging her now.

She cried out in pain as her mother grabbed her hair and tossed her against the wall. Crumpling to the ground with the shock of it, Layla felt her ears ringing. It took a few moments before she could sort the noise around her into words again.

“Get out! Get out and never darken my doorstep again, you…”

She kept going, but Layla didn’t hear the rest of the rant. She was being kicked out? Things had gotten pretty bad before, but she’d never thought it would come to this. Layla tried to hold back tears as she flinched away when her mother raised a threatening fist to get her to move. She got her legs under her and scrambled up the stairs, slamming the door behind her. The door didn’t have a lock, so she pushed the bed against it instead, hoping that would buy her time.

She grabbed a backpack and frantically started stuffing things into it. Her mother was banging on the door and screaming. She tried to think. Her mind was in a blur. Would she ever be able to come back here? She should plan, take everything she’d need for… for whatever came next. She grabbed a second bag and filled it with whatever it would hold—toiletries, underwear, and some more clothes and art supplies while her mother banged and banged.

Fear tore at her mind, and all she could think of was that she wanted to run. The backpack and bag were both full, though now she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d packed. She couldn’t think about it, though. She had to go.

One thing for sure, she couldn’t leave her portfolio or purse. Quickly, she ripped them out from the floorboards, and then pulled the bed away. Her mother stumbled in. She had a bottle in one hand, and her eyes were enraged.

“I’m going, I’m going!”

Layla ducked out of her way, terrified she was about to have a bottle smashed over her head. At the doorway, she yanked the comforter from her bed and then stumbled away, weighted down by clothes and her bedding. She ran downstairs and grabbed her keys, along with her purse and what was left of her portfolio from beneath the floorboard, and then she ran outside. Her mother hadn’t followed her out, but if Layla didn’t leave soon, that would change. She started her car’s engine and reversed into the street without looking, too frazzled to think of anything but getting out.

She only realized that she didn’t know where she was going when she was a few blocks away. Her hands were shaking, and her backpack was looking too small to survive on. What on earth was she going to do?