Chapter 3

The school offered evening study hall, and I signed up without telling Mom. On the first night, it was already 10:00 pm when it let out. I turned on my phone, and three texts popped up.

The first one came in at 6:45 pm. "It's past your curfew. Where are you?"

The second came in at 7:45 pm. "Evie Kimball, call me the second you see this."

The third came in at 8:45 pm. "If you're not home by 10:20, I'm locking the door."

My heart lurched, and I called her on instinct. It rang and rang, but no one picked up.

I only had 20 minutes left before Mom's deadline, and the main road would take too long. I glanced at the alley beside me. It was pitch-black. I pulled my jacket tighter and headed in, reassuring myself as I walked.

"If I walk faster, I'll get home in time. If I get home in time, Mom won't be as mad."

But halfway down the alley, three men were standing in a corner. My stomach dropped, and I tried to go around them.

"Hey, sweetheart, don't run off."

"Come talk to us for a bit."

"Cute dress. Who bought it for you?"

Before I could scream, the three of them dragged me deeper into the alley. One grabbed my wrists, one yanked my hair, and one shoved my dress up.

I fought back and bit one of them on the hand, and he slapped me. That slap was harder than any Mom had ever given me. I hit the ground with my ears ringing.

They didn't get to finish. Someone passing by shouted, and they ran.

I lay curled up on the ground. My dress was torn at the hem and smeared with mud and blood, my hair was tangled across my face, and the corner of my mouth was split and bleeding.

I lay there for a long time before I finally got up and gathered my scattered textbooks. Then I tied the broken strap of my backpack back together and walked home one step at a time.

It was 11:30 pm by the time I got home. Mom was sitting on the living room couch with the notebook open on her lap and a pen between her fingers. When she saw the state I was in, she didn't react at all.

She just looked me over, from my hair to my dress and from my dress to my feet, until her eyes finally settled on the torn hem.

"What happened to your dress?"

I wanted to cry, and I could barely get the words out. "Someone—"

She cut me off. "Were you in a fight?"

I wiped at my face and tried to explain. "No, it was—"

"That dress is new." Her voice was calm. "I bought it last week, and you've only worn it twice. It was 60 dollars."

I crumpled to the floor and screamed at her. "Mom, somebody—"

"How many times have I told you to come straight home after school and not hang around outside? Why won't you listen? That dress was 60 dollars, and you tore it after wearing it twice."

She stood up, walked over to me, and grabbed my chin. "You've got cuts on your face, blood on your mouth, and a torn dress. If that's not fighting, what is it?"

Her nails weren't long, but her grip hurt.

"Mom, somebody dragged me into an alley—"

"Why didn't you run? Why didn't you scream? Why did you get into a fight? Why did you ruin your new dress?"

I looked at her and suddenly felt exhausted. I'd just been dragged into an alley by three thugs who hit me, tore my clothes, and nearly assaulted me. On the 40-minute walk home, I'd imagined every way she might react.

I thought Mom would hold me and cry, call the police, curse those guys out, and say, "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you."

But she didn't do any of that. All she cared about was the dress.

When I didn't say anything, she let go of my face. "Take that dress off and wash it yourself."

I stayed slumped on the floor without moving. "Mom, they hit me."

She kept her head down, pen in hand. "I know."

My throat felt like I'd swallowed razor blades. "Three guys dragged me into an alley."

"I know. But you got away, and that's what matters."

She closed the notebook and looked at me with obvious irritation. "Wash that dress, and take care of the cuts on your face yourself. From now on, come straight home after school and don't hang around outside. This time it was a dress. What about next time?"

What about next time? She was actually asking me that.

I lowered my head and let the tears fall. All of a sudden, I really wanted to know what she'd just written.