Page 29 of Twisted Knight

But the last thing Mom needs to hear is us saying we’re hot. She’ll try to pick up an extra shift at the diner or look for an additional house to clean after she gets off work. Even if she earned more, it wouldn’t be enough for us to leave the air conditioning on long enough to make a difference.

We have fans. Ancient oscillating fans that blow the hot air around the small space, but it’s better than nothing.

“Maybe we can sleep with the windows open,” he says, but we both know we can’t. We may not have much, but it’s more than a lot of other people have around here, and a ground-floor apartment is a blessing and a curse in that respect.

I make a noncommittal noise as I stretch my fingers, cramped from annotating this stupid text. “We’ll figure it out. I can sleep on the couch tonight so there’s more room in the bed. Now finish your homework.”

He groans. “It’s boring though.”

“That book’s not the best. I’ll agree with you on that, but you still have to read it.”

“Why? When am I ever going to be stuck in the wild with a dog as my only friend and you not around?” Mason asks, brushing his hair off his forehead. He needs a haircut. I’ll have to see if I can trade Mr. Dobbins again, mowing his lawn in exchange for a seat in his barber chair.

“Because school is important. It’s how we get to the other side of the river someday.”

He stops and drops his pencil, his curious eyes holding mine. “Is it really like the movies there?”

I chuckle and play off his curiosity about the country club where I work. The one on the other side of the river where wealth is more common than not, and the residents don’t have to leave their windows open at night because they can afford to air-condition their entire larger-than-life estates.

I make a concerted effort not to talk about the things I see and the differences that are blaringly obvious between our life and the lives of the people I serve. I figure if Mason doesn’t realize what he’s missing, then he can’t exactly know how much to miss it. And the last thing I want him to realize is just how drastic those differences are.

Defeat, whether it comes to you later in life or is handed to you at birth, often smothers hope.

But not in this house.

Our mom refuses to allow that to happen.

“Nope. Nothing like the movies,” I lie. “They’re people just like us.”

“Yep. Holden’s right,” our mom says as she moves into the room from the postage stamp of a back patio where she’s been hanging up some laundry to dry. “The only difference is their luck met their opportunity at the right time. We’re just waiting for our time.”

I smile at her. The years have been hard on her but have not diminished her beauty. She has the same dark hair and light eyes that I do, but there’s an innocence to her that makes it hard for people to believe she’s in her midthirties.

“You look tired, Momma. Let me go with you tonight and help,” I offer. A full eight-plus hours waiting tables at the diner and then off to clean office buildings at night for some extra cash on the side is enough to make anyone look tired.

“Thank you, but no. Schoolwork is more important.”

“But we can get it done now and still go with you,” Mason says. The office building is like an adventure to him. A foreign world where he can run down halls, pretending he’s a corporate bigwig while we clean up after them.

She moves across the cramped space and absently runs a hand down the back of his hair. “Thank you. I appreciate you both, but you need to get that homework done and get a good night’s sleep. No one can learn when they’re dozing off in class. Besides, we don’t need to spend money on three bus fares. That’s ridiculous.”

“I get paid tomorrow,” I say. “That makes us that much closer to getting a car so we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

She gives me a look I don’t understand and then jumps when a police siren erupts suddenly outside.

Both Mase and my mom hunch down and the sight of it eats at me.

No matter how used to the sounds you get, they still jar you each time they pass by these paper-thin walls.

“Do you think there are sirens like that in California?” Mason asks.

“There are sirens in all cities, baby,” Mom murmurs but has a soft smile on her face.

California. Her dream. For her. For us. To save enough money to get us the hell out of here and move to where her brother lives. To the land of possibility, no matter where you’re from, where dreams come true, and where sunshine—without humidity—persists.

“Yeah, but there seem to be a lot here.”

“They’re just passing through from one city to the next is all. We should be lucky we hear them. That just means they’re keeping us safe,” she says with a knowing glance my way before moving toward the small dinette in our “kitchen.”