southside trash [shameless]

• Chapter 21 • Cigarette •

Oh, you again? I swear, imma stab you if you do this again.
Yo, Emma chill, we don't have time for this, we've gotta move half a kilo of weed.
Whatever, Jonas. Right, here's what you missed:
"I can handle myself.  I've got it under control."
"You left here, drunk off your ass, at like half two in the morning."
"Debbie was right. Just. Like. Frank."
"I'm not like you! I'm nothing like you!"
"You are the best person I know, okay? And I'm sorry I even compared you to that monster."
"You're gonna have to tell you're family at some point. You know that right?"
"I know you don't really like to talk about it, but how are you doing?"
"I don't really know, how am I meant to feel about it?  I'm actually more worried about the foetus situation."
"Just got to scrape together like four hundred and fifty bucks."
"You okay?" "Yeah, morning sickness."
"We're friends, Fiona!"
"We're non-fucking friends!"
"Think of it as a bonus, I'll see you Wednesday."
"Kev and V's wedding. It's at the Alibi, six o'clock, dress to impress."
"What was that?"  "I'm not sure, this fake wedding's got me feeling weird. Come on loser, dance with me."

When I wake up to Lip climbing over me to get down from his bunk, I am not ready to get up.  I snuggle back down into the pillow trying to ignore all the noise in the house, including Fiona yelling at Carl for blowing the fuse, and him replying that it wasn't him, and that it was in fact Hector turning it off at the pole.

"Emma! Feet on the floor!" Fiona yells from downstairs, apparently only just noticing that I'm not yet up.

I groan, still not opening my eyes.

"Emma? Emma?" A voice suddenly says.

I begrudgingly open my eyes to see Warren, a kid in Lip's grade, looking at me.  I sigh, closing my eyes again, "Warren."

"Where's my paper?" He asks.

"Where's my money?" I counter, getting up and jumping down from the bed, not caring that all I'm wearing is underwear and a Ian's t-shirt, with no bra.

"I-I got it," Warren tells me, stammering when he sees my lack of clothing.

"Okay," I look at him expectantly, "I wanna see it."

"Thirty-five right?" He asks.

I breath out heavily, "no, fifty."

He starts muttering what is clearly fake Korean under his breath in annoyance.

"Stop speaking fake Korean, Warren," I walk out the boy's room towards the laundry pile in the hallway, to grab my jeans, "I never said thirty-five.  Not for the paper I wrote you last month, not for the paper I wrote you last semester, not for this one.  All right? It's fifty." I pull my jeans on, glaring at the boy, as I walk past him, back into the boy's room to grab my bra off the inside door handle, and put it on under Ian's shirt.

"Can you do thirty-six?" Warren asks.

I pull the t-shirt off, leaving me in just the bra and turn around to look at him in irritation, "no."