Page 12 of Break Point

“Jaden, you know we will always find a way to pay for your schooling, right?” Her tone is suddenly serious, so I freeze with one shoe in my hand and tilt my ear toward the phone.

“Yeah, I know.” I wait a beat, but when she doesn’t zoom in with another topic, my stomach squeezes. I tend to feel dread when it’s unwarranted. Thank you, anxiety. But this time my chest feels just a little tighter.

“Is something wrong, Mom?” Money in our household has always been tight. My spidey senses have become fine-tuned to the nuances in how my parents talk about their business. They never tell me directly that things are slow, but they do tell me when things are busy. And they haven’t mentioned a boom weekend in several months.

“No, no, no,” my mom finally says through a breathy laugh.

I twist my lips and consider probing deeper.

“So . . . what’s the next modeling gig, then? Is it for a clothing brand? Maybe you’ll get to keep the clothes.” My mom is pivoting the conversation, so I’ll tuck the clues away for now.

“Mom, it’s only for the app. That’s the gig. I’m the face of this new dating app. Along with Bryson—”

I regret those three extra words the second they hit the air. Especially the name-drop. That name.

“Oh, so you are on the dating app! And you’re dating this Bryson boy. Can I see him? Is he on Instagram like the burger shop?”

I swallow hard, my mind buzzing with the various ways my mom could wreak absolute havoc on social media. Thankfully, I know she’s not great at putting her phone on speaker to get at her apps mid-conversation. And she’s probably forgotten the password I set her up with anyhow. I’m mid-parent-induced spiral when Taryn slides into my open doorway, leaning her cheek against the jamb. We’re supposed to be heading to the courts soon, yet my roomie looks like she just slid out of a coma.

“Again . . . I’m not on a dating app. I’m only on the ad for the app. That’s it.” I exhale and feel bad that my frustration is audible. “Mom, I’ve got to get to practice, so can I call you and Dad later to explain better?”

Or maybe the three of us pretend I took a job in the mail room instead. One that pays five grand a month.

“Sure, sure . . . I’ll just look up this Bryson in the meantime. I’ll talk to you later, honey. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I don’t bother sighing until I’ve ended the call and my eyes meet my roommate’s quizzical expression.

“Bryson Moss?” Taryn quirks a brow, and her smirk is annoying. As much as I haven’t talked to Bryson over the last three years, he has been a constant discussion topic. Maybe a nemesis of sorts. Though, whenever I bring him up—usually in an annoyed, negative context—Taryn is quick to point out what she considers my obsession with the guy.

I glare at her with soured lips, not in the mood to entertain her teasing and theories about some crush that doesn’t really exist.

“Guess whose sister owns the app for my NIL deal.”

Her jaw drops, but that smirk is still pulling up the corners of her mouth.

“No way!”

I roll my eyes. Something I apparently do too often. Damn Bryson Moss for making me aware of it!

“Yeah, and the asshole was there today for the photo shoot. And he dropped me in the fountain! My shoes are soaked. Do you think I can toss them in the dryer?”

I bend forward and snag the heel of my right sneaker, then hold it out for my roommate to inspect. Taryn takes it in her hand, balancing it in her palm like she’s weighing the saturation level.

“I don’t think they’ll make it through Bessy,” she says, tossing the shoe back to me. Bessy is our dryer, a solid piece of machinery that hails back to the olden times, when appliances came in pale-yellow and puke-green hues. Bessy is both. And she rocks side to side when she’s hard at work, no matter what you toss into her.

“Well, they’re never going to dry outside. It’s not hot enough. And if I leave them in here, they’re going to stink up the place.”

“Going to?” Taryn says, waving her hand in front of her nose.

I drop the heavy shoe back to the floor, where it lands with a thud.

“Great, now I need to buy new sneakers.” I sigh.

I have other shoes, but not everyday sneakers I can wear around campus. And since I spend most of my life walking from point A to point B, then C, D, E, and F, quality shoes are imperative. I tried a bike on campus my freshman year, but it’s more of a hassle finding places to lock it up. And a car is definitely not in the budget.

“Maybe you should ask Bryson for a new pair, since he’s the one who got them wet and all. Which . . . why was Bryson Moss at your photo shoot? And apparently flirting up a storm with you?”