Looking at my mother's face was like looking into a magical mirror that aged me a decade and a half. Physically, we were near identical.

Years and years of binge drinking, drugs, and partying had taken their toll, but Brandy Curtis was still exquisitely beautiful. She was fair haired and blue eyed, but had an exotic quality to her features that was rare for people of her coloring. Her eyes were large, wide set and slightly feline, her nose snubbed just so at the tip to give her an air of perpetual innocence despite the fact that she was anything but.

Her favorite feature were her wide, generous lips that were "pillowy" to a degree where it bordered obscenity. She pursed them now, the beginnings of wrinkles appearing at the corners as she used a wet towel to rub her makeup off.

I hadn't seen her in a week, but that wasn't unusual for us. She liked to hit the bars after work and stayed until the early morning hours dancing on tables, toying with men, and throwing drinks at women who got in her way. Then she went home with whatever guy caught her fancy - and there never was a shortage of men who wanted her company.

"What happened to your face?" I asked her, staring at the angry red scab on her hairline.

She snorted. "Peggy Armstrong, that stupid cunt."

I grimaced at her language but didn't say anything. She'd only tell me to get off my high horse if I did.

"She broke a fucking bottle right over my face," she said, examining the wound with the small tabletop mirror in front of her. She delicately pressed on the injury with her pinky finger and winced.

"Oh," I said. I didn't bother asking what happened next. My mom was no shrinking violet. She gave as good as she got, and then some.

I guess my mom was the ultimate bad girl. She was strong and tough, and took no shit from anybody. Although she was undereducated - dropped out of 9th grade- she was smart and savvy where it mattered. She did and said only what she pleased with little regard to consequences, and she honestly didn't care a lick for what people thought of her. She truly would've been formidable had she applied herself to something other than partying.

Mom dropped her makeup case on the table and folded her long, lean body into a chair. "So, did you finally let that boy pop your precious little cherry?"

"Ugh. Please stop," I groaned, flopped back on the bed and placed a pillow over my face.

Peyton had scrambled to his feet when she'd come in. He'd made polite small talk, as if they hadn't seen each other at his house a matter of hours ago. Then he excused himself, bid us both good night and got the hell out of Dodge.

"I was sixteen when I had you," she said, studying her pores in the mirror.

God Daddy, what were you thinking? I opened my book and tried to focus.

"You know, if you manage to get yourself knocked up by that one, you'll never have to worry about money again in your life," she said. "And if that's not motivation enough for you, let me tell you that if he's anything like his daddy, he'll be real big where it counts."

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. In my darkest hours, in my weakest moments, I'd considered it. How could I not? I knew first hand how hard life could be, and who knew what the future held for me? But then I'd look at his face, and all thoughts of that ugly business would vanish. I would never ever do that to him.

"I'm not listening to you," I mumbled at my mom.

"Real generous too, with money and his body," she added, then laughed. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Still not listening."

She snorted, then grew quiet, so I peered over my book at her. My heart softened. She looked vulnerable without her makeup on, haggard and worn. Lately, her skin had taken on an unhealthy yellowish tone, and dark circles had become permanent fixtures beneath her eyes. I saw my future self again - if I gave up the fight and went down the road I was destined to walk.

Yeah, she was selfish, immature, and a shit mother, but I couldn't hate her. It was all she knew. She too, had been raised by a poor, single, teenage mother in a trailer park not far form here. What hope did she have? This was her normal - our normal.

"Brandy?"

She'd insisted I call her by her first name on the day we met, and got upset if I didn't. I only called her mom in my head, because I liked the idea of it.

She patted on a thick layer of foundation. "What baby?"

"Do you know Earl Waites?"

She narrowed her eyes and snapped her head around to look at me. She looked freakish with one eye lined in coal black and the other bare and tired. "You're not sweet on Jake Waites, are you?"

"Of course I'm not."

She gave me a long, calculating look. "Listen baby, a boy like Jake..." She gave a short bark of laughter. "Well, that's how you end up just like me."

I traced circles on the sheet, avoiding her gaze.

"You listen to me and you listen to me good. We have to make the most of what we get baby girl. God might've shortchanged us on money and luck, but he sure made up for it in beauty. That's what caught the Bishop boy's eye and that's what's been keeping him sniffing around you for the last three years. You'd be a god damned fool not to take advantage of that."

"It's not like that with us," I said, knowing it was a futile gesture but still needing to defend us.

She snorted and shot a knowing glance at my new phone. "Do you really think he'd be buying you nice things and spending all his time with you if you weren't pretty?"

I said nothing because to be honest, I liked to think that he would've, but I didn't truly know.

"Don't be too stupid to know when to roll over and thank your lucky stars honey. I know you like to dream that reading your fancy books and going to college is going to change your life, but if you were really smart, you'd use what you have between your legs to your advantage, because that's where your only real power's at.

Take it from someone who's lived longer than you. I've been around and I've seen things, and let me tell you, nothing in the world matters more than money."

"Is that why you're marrying Buck Reynolds?" I sneered, unable to check the sarcasm in my voice.

She shot me a nasty look, her eyes blazing fire. Yes, they were just like eyes of a lioness right before she struck at her prey. I backed down, just like everyone else did when Brandy Curtis flashed her temper.

"Well, at least you're doing something right by stringing him along. Take enough lickings from the world and you'll learn, I just hope for your sake that he'll still be around when you finally do."

My mom finished her makeup, got dressed and went back out, leaving a trail of cheap perfume behind her.

She never even noticed my bandaged ankle.

*****

My neighbors to the left, a couple in their forties, got drunk and fought violently every single night,. Then they followed it up with really noisy makeup sex.

I tried to focus on my book, but it was hard to do with all the screaming, the crashing and pounding going on right behind my head.

Maybe I'll treat myself to a pair of headphones I thought, giving up on the book and surfing the Internet on my shiny new phone. What a treat it was to have the world at my fingertips... I couldn't remember if Peyton had heard me thank him. I'd have to do it again.

I was scrolling through the cheap versions when he texted.

Peyton: Asleep?

Layla: Nope

Peyton: Mom home?

Layla: Went out

I smiled when his image popped up on the screen. He was in bed, topless, sitting up against a glossy dark headboard.

"It's nice isn't it?" he said.

"What, the phone?"

"No, being able to see each other when we talk. Now I won't miss you as much when I'm at school."

I watched myself smile again on the smaller screen.

"Stop checking yourself out and look at me," he said.

I laughed and brought the phone in for a close up of my eye. "There. Nothing but you. Are you happy now?"

He laughed, and I pulled back. "Are you feeling better?" I asked.

"I'm good."

"You didn't have to leave, you know, when she came home. She doesn't care about things like that."

"Do you want me to come back over?"

I did, but I didn't say so.

"Peyton, do you think I lead you on?"

He frowned. "Is that what your mom told you?"

I shrugged.

He thought about it, his face becoming soft and pensive. He settled for the half truth we always told ourselves, and each other. "What's there to lead me on about? We're just friends."

My lips twitched. "Best friends."

"I mean, we practically braid each others' hair," he agreed.

I laughed. "Come over Peyton. Bring ice cream."

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