Chapter 3

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I got home a little after ten and tucked my mom into bed because she fell asleep on the couch watching TV (as usual). 

It took a little work, but eventually, I poured her onto her unmade mattress, hoping that she bothered to brush her teeth earlier. It doesn't smell like it when her mouth lolls open.

I watch her sleeping peacefully for a few seconds to be sure she's alright. 

The light of the moon is peeking between the bent slats in our cheap blinds as she mumbles under her breath, so I slip out.

Later, I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror over the sink in our bathroom and grimace. 

My lack of makeup only highlights what little sleep I get these days. 

My pale skin doesn't show a hint of my dad's Greek heritage. Instead, I've got a smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose, and big expressive green eyes that have always betrayed me when it comes to games like poker.

My tangle of light brown hair is the only feature I'm really proud of, it's curly enough to get gnarled by the end of the day, but instead of being frizzy, it's lustrous and long.

I'm not skinny, but I'm certainly not fat because of all the hours I spend running around on my feet. In fact, the soft curves of my hips and breasts are really the only visible part of my Hellenic heritage.

Tonight though, I just look tired. There are slight violet shadows under my eyes that make me appear older than I am, and I swear I can see the beginnings of a pimple to the left of my nose.

Between working at the diner, going to night school, doing homework, and taking care of Mom, there's almost zero time for myself. 

So, my daily shower is my sanctuary. 

It's when I wash away the stress of my life while the hot water untangles the knots in my back.

As I'm raking my favorite lavender conditioner through my hair, Mr. Benedict's face pops into my mind. 

I picture the way his eyes crinkle slightly at the edges when he breaks into that breathtaking smile he wears so well.

I'm sure he's very aware of the effect he has on women, I mean, how could he not? He's not just classically good-looking, the man is super hot

I have to literally shake the memory of him out of my head to get myself back on track. 

So what if Mr. Benedict is good-looking? 

He's a teacher, who would never give a passing thought to some random student. 

At least it'll be an easy class, and hopefully, I've found a new friend in Kiera.

***

"Eggs sunny side up for Otis and hot oatmeal for Agnes." I chirp, setting the hot plates down on the tabletop.

"Thank you, dear." My grandma says in her kind voice. "How's your mother?"

"She's doing fine." I hedge carefully.

Grandma and Grandpa haven't spoken to my mom since her arrest nearly a year ago. 

"If you need anything, Moira, you can call us." Otis reminds me in his steady voice.

"We're fine Otis," I force a smile.

I love them for everything they've done for us, but I'm torn. 

After my dad died, they took my mom and me in, rent-free. 

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