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She climbs into the vehicle, and I turn to open the passenger side door. "Bye, Silas."

He stops me with a hand on the back of my neck, his lips finding mine. He kisses me hard for anyone to see for the very first time.

And, likely, for the last time.

I break away when my mom lays on the horn. "Let's go! Now!"

"I love you, Noah," he says. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. "Okay."

I climb into the car, and he closes the door gently behind me and walks toward the building. I reach for my seatbelt, meeting my mom's eyes after I fasten it.

She looks me up and down with that same grimace as before.

"What?"

"What she said…it's true, isn't it?"

"I don't know what she said, so I'm not sure."

"She said you were in bed with both of them."

I don't answer.

"Well, you earned that black eye, didn't you? I thought you were more responsible than this."

"I'm eighteen. I'm an adult now—I don't feel like I owe you an explanation, but no, I don't think Iearnedmy black eye."

"Being an adult only means you have to bemorecareful, Noah; surely you realize that." She pauses, shaking her head. "This is what you do when I'm working and you're supposed to be looking for a job? You're a whore?"

"No…"

"People who care about you don't treat you like that. You know that, right?"

I shrug. Apparently, I don't. Like I said, it was all very confusing. I knew it had to be wrong to some extent, but it didn't feel bad.

But it does now. She's probably right.

"God, you're lucky I'm getting you out of here now." She shakes her head as she puts the vehicle in reverse. After backing out, we sit there for a moment, waiting for Paul to get the moving truck turned around. "You have a chance to be someone different—to actuallybesomeone. I suggest you take itveryseriously."

Here we go again. More warnings.

People say we look a lot alike—my mother and I—and I can see it. The same green eyes, the same freckles. But her hair is dark and streaked with grey that started early, a face that's maybe aged a little beyond her years due to questionable lifestyle choices which led to a drug addiction and a handful of felonies.

And aside from those eyes and freckles, I don't know what we have in common. I don't know much about the woman next to me; I don't know what made her. I just know that, whatever it was, made it impossible for her to be more than this to me—more than a warning.

You'll end up alone. You'll end up broke. You'll end up homeless or in prison. Trust me; listen to me. You'll end up on drugs. I know what I'm talking about.

You'll end up like me.

She puts the car in drive and begins following the moving truck out of the parking lot before suddenly screeching to a halt. My head slams back against the headrest, and when I lookup, Tate stands in front of the car. I blink, sending tears rolling down my face, salt stinging the cut under my left eye.

I fix my gaze forward as he walks to my side of the vehicle and pounds his fist against the window. "Noah! Hey! Wait!"

He tries the door handle a few times, but it's locked. My mom honks the horn.

"I just want to talk to her for a minute! Noah, please?"