CHAPTER 3

I was never among the cool girls at school, and that was perfectly fine with me because all I ever wanted was to maintain a low profile and be under the gossips' radar. I wish I were the kind of person who had the ability to just disregard comments like this, but the guffaws of CAT M'NOO and her friends cause a blush of humiliation to come overwhelm me in its waves. I know my mom is basically definitely calling me because she's drunk. She's drunk, or she's stoned, or she's both. And I can't retort anything back at Cat because I so desperately need this job.

I attempt to ignore the whispers around me and make my way to the back area. LYDIA is also making her way to the back towards the storeroom, and I trail behind her slowly. She, like almost everyone else, knows that my mom is an escort.

"I don't think it's anything serious, KYOLINE. Your mother is not feeling well and wants you to come home."

She's sick. Which means she's stoned out of her mind. And she's either locked herself out of the apartment, or she's run out of booze, dope, and money.

I move through the rear lobby, taking note as always of the marble checkerboard floor. Black and white.

It would be so much easier if life were black or white. Right or wrong. Happy or sad. Light or dark…

But it's not. Because life—my life, especially—isn't meant to be easy.

That's why I play chess.

On the black and white board I got on my seventh birthday, I learned the letter and number of each square, a million sequences, and a multitude of strategies. And on that board, I always know if I'm attacking, defending, or just biding my time.

Wouldn't life be easier if it was a set of predetermined moves? Which if you made, would lead you to where you wished?

For in chess, the pieces follow rules and move in predetermined steps. But in life, all you can do is make a move and hope it doesn't lead to checkmate.

Arriving at the office, I glance around me before carefully picking up the phone. "Mom?"

"KYOLINE? I need you. I'm sick," she slurrs.

She's clearly drunk. I cringe inwardly, hoping Lydia didn't hear her in this state.

"Okay, Mom. I'm coming. Are you home?"

I hear her bumping into something. "But I can't find my keys." she wails.

"Just wait for me. I'll be there in a bit, and I'll let you in.

For a long time now, I’ve felt like the parent and felt like I’ve got to take care of her.

I hate to let work down, and I hate to miss this shift because of the money. Even though I've gotten the money from the gun run, that's going to go towards the two months' rent we're behind and next month's rent. I still need to earn money for utilities and food and all that other stuff.

I rush home and arrive just in time to find Mom lying on the floor outside our apartment. "Come on, Mom," I breathe heavily as I haul her to her feet.

I open the apartment door with my key and help her stagger to her bedroom where she collapses onto her bed.

"He's left me." She starts to cry.

Oh God. She's been dumped. And although the latest one is yet another loser who she'll be better off without, I still don't want her to have to go through this pain.

"I'll go make you a coffee and bring it in to you. It'll make you feel better." And it will sober her up. Because when she's drunk, she also gets maudlin.

Heading to our tiny kitchen, I’m pouring the coffee when a knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

I hope to God it’s not one of the neighbors wanting to complain—again—about my mom causing a disturbance when she couldn’t get into our apartment. Being wasted makes her curse and shout and scream. A lot.

I slowly open the front door to find a man holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

"Delivery for KYOLINE DIEGO."

"That's me!" I give the delivery guy a big smile, and he smiles back. That's the nice thing about smiles and laughter—they're infectious and brighten up the whole day. Maybe that's a dumb thing to think, but with all my problems, I hold on to small things like this.

Pushing the door open wider, my cheeks flush with delight as my arms go out to receive the bunch of dark pink roses and stargazer lilies he holds out to me. "Thank you so much! " I shut the door and lean against it, gazing in delight at the beautiful blooms, inhaling a lungful of their heady perfume before I examine the card. The flowers are from TENZ JER'SEY. They have to be a good sign. He wouldn't be sending me flowers if I was useless or meaningless—if I was unlovable, right? Because people comment on my background far too often, and it always leaves me feeling like I'm not good enough…I am trying not to consider the rumor I've heard. Because it's just that. A rumor. Probably started by some individual who was trying to cause me problems. He wouldn't cheat on me, would he?

I'd dump him in a second if he had lied and cheated, but I'm pretty certain that he would never do something like that to me because, besides being my boyfriend, he's my best friend.

I glance at the flowers again and grab my cell to text him.

Kyoline: The flowers are gorgeous. I love them.

Tenz: Anything for you, baby. Aren't you still at work?

Kyoline: Had to come home for a Mom emergency.

Tenz: If you're not working, we've got a meeting in the back room at MANCHESTER LED at 5 p.m. and could do with an extra cocktail waitress?

Kyoline: For definite! I need the extra work after having to leave today's shift. See you there xxx

When my mother is like this, I know she'll sleep shortly and forget it, so I will have a chance to do another shift. After putting the flowers in water and looking at them again, I know I should be quick if I don't want to be late, but I go and change my dress because I want to look my absolute best if I'm going to see Tenz.

One of the things I like about working at MANCHESTER LED is that workers are permitted to wear their own clothes as long as it falls under the worker dress code of 'smart and stylish.' My feet move on auto as I head over to my closet. I stand before all the sparkly dresses before me, my gold-tipped fingers running over the fabrics as I deliberate over my options. And my eyes fall on the security tags still on… It's something I hate about myself, and honestly, I am truly ashamed about the whole thing and really wish that I could stop. I've tried to quit so many times, and I do have serious issues.

I look at the dresses before me and think that if I'm dressed in these sparkly dresses, it allows me to play the part of being worth something and makes it a little easier to blend in despite everything that's happened.

Despite the fact that that's not really why I own them…

And I pick one of my favorites—a gold dress that clings to my body like a second skin and falls mid-thigh. Although it's not gold exactly because the sales tag reads that it's CHAMPAGNE MIST. This dress, and all of the other ones I have that are in the same color, aren't simply gold. No, they're all called something more unique and special.

I slip on the dress and zip myself into it, getting myself ready as quickly as possible, finishing it off with my work badge that boasts 'MANCHESTER LED' in a curving gold script.

Running a hairbrush through my glossy black hair and adding a dash of mascara to my green eyes, I calculate in my mind how much money I'll earn this afternoon and how much closer it will get me to covering this month's utilities and food expenses.

I carry the coffee into my mom's bedroom and place it on her nightstand, where I know that it'll more likely sit and get cold and stay untouched. But I'm not about to let my mom's issues spoil my mood today.

I take the train and climb the stairs out of the station. I've never gotten anything on Valentine's Day in my entire life, and I'm in such a great mood I'm practically bouncing along in my black Balenciaga boots—a gift from Tenz.

And I go along in my own little cloud of happiness, daydreaming and off in my own world.

Not aware that I'm going to get pulled over by the law.

And hauled down to the station.

Because I'm doing this for the family of my mobster boyfriend…

I smooth out my sparkly dress as I walk. People always ask me why I adore the color gold so much. Well, it's easy. It's because it reminds me of the sun. Of happiness. And of positivity. Because with all of the issues in my life, if I can be positive, then I definitely feel a little better about myself and the rest of the world.

I'm lost in my own thoughts when a black SUV appears on my right. Silence is the first thing I hear. No tire squeal, no beep—just the near-silent glide of a car pulling up next to me. High-end. Predator-smooth. The kind of car that doesn't need to make noise to be lethal.

I try to glance at it out of the corner of my eye to see if I can make out who's in the car. But the tint on the windows is too dark.

The expensive motor is nearly silent in the still summer air as it inches along beside me. Goosebumps erupt on my arms. I walk a bit quicker as the car creeps along and keeps pace with my walking.

I walk straight ahead, yet my heart racing in my chest. Is someone behind me? Or a policeman trying to catch me? Or, even worse, a Fed…?

These scenarios simply terrify me.My sweaty hand gently brushes against me to feel if my dress is still on, wincing when my fingers touch hard plastic. The security tag. I turn on my heel and take a sharp left down a narrow side street.