Katerina

"These numbers are not adding up," I say quietly to myself as I punch the computer keys in the dimly-lit store room we own. Mother turns the OPEN sign to CLOSE, and now perches on the edge of a table, munching on Cheerios. "A $450 shortage in just five days?" I turn to her now. "Where is Sebastian?"

Mom shrugs. "Your brother hasn't come home since Sunday."

"This is insane."

I close my eyes and try, really try to control my anger as it courses through my veins. My hands shake, and beads of sweat coat my temples. Heat prickles my back as I punch in the numbers again, and my heart falls at the sight of the same result. Again and again.

"This cannot be happening," I say, aghast.

I hit the clear button over and over until finally, the calculator slips sideways, clattering to the smooth floor of the tiny office. The room is made smaller by the boxes of paperwork I'm trying to swim my way through. I've never touched any of them before now, and I'm starting to wonder if my mother ever did either.

"Katerina?" Mother asks nervously as she rises and comes around the desk to stand beside me, peering at the computer screen. She locks her hands with mine and I notice how think they are. She's not been feeding well, which isn't too much of a surprise these days. "Oh, no."

"How did this happen?" I ask, my voice cracking. "We're broke as hell. You assured me that the records were all up to date, and there are no shortages."

"There were no shortages when I last balanced the accounts," she says carefully.

"So how are we $450 short? Haven't you been the only one who has access to these records?"

"Yes, but Sebastian..."

My eyes go wide as I press her hands tightly. "You let Sebastian balance these accounts? Again?"

She draws her hand away, wrapping her hands around her body. Her chin-length hair, the same charcoal shade as mine, hides her face. "It was only one time."

"And let me guess. Thursday, right? Which explains why he's nowhere to be found right now. Goodness, Mom. You know how much of a kleptomaniac Seb is, yet you still let him get away with this over and over again."

"We'll find a way out. We always do," she says solemnly. I try to keep my emotions steady, but deep down I feel like crying. It hasn't even been up to three weeks when we'd forgiven Sebastian for making away with a $2500 check that was meant to be used in procuring new supplies for the store. And now, this.

"Katerina?" Mom tilts her head to the side, worry brimming in her eyes. "Everything is going to be okay, right? We're... we're not done for, or are we?"

"Mom..." I sigh. "I don't even know what to say to you right now. This is...this is..."

I'm so close to tearing up, and Mom hugs me, patting my hair. I hide my face in her chest, inhaling her rose-scented perfume. This store is our livelihood. It's what we've been using to keep afloat ever since Dad's passing. With $450 missing, we have nothing left to hold onto.

We're definitely going under. There's no question about that.

"I'm so sorry I failed, mother," I whisper.

"No my child," Mom says firmly, holding my shoulders, and staring into my eyes, her expression serious. "You didn't fail us. This isn't your fault, but mine. And I'll fix this."

"How? You don't have any job apart from this. The dance studio isn't bringing in anything."

"True, but I've found a buyer for that."

My jaw drops. I don't even want to think about it. "No, Mom. No."

"We have no choice anymore, Katerina. Sebastian took that away from us. We did what we could. It's time to move on. To seek a new career path."

"The studio was Dad's gift to us, Mom! You can't just sell it off like that. We can salvage what's left, trust me. Call the buyer and tell him we're keeping it."

"I will do no such thing, Katerina," her lips press into a thin line, and I know she means every word. "Get ready. He comes tomorrow to see the place. It's done. I'm so sorry."

When she reaches for me, I recoil. "I'll never forgive you for this. Dad must be turning in his grave right now!"

"The bills, Katerina... You saw them yourself. How on earth are we going to handle that? We don't even know where our meals next week will come from. We need a quick solution, and selling the studio is all the option we have left. We can rent the store or something. It won't bring in much."

"Yeah! But still. To just throw away all the work Dad put into it? How can you do that?"

She jerks away, her hair hiding her severe cheekbones. She always does that when she's overwhelmed, like a turtle tucking into its shell. She hates being reminded of Dad. All the sacrifices he did for us. It makes her cry. "Mom..."

"You're right." She wipes at her eyes. Mom never cries, not in front of anyone. "Selling the studio is shameful. Please understand that I'd do anything else if I could. But there's no other choice, Katerina."

A wretched, jagged sensation yanks through my guts. I can't stand to see her looking so miserable. I don't agree with her plans, but I care more about taking away her pain.

"It's okay, Mom." Reaching for her, I pull her to my chest. We're nearly the same height, her chin grazing my brow bone. Her arms circle me instantly, and the smell of her lemon-scented soap fills my nose. "Don't worry about it. Let's drop it for now."

"I'm really sorry, my love. I am."

"I know, Mom. And I love you. Okay?"

Her arms squeeze until my breath wheezes. "I love you too." She releases me, flapping her hands at her cheeks like she's hot. "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"I'm going downtown to meet up with Fabiola."

She turns to look up at the old, worn-out clock on the wall, and shakes her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's almost 8 P.M."

"I'll be back before you know it."

"Katerina..."

"I promise," I say desperately. "She mentioned something about having business prospects for us. Now that we're losing the studio, we need any new opportunities that come by."

That does the trick. She nods. "Okay. But be back by 9, okay? I don't trust these little street boys. I don't want them touching you."

My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my high-waisted jeans. Checking it, I read the message from my friend, Fabiola.

Hey, babes. Still coming out? - F.

Hesitating, I glance again at the bills that fill the room. It's not financially wise to go out and spend money on overpriced drinks, not at this time. This city in particular loves to overcharge for watered-down, sugary excuses for cocktails.

But at the same time, I know I can't put a dent in the store's debt with fifty bucks. And if I'm going to blow the money on something, I might as well use it to cheer myself up.

Yeah. See you in a bit - K.

"See you soon, Mother," I say as I grab my coat and head for the door. Just as I'm about to go out, Mom speaks up. "Oh, and Katerina?"

"Yes?"

"Be safe. Bad things happen downtown, Katerina. Very bad things happen to stupid people who put their noses where they shouldn't."

"I'm not stupid, mother."

"I know but try all you can to mind your business. It's not our duty to save other people from the choices they make."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, mother. I'll keep that in mind."

With a final wave, I jog toward my light blue Prius. Once inside, I connect my phone to my current favorite playlist. Something extra loud and extra bouncy, the kind of sweet pop music that can give you cavities just from listening. It's a stark contrast to the gritty streets I'm driving on. Chucky's Lounge is near the docks, so close that you can't help smelling the ocean.

My mom is right. It is a rough area, but I've never had any issues. Sometimes guys hit on me, but what girl doesn't deal with that? It's never gone too far.

Now, Fabiola, she once smashed a glass on a guy's head because he grabbed her ass when her engagement ring was on full display. No one pressed charges on either side. Partly because her now-husband Josh is a lawyer specializing in witness protection cases, but mostly because it would have been a waste of energy.

The cops around here don't pay attention unless they're being bribed to do so. And that night, nobody wanted to cough up the extra cash to make them care.

I park my car along the curb. The last belted-out lyrics about dancing the night away are cut off abruptly when I open my door. Chucky's Lounge is squat, like a hulking gargoyle with its old stone. Blue lights flash through the curved windows, outlining the bodies of the people hovering outside. There's a cloud of smoke around the group. One of them whistles at me as I pass and I ignore him, not bothering to roll my eyes.

I'm not even dressed in anything revealing, just jeans, low red heels, and a white tank-top.

"Hey, baby doll!" a bald guy with gauge earrings yells. "You want some company?"

I cringe violently. It wouldn't have mattered if he was hot or ugly; I hate being flirted with.

Flirting leads to feelings, feelings lead to dating, and dating ... Well, that's just the road to disaster.

And the last thing I need in my life is more trouble.