Chapter 1
Complex Relationship
Boring.
Skye Tucker wrote the same entry in her diary for the third day.
Oct 16 — Boring.
Oct 17 — Boring.
Oct 18 — Boring.
It was pointless to repeat the same thing. Skye tossed the hardcover book off her bed. That’s where her life story belonged, on the floor, lost among dirty clothes and failed homework attempts.
“I hate middle school,” she shouted at her pet rabbit, Tigger. His soft nose sniffed at the bars of his cage.
Skye reached for the diary on the floor and scrawled in big letters.
Why did Delaney go?
Skye planted the dot below the question mark with force.
Delaney had been her best friend in elementary school. But in the sixth grade, Delaney’s parents divorced, and she moved out of state.
Now Skye couldn’t help herself. She desperately wanted a close friend—like a moth wants light. It didn’t have to be Delaney, but it had to be someone who accepted her as she was.
Skye stared at the glow-in-the-dark star constellations she’d glued to her bedroom ceiling. But they weren’t glowing yet. Tears slipped, one after the other, into the mass of dark ringlets that was her hair. Her throat made a gasp as she choked back a sob.
“Hello, I’m home. Skye girl, you there?” Mom called from the kitchen.
Skye wiped her eyes and sat up. “Yep. Here.”
They lived in a small apartment, so Skye heard keys tossed onto the counter, shoes fall to the floor, and the fridge door pulled open.
“I’m going out.”
Mom’s young face was in Skye’s doorway. Sometimes, people confuse them as classmates instead of mother and daughter.
“Forty dollars. That’s all I need.”
Mom put on a fake smile and held a hand out.
Skye handled the household’s petty cash. When it came to money, they had to reverse their roles. When it came to the most essential things, Skye acted like the parent, and Mom was the irresponsible, free-spirited person she had always been.
Skye’s dark brows made a V. She knew that “going out” meant drinking with girlfriends. That never led to anything good.
“I don’t think so. The account is almost empty again.”
“He hasn’t sent it yet?”
Child support was automatically deposited each month from a man Skye had never met. Mom wouldn’t discuss the subject. She just said, “him,” or “that man.”
Skye hadn’t even seen a picture of her father, but she imagined him as African American. He had to be Black because she was obviously of mixed race. Mom was White, so her father must be Black. What else could explain her wild hair that took hours to tame into the bouncy cascades everybody admired?
Skye had the only ATM card and passcode for the bank account that the stranger refilled each month. Mom had agreed to the arrangement after one of her binges left them moneyless and with nothing to eat for days.
“I don’t think he sends it so you can buy booze at the bar on a weeknight.”
“Oh, so now you know everything? At thirteen, you suddenly think you’re in charge. I thought we were a team, but hey, if you don’t want to share, you can go live on the street. This is MY apartment. I call the shots.” Mom’s words grew into an angry shout. “Come on, warden, hand it over. Now.”
Skye sat on her bed with her arms crossed. She stared without budging.
“I have as much right to that money as you do.”
Mom spoke with a bitter hostility Skye had heard many times before. She held her silence because she knew it was the addiction talking.
“Seriously, if you don’t share, I don’t need you here. You can find someplace else to live.”
Mom nodded at the door. Her meaning was clear, Give me cash or get out of the house.
With a shake of her head, Skye held her resolve.
No one spoke.
They were like two elk with their antlers locked. Neither would back down, and neither could push forward. They were forced to stare, eye to eye, at their adversary.
Skye patiently stood her ground because she understood something about her mother. Mom had been kicked like a dog by so many people that she didn’t know whom to trust. She accepted creeps and pushed away good help.
Skye loved her mother, but their relationship was complex. And it was Skye’s terrible secret. Under no circumstances could anyone ever find out about these arguments.
Why can’t I have a normal life? I just want to be a normal teenager with a normal best friend.1
1 Hebrews 4:15, 16