"You ungrateful bitch. I keep a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You could have killed her," I retort, trying to muster up confidence that I don't possess. "What if she goes to the cops, Dad? That bruise on her face is enough to...
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The smell of bacon hits my nostrils and makes me salivate as soon as we enter Poppy's, a mom-and-pop diner a few blocks from our hotel.
"Welcome! Sit anywhere you'd like!" a happy-faced, middle-aged woman calls from behind the counter.
Damian and I claim a corner booth and stare at the laminated menus. Everything looks delectable, but the blueberry pancakes call my name.
A waitress comes to the table and takes our orders. As we wait for our food, a red-haired girl pushes the door open with her hip. She has a stack of books in one hand and an infant carrier in the other. She doesn't look any older than Damian and me.
"Sweetie, let me help you." The woman behind the counter runs over and takes the books out of the girl's arms. "You're gonna break your back one of these days if you're not careful."
"Thank you, Poppy," the redhead replies, flashing a closed-lip grin. "You're an angel."
"And you work too hard. Coffee?"
"Like, a gallon of it."
Laughing, Poppy pours the girl a cup of steaming java before topping off our mugs. I watch as the redhead places the infant carrier beside her and opens a textbook.
"Damian," I whisper, "I think that girl is still in high school."
He shakes his head. "No way. She has a baby. She's probably a grad student or something."
"In case you've forgotten, teenagers have reproductive systems."
"I don't know. A teen mom just isn't something you see every day."
"That teen mom has a name," Poppy cuts in, shaking her head at us in disapproval, "and she's a real nice girl."
"I d-didn't say she wasn't," Damian stammers. "I... I just—"
"We're from a small town in Michigan. Everything about city life is new to us," I come to my best friend's rescue, amused by the deer-in-headlights expression on his face.
"Well, what brings you to Chicago?" Poppy asks, smiling once again.
"My girlfriend has a college tour. We just tagged along for the trip," Damian replies.
"Your girlfriend is very lucky," the older woman murmurs, her eyes glued to the red-haired girl, who is now holding a fussy baby while trying to read from her textbook. "Not every senior is gonna have a chance to go to college next year."
Poppy returns to her kitchen duties just as a waitress brings over our pancakes. After telling us to enjoy our meals, the same waitress carries a plate of french toast to the redhead's table.
"Hey, I'll be right back," I say, leaving Damian alone with my untouched food.
I approach the visibly frazzled redhead. A chemistry book is open in front of her. With one hand arm, she holds her baby; the other hand is attempting to cut her breakfast without much success.
