Chapter 1
In my home, my mom didn't smell like other moms.
In my home, my mom didn't smell like other moms.
My mom, Sara Lane, always smelled faintly of cigarettes.
Other moms asked about report cards. Mine only cared about the inventory at her bar.
She never asked how school was going, and I never told her about the turtles scribbled all over my textbooks or the trash shoved into my locker.
I kept that private war to myself, like a secret.
My mom was just so cool, so tough—she had her own battles to fight.
I didn't want my petty problems messing up her world.
But then one day, someone dumped iced coffee over my head. The sticky mess and cruel laughter felt like drowning.
I figured I'd clean up quietly and swallow the shame like always.
Except I forgot—my mom was Sara Lane.
When I slunk through the door looking like hell, she was standing in the living room.
She didn't ask questions. Just looked at my dripping hair and puffy eyes.
In an instant, her normally lazy, half-lidded eyes went ice cold.
*****
The next morning, the house was dead quiet.
I crept out of my room to find Mom—who should've been sleeping in—standing by the front door mirror.
Black trench coat. Black heels.
She was applying lipstick. When she heard me, she capped it with a sharp click.
"Come here."
Her tone was flat.
"I'm driving you to school today."
Not a question. A statement.
The ride was suffocating.
Mom drove her red car with rock music blasting, but she didn't say a word.
I pressed into the passenger seat, gripping my backpack straps until my knuckles went pale, heart hammering.
She parked dead center at the school entrance like she owned it.
Morning rush—students streaming past, staring at us curiously.
Mom killed the engine but didn't move.
She turned to me, sunlight cutting through the window, shadows shifting across her face.
"Which one?" she asked softly.
I stared at her, brain frozen.
"Which one's been bullying you?" Sharper now.
I followed her gaze to the gate and spotted Tina Brooks with her two sidekicks.
Laughing, carefree—like she hadn't dumped coffee on my head yesterday.
My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms.
Mom's face darkened.
"Anna, show me."
Under her stare, I raised a trembling finger and pointed at Tina.
Mom opened the car door and got out.
Her heels clicked on the pavement, each step pounding in my chest.
I sat there watching her cut through the crowd like a knife, heading straight for her target.
My mom stood out completely—she didn't belong in this world of half-awake teenagers.
She stopped right in front of Tina.
Tina was mid-laugh with her friends when Mom interrupted. Annoyance flashed across her face.
Mom ignored the others and asked, "Did you pour coffee on my daughter yesterday?"
Tina smirked, crossed her arms, looked Mom up and down—clearly amused, about to mouth off.
But then the slap cracked through the air, cutting through every sound in that crowded space.
For a second, the whole world went silent.
Tina's cheek turned bright red instantly, a perfect handprint blooming across her face.
She clutched her cheek, too shocked to even cry.
Mom just shook out her wrist like she'd flicked off dust.
She raised her voice so everyone could hear.
"My daughter is my treasure. Just because I didn't teach her to fight back doesn't mean you get to touch her. Remember this slap—next time you see her, you walk the other way."
Then she turned and strode back toward the car while every student and teacher watched in stunned silence.
She opened the door, pulled my dazed self out, and walked me into the school building like that slap was nothing.