Free Web NovelChapter 44: Chapter 44 - Claire’s Promise
Roxie made it all the way to Monday morning without texting Zac first.
That deserved recognition.
Maybe a medal.
Maybe a doctor, because her brain had been embarrassing all night. It kept replaying the kiss like she had paid for a private screening. His hand on her face. His mouth on hers. The way she had kissed him back like every smart part of her had quit at the same time.
By the time she reached her locker, she had slept maybe three hours and looked alive only because concealer existed.
Angela and Karen were already waiting.
Roxie stopped. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You’re hiding something," Angela said. "What happened after the carnival?"
She faced them. "What is this interrogation? I went home."
"We’ve been friends long enough. I can smell a lie from you," Karen said, stepping closer.
Angela stepped closer too, lowering her voice. "You disappeared. Then we heard the football team got into it with some Fairmont guy because of a girl."
Roxie’s fingers tightened around her notebook. Thank God nobody had a picture.
"I don’t know," she said. "You know boys. They probably fought over the game."
Angela stared at her.
Karen stared at her.
Roxie shut her locker. "I went home."
"Uh-huh," Angela said.
"I’d tell you if something happened."
The lie sat badly in her mouth, but she kept her face steady because that was what she did.
Angela’s face softened for half a breath, and Roxie hated that more than the interrogation.
Then Angela’s eyes moved past her.
"Oh," Angela said. "Here comes the star."
Roxie did not turn.
Karen’s voice dropped. "Zac just walked in."
Roxie adjusted the strap of her bag. "Shocking. Briarwick still allows students inside the building."
"He’s looking over here," Angela whispered.
"Then he has eyes."
"And a busted lip."
That almost got her.
Almost.
Roxie started walking. "We’re going to class. Also, stop trying to become investigators."
Angela hurried after her. "Our class is the other way."
Roxie stopped.
Karen pressed her lips together like she was fighting for her life.
Roxie turned around with as much dignity as she could manage while escaping in the wrong direction before first period.
The drink was already on her desk when she walked into Chemistry.
No note.
Roxie sat without touching it.
Zac came in two minutes later, and the room shifted like always. Boys greeted him. Girls looked up. Someone said something about Homecoming. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
He sat at the back.
Far enough that he did not have to talk to her.
Close enough that she still knew he was there and probably looking at her.
Roxie kept her eyes on her notebook the whole period.
When the bell rang, she stared at the bottle.
Then she slid it into her bag and left before she could look back.
The rest of the day blurred into noise.
Homecoming posters. People talking about dresses. Girls comparing colors in the bathroom. Someone asking if limo rentals were already booked. Angela complaining about voting drama. Karen saying she would rather fake a fever than deal with the whole week.
Roxie laughed in the right places.
She answered when people spoke to her.
She acted normal so hard it was basically cardio.
By practice, her body had started to hate her.
Coach Miller made them run the Homecoming routine until standing still started sounding like a reward. The gym was humid. The speakers kept glitching. Ava almost came down wrong from a cradle, and Roxie had to correct spacing twice before anyone listened.
Kendall made one comment about Roxie being half a count late.
Roxie smiled through her teeth and hit the next run so sharply Coach Miller stopped yelling at her side of the formation.
By the time practice ended, her legs felt weak and her hair stuck to the back of her neck. Angela complained all the way to the benches. Karen had a blister and had decided everyone needed updates.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
Her backpack dug into her shoulder. The sky had turned gray, and the air smelled like rain and wet pavement. Cars rushed past the main road, full of people going home to houses where someone probably asked about their day and meant it.
Her phone buzzed.
Ethan.
You free today?
Roxie stared at the message while walking.
She had been messaging him when she had the chance. Little replies. Harmless ones.
Today, even that felt impossible.
She locked her phone and kept walking.
By the time she reached her house, the porch light was off.
The front curtain was crooked. The living room lamp glowed through the window. One of Claire’s old shoes sat near the porch chair, tipped on its side like she had stepped out of it and forgotten feet usually came in pairs.
Roxie climbed the steps and unlocked the door.
The smell hit first.
Stale perfume. Cigarette smoke. Something sweet and chemical underneath.
Her chest went tight.
"Mom?"
No answer.
Roxie shut the door and dropped her cheer bag near the wall.
The living room was a mess again, even though she had cleaned before school. A blanket had fallen halfway off the couch. An empty takeout container sat open on the coffee table. A lipstick tube had rolled under the chair. Claire’s purse lay upside down, its contents spilled across the carpet.
Claire was on the couch.
Her head rested against the arm of the couch, hair tangled around her face. Her lipstick was smeared at the corner of her mouth. One hand hung over the edge, fingers loose. Her eyes were half-open and glassy.
Roxie stopped.
For a moment, she was eight again, standing in a doorway and trying to decide whether her mother was asleep or gone.
Then Claire blinked.
"Roxxane?" she mumbled.
Roxie let out a breath. "Yeah. It’s me."
Claire gave her a lazy smile. "My pretty girl."
Roxie stayed near the coffee table. "What did you take?"
Claire’s smile dropped. "Nothing. Don’t start."
"I’m asking."
"You always ask like a cop."
Roxie stepped around the coffee table and started picking things up because her body always did that. It cleaned. It fixed. It made paths through messes other people left behind.
Her fingers reached the magazine on the table.
A small plastic bag was tucked halfway under it.
Roxie picked it up.
Claire pushed herself up a little. "Don’t touch my things."
Roxie stared at the bag.
Her stomach dropped.
She bought drugs again.
The money.
Roxie turned to her. "Did you get the advance you told me about?"
Claire blinked slowly. "What advance?"
Roxie went still.
Claire rubbed her temple like Roxie was the headache. Then she sighed.
"Oh. That." frёewebnoѵēl.com
"My dress," Roxie said.
Claire rolled her eyes and sank back against the couch. "God, Roxie. Don’t start."
"What happened to the money?"
"I needed it."
"For what?"
"Things."
Roxie’s fingers tightened around the plastic bag. "What things?"
Claire snapped her gaze to her. "Things for this house. Things you don’t understand because you think everything is just cheer practice and dresses."
Roxie laughed once, sharp and ugly. "You spent it on drugs."
Claire’s face hardened. "Watch your mouth."
"How much is left?"
Claire looked away.
Roxie stepped closer. "How much?"
"I said I’ll handle it."
"How much is left, Mom?"
Claire glared at her. "None. Are you happy now?"
The word hit hard because Claire said it like Roxie was the problem.
Like Roxie had ruined the night by asking.
Roxie stood in the middle of the living room with practice sweat drying cold on her skin and her backpack strap digging into her shoulder.
The dress money was gone.
The money Claire had promised.
The money Roxie had been stupid enough to believe in for a few days.
Claire threw one hand up. "Don’t look at me like that. I said I’ll find a way."
"No."
"Roxie."
"No." Roxie grabbed her cheer bag from the floor. "Don’t promise me anything."
Claire scoffed. "Fine. Be dramatic."
Roxie stopped at the hallway.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag until her fingers hurt.
"You’re always sorry after it’s gone," she said. "But you don’t even sound sorry tonight."
Claire looked away.
That was worse than an apology.
Roxie walked to her room and shut the door before she said something she could never take back.
Her bedroom was dark except for the thin gray light slipping through the curtains. She shut the door and dropped her bag beside the bed.
For a while, she stood with both hands pressed over her face.
She did not cry right away.
That made it worse.
Her body held everything in, tight and shaking, as if it could still keep the whole house standing through pure stubbornness.
Homecoming is coming.
Roxie sank onto the edge of her bed.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
For one stupid second, she thought it might be Angela or Karen, and she almost wanted it to be them. Almost wanted someone to push through her pride and ask the right question until she cracked.
But it was Zac.
Goodnight, Roxie.
Roxie stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Her throat closed.
Zac knew pieces of her life now. He knew her house. He knew the street. He knew enough to understand that Briarwick only saw the version she worked hard to keep polished.
For once, she had someone she could talk to.
And they were barely talking.
She wanted to talk to him.
That was the part that broke her.
Roxie bent forward, phone clutched in both hands, and cried so silently it hurt.
She cried because her mother had spent the money.
She cried because she wanted the dress.
She cried because wanting it made her feel shallow, even though every girl at Briarwick was allowed to want things without turning them into survival issues.
She cried because Angela and Karen would help if she asked, and she would rather swallow glass than explain why she needed it.
She cried because Zac was the only person outside this house who had seen part of the truth, and he was still there, quiet and careful, from the distance she demanded.
The tears came harder. Hot. Angry. Embarrassing.
She covered her mouth with her hand so Claire would not hear.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Some stupid part of Roxie still did not want to make her mother feel worse.
