She didn’t know whose it was. She heard Scott’s car stop outside, engine running, waiting to drive her to school. She knew it wasn’t his.
Her mother yelled from the next room. “June, that boy’s outside. Tell him to get a new muffler.”
Things were increasingly difficult around the house since the doctor had diagnosed her mom bipolar. June figured she had her reasons for refusing to take the medication. She complained the meds made tired and sleepy, dead inside, like someone else had taken hold of her mind. She told June she could handle the disorder without meds. Her last two bosses didn’t agree. She’d been fired.
June fussed with her hair; she put it up in a French twist bun every morning. Her sister, gone and living on her own 100 miles north, had taught her how to do it. Now it was just the two of them and June felt like she was the mother.
June thought about the time she spent on the braid—fifteen minutes even when her hair was wet—maybe it wasn't worth it. She’d soon have a lot more to take care of.