Barely Holding On

Chapter 2

I shake my head. Nope. This is not happening. At least not until after my shift is over. I shove the money Adam gave me into my jeans' pocket and check the time.

8:34?! I can't believe it's only 8:34. I groan and walk towards the back of the kitchen where my clipboard is sitting on the counter waiting for me. I see that the first thing on the list is a large order of macaroons. I reach for the almond flour on the shelf overhead and begin putting together the ingredients.

By the time it's 12:30 AM I've completed all but two of the orders on the list. My shift ends now, but I can't leave until I've got the orders completed. As much as I love working here, I've been here for six hours and I'm ready to go home. My feet are cramping up inside these shoes, because they have no support for my arches whatsoever. My hair has flower and a little bit of egg in it, because I accidentally pushed back my hair when I had egg on my hands. My clothes are crusty and gross, and I just really want to get home and sleep.

I try to finish up the last two orders quickly, but I'm still not done by 1:50, and by the time I've locked up for the night it's 2:15. I end up getting home a little later than expected, but I'm just glad to be home. I kick off my shoes and don't bother to change my clocks before I set my alarm and jump into bed.

After my alarm goes off the next morning, I decide that I have too much going on to go to school. I call in sick, pretending to be my uncle, which I have mastered over the past two years. After calling the school, I start organizing my stuff so it'll be easier to move it.

It's May, so there's only about two weeks of school left, and I'm royally screwed at the moment. I'm going to be homeless by the end of this week and I have finals coming up in less than two weeks. What the hell am I going to do?

I don't like the idea of asking someone to crash at their place for an unknown amount of time so I end up deciding to just sleep in my car for the last two weeks of school and then figure it out from there. I have a membership at the YMCA, which is where I'm going to shower at until I figure something out. I make a deal with myself that if I don't figure something out by the end of the school year, I'll hit someone up and ask to crash at their place for a little while.

I've packed up most of my stuff by Wednesday night, and set out my school stuff for Thursday. I'm not going to let my uncle's crappy timing screw up all my hard work. My attendance might not be that impressive, but my grades make up for that by being nearly perfect. I earn mostly A's and B's and I have a 3.87 GPA. This year I didn't have the time to take any AP courses, but I plan on cramming in a few next year. I'm going to get great grades in highschool and get accepted into an excellent college so I can get a job that'll make me financially stable and get me out of this shit hole. I love West Michigan, but I'm not exactly living in a great area.

When I reach the bus stop the next morning at 6:12, there's only two other people there; the girl who lives down a street around the corner, and the guy who lives at the house across the street from the bus stop. The bus screeches to a halt at the curb in front of us and as I'm trying to walk up the steps the girl sticks her leg out in an attempt to trip me. I stumble and nearly fall face first into the top step. Even though I somehow manage to not make a complete fool out of myself, my cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment.

The rest of the day goes by quietly and by the time I have to leave for work, I've finished my homework and packing. I load my car up with my stuff before I leave for work on my bike. I'm leaving Friday night rather than Saturday in the hopes that I won't cross paths with my uncle again.

I'm not really surprised that Uncle Adam wants to sell the house. I knew he would eventually, but I thought he'd at least wait until I graduated high school. I don't know him, so I can't claim to know how he thinks or why he does the things he does. All I know is that I don't want to know. The police have knocked on my door more than once, wanting to know if I'd seen him around lately, and I want nothing to do with the trouble that surrounds him so I keep my distance and don't ask questions.