The clock hit 7:00 PM. Cherry sat in the dim light of her room, the glow of her laptop the only thing anchoring her to the present. She was deep in the comments section of her book on the publishing platform, a digital world where she wasn't a girl with a missing father, but a creator.
Her phone dinged. She reached for the outdated iPhone, the screen a spiderweb of cracks. The Face ID was long dead, a relic of a better time. She punched in the passcode, her fingers moving with a twitchy, anxious energy. Monalisa's text was a summons.
Downstairs, the living room had been swallowed by racks of clothes and rows of shoes. Cherry's eyes landed on a pair of strong-toed mules, the animal-skin texture so vivid she could almost feel the softness from across the room. It looked like Mona was starting a side hustle as a boutique owner.
"Instead of shopping, I thought about bringing the store to you," Monalisa said, her eyes bright with a thrill that Cherry didn't share.
"What am I shopping for?" Cherry asked, her voice tight. "I haven't seen my dad for several months and the only opportunity I have is used to decide on a choice of clothes? You are taking my father to jail, and I can't wrap my head around it."
"I didn't know it would get to the emotional side of you," Mona said softly. "He's your father, Cherry. I understand."
"You don't," Cherry flared up, her chest hammering. "I'm going because I want answers, and it will be on my terms. I'll give a signal when to arrest him."
"Too dangerous," Mona countered sharply. "Your father can use you as bait with less concern that you're his daughter."
Cherry snapped her fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "You need to just shut up. You don't know my dad as much as I do. He will not hurt me... not unless you try something stupid."
The Grocery Aisle Stand-off
"Mom, why do we have to buy a specific red design hotdog? They are all hotdogs!" Sam's voice echoed in the supermarket aisle.
"You either get me my hotdog, Samantha—it's getting too dark. What are you, a child?" her mother's high-pitched voice came through the receiver.
"Two years old," Sam mimicked into the phone before hanging up. She took a deep breath, the exhaustion of the day settling into her bones. Shopping at EVERYDAY SUPERMARKET was a chore she usually avoided by pretending to be sick, but today, there was no escape. She grabbed the bread, eggs, face wash, and carrot essential oils, dreading the long queue ahead.
"My card can pay for that," a voice said from behind her.
It was Amole. The cashier scanned the items together before Sam could even process the embarrassment.
"Thanks," she said quietly as they walked toward the exit.
"Your piece for the school is great," Amole said, his hands shoved into his pockets. "The job you're doing in Victoria High is classic. A perfect masterpiece."
Sam stood stunned. She had half-expected him to say something about her body—Sam, you're so hot—but this was different.
"Thanks. Likewise, the basketball team... you're doing an amazing job," she managed to say.
"See you in school tomorrow?" Amole asked nervously.
"Sure."
As she climbed into the car, her mother didn't even wait for the door to close. "Seriously, Sam? Took you forever to get a single hotdog pack. So, he's the reason why you took so long, huh?"
"Mom, I'm old enough to have a boyfriend. I'm seventeen!"
"Well, I think you're old enough not with that dangerous ABILAB trading talks with you," her mother teased, a tug of a smile on her lips. "Just make sure you're back early tomorrow. Your grandma is coming. You're going to the church convention."
"Church isn't fun, Mom! They stay there for eight hours!"
"Make sure those hotdogs are frosted against dinner tomorrow," her mother replied, ending the argument.
The Friday Fallout
In Ms. Clara's class, Thomas leaned back in his seat, his motorcycle helmet a trophy on his desk. "Working on a car," he bragged to the murmuring class. "Helping a friend out."
"I'm not done, Travis," Ms. Clara interrupted as Travis tried to slip out. "Shira, take Travis on a school tour. Now."
"No one asked me, Ms. Clara," Shira muttered, her eyes cutting to Travis.
"I don't think that's appealing," Travis said, raising his large iPhone. "I know my way. My phone helps."
Later, in the hallway, Cherry caught up with Shira. "Hello, Shira. You have a minute?"
Shira turned, a smug attitude radiating off her. "Why should I share my precious time with you? You hardly notice anyone since they made you head of the paper."
"It's about Travis," Cherry said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You were supposed to take him on a tour."
"Really, Cherry?" Shira sucked her tongue. "Why do you go for boys that hardly notice you? If they do, it's just your body. Haven't you learned your lesson about Green?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Cherry asked, flustered.
"He canceled last minute. He knows everywhere. He's a jerk," Shira snapped. "I'm glad it didn't go through."
"He was a jerk to you?" Cherry asked, trying and failing to hide her amusement.
"Yes. And what do you care?"
"Nothing," Cherry said, walking away to find Sam. "Who said I care?"
As they walked toward the exit, Sam sighed. "Amole paid for my items last night."
"He was kissing Louise yesterday, Sam," Cherry said, her voice dropping the humor.
"And he spoke to me last night. End of discussion," Sam snapped. "I like him, Cherry. When we start dating, he won't be kissing Louise anymore."
"In your dreams," Cherry laughed, but she saw the look on Sam's face and stopped. "Just so you know... I support you either way."