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a.m.?”
    My face burned so hot, I’m guessing it was redder than the sauce.
    Gino started laughing, then knocked his shoulder into mine. “It’s about time, kid.”
    What? “I don’t, I mean, I….”
    “Hey, relax. She must be some piece of ass to have you so rattled. I’m just glad you finally got yourself a girl.”
    Oh . “Uh, yeah.”
    “Next time tell her you need to be at work on time. Now go work the sandwich side. Let Marissa get back out on the floor and take some tables.”
    “Sure.” I was glad he didn’t want me to help him with the pizzas. I didn’t think I could fake my way through a convo about my hot night with some nonexistent chick. Is this what it’s going to be like all the time? I’d never thought about it. I mean, sure, I’d thought about what it would be like to have a night like I had last night with Tanner, but I sure as hell never thought past it. Probably because it never occurred to me that it would actually happen.
    I pulled a paper ticket off the spinner. Two Italian subs, one turkey with Swiss, lettuce, and mayo, and one tuna salad with hot peppers. I split four long rolls and laid them out on the counter. Layering sandwiches was something I could practically do in my sleep after seven months at Gino’s. Oil and vinegar squirted onto the bread as I grabbed the sliced provolone with my other hand. My phone stayed silent in my pocket.
    Is he as confused as I am? Is he somewhere having a conversation with someone who’s assuming he spent last night with a girl? And what about Wendy? Where did she fit into all this? They’d been doing their once-a-week thing for months. Would that stop now? My head pounded. Ham, salami, capicola , tomato, shredded lettuce, slippery strips of roasted red peppers, oregano, salt, pepper, and another squirt of oil and vinegar. I wrapped both sandwiches in thick deli paper and taped them shut, then scribbled “Ital” on both and shoved them into the window above the counter.
    I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, but I wasn’t hungry. All I wanted was answers. The big clock over the stove said it wasn’t even one o’clock yet. That meant three more hours before I could get out of here. Maybe then Tanner would be home and we could talk. Then… oh, fuck. My mother. She’d said she’d be over between four and five. I was so screwed.

C HAPTER S IX
     
     
    T HE BUS was late, and I was certain I felt an ulcer eating away at my stomach. That was the only thing that could possibly explain the burning and twisting behind my ribs. There was no way I’d get back to the dorm before my mother arrived, which meant she’d either have to watch me beg my RA to key into my room for me or Tanner would have already let her in, which would mean she’d see God knows what on my side of the room. I desperately tried to remember what condition the sheets were in, but I didn’t have a clue. For all I knew, there were come stains on the pillow. The pain moved between my shoulder blades as I half jogged in the direction of the dorms.
    By the time a bus came by, I only needed to ride it for one stop, but it was probably still faster than walking. My mother’s car was right there in the parking lot alongside the building. I held my breath as I scanned the lobby, but there was no sign of her. She must have gone straight upstairs. Dammit .
    Taking the stairs two at a time, I tried to figure out what I was going to say. As I neared the door, I saw it was propped open. I heard laughter as I pushed it open. My mom was perched on the side of my bed—my completely made bed.
    What the hell? Did she do my laundry? My hands went cold at the thought of her pulling crusty blankets and shorts out of my laundry bag. I could already hear her telling me quietly to get in the car so we could go talk to Father Thomas. It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten, or I’d have thrown up right there in the doorway.
    Mom turned to look at me with what seemed to be a normal smile.