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THE COLD WAS BACK. Nothing pissed Eva off more than the fact that she had suffered through another ridiculously cold winter just to miss the entire summer. Six months in juvenile was to blame.
What might have been worse was the fact that the girls who had started the fight that had ended in Eva's arrest had been let off clean. Eva couldn't help but to hate them, all the time. Not that juvenile had been a horrible experience. Eva had adapted to the atmosphere, the people. The food was shit, of course, but the guards were cool and usually brought in food like pizza and ice cream. She'd be lying if she said she hated every moment of being locked up.
But she did hate those girls.
Leaving the facility she had been moved to and spent the majority of her lock-up time in to find the face of her mother was not a welcome sight. For a while, the plan had been for Mallory to fly down from New York to finally see Eva—and it didn't mean anything that Mallory would be picking Eva up from juvenile. Somewhere along the line, clearly, that plan had crumbled. It had been an idea. A thing to hope for, if Mallory had ever wanted to do it in the first place. Eva was beginning to accept that Mallory just wanted nothing to do with her. Not sincerely.
It seemed that the stress and the fighting was finally catching up to Mrs. Healy. Her messy brown hair, scraped loosely back into a scrunchie, was shot through with gleaming silver. When she lifted her sunglasses, the bruise-like bags beneath her eyes were painfully visible.
She had not bothered to wait inside for Eva. Even as she waited against the car, actually acknowledging her daughter, Eva walked alone. She paused, too, to show that she could. For several moments, Eva and her mother stared at each other, and said nothing. It was a painful moment. Somewhere deep inside, Eva felt her heart finally detach from her mother's. Because she was turning into an adult now, and she knew that she'd never actually had a mom.
Neither woman spoke a word as they settled into the car and drove on. Maybe an hour passed by when Mrs. Healy steered off of the interstate and found a gas station. It was one of those gigantic ones, behind which semi-trucks could stop and rest, or stock up on gas. Thick mist hovered on the air, and the many lights of the station created an odd, futuristic sort of atmosphere. They pulled into an empty pump, and Mrs. Healy opened her door. At the last moment, she paused, and looked at Eva.
"Do you want to come in? Get something to drink?" she offered.
Eva hugged her denim jacket closer to her; it was chilly outside, and windy. Still, the mere excitement she got from gripping the edges of a denim jacket made her happy enough that she got out of the car as well. Mrs. Healy killed the ignition, and by the time she closed the driver's door, Eva was already walking—rather quickly—into the store.
