Page 29 of Crossed

The credit card burns in my wallet, practically screeching at me to keep it locked away and start actually payingoffthe debt, not adding more. But I don’t have a choice. Every transaction is another pile of dirt on my unmarked grave, burying me alive. And the only person who can dig me out is the same man who’s got the shovel.

I could scream, but there’s no one around who would care.

Reaching out, I grab three giant boxes of the off- brand shells and cheese, tossing them into the cart. It’s been what Quinten has requested for dinner without fail every single night for the past three months, and while I know it’s coating his insides with synthetic cheese, at least I know he’s eating.

“Watch where you’re going,” a sharp voice hisses.

My head snaps up just as Quinten cowers back, running toward me and gripping onto my pant leg, his lips sucking in to keep from showing emotion.

I narrow my eyes as I zone in on Florence Gammond.

She sneers as she looks me up and down, her pinched face souring like she’s sucked on a warhead. Her auburn hair is exquisitely curled and her pantsuit is perfectly pressed, and I lift my chin to keep from feeling two inches tall in her presence.

“Amaya,” she says, her muddy brown eyes cutting.

“Florence.”

“Keep that kid in line,” she snips.

My fingers grip the handle of the grocery cart so tightly my knuckles blanch.

“You can’t just let him run off and into people,” she keeps going. “If he doesn’t have the capacity to pay attention or to apologize like a normal person, then maybe he shouldn’t be in public places like this.”

Anger floods through me so quickly my body shakes. I glance down at Quinten, but he’s already on to the next thing, tracing the faded letters of the store name on the side of the cart. Still, I know he’s paying attention, so I try to contain my anger.

“You’re the adult, Florence. Maybeyoushould be the one paying attention.” My voice comes out surprisingly steady.

It’s in moments like this that I thank God for my poker face.

Florence loves to sniff out even the slightest weakness. With me especially, she’ll find one and use it to cut me down until I’m nothing but loose thread that’s frayed on the floor. She hated my mother for having Parker, and she hates me because I’m all he wants. But I wish she’d get it through her thick head that I don’t wanthim.

She scoffs, and I lightly touch Quinten’s back to get his attention before moving to walk past her. In this town, avoidance iskey. We veer almost all the way to the right- hand side, which is plenty of room to steer clear of the hag, but she moves intomypath, her shoulder ramming into mine until my feet stumble.

I pause, gritting my teeth to keep from throat punching her.

“You know,” she whisper hisses. “You should be more careful, Amaya.”

Anger weaves its way through my body, knocking on my calm like a hammer on a nail.

“I’d hate for Quinten to keep having run-ins at school,” she continues, glancing down at her nails. “You know I had the superintendent over for brunch just last week. I hear he’s on his last strike as it is.”

Deep, steady breaths. In and out. Don’t show the emotion on your face.

It’s difficult because theemotionis rolling through me like a banging drum, growing louder with each violent beat of my heart.

She knows damn well it’s not Quinten causing the issues.

“I don’t think we’re the ones who need to be careful, Florence.”

Her eyes flash with alarm, but she covers it quickly. “Are you threatening me? Is that some sort of spell?”

I smirk. The ridiculous people in this town still think I’m a witch, as if anyone here is important enough for me to expelanyenergy toward. All because my mother called me one when she lost her mind in the middle of the square after finding out I knew Parker was fucking Florence and hadn’t thought to tell her.

My mother’s mad at me today.

What else is new.

“Sit up straight, Amaya. Your slouching is ugly,” she hisses at me.