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“KENNEDY Amber Smith!” My mother’s high-pitched voice rang through our single-wide trailer.

I had pissed her off again. Not that it was anything new.

She yelled at me through the open door as if it were closed.

Loud enough that it caused me to jump out of bed and frantically search for something to wear.

“You’re late for school. Again. Girl, when will you ever get it together?

Why can’t you be more like Megan?” Words spilled from her mouth, but all I heard was, “Blah, blah, blah.” It was always the same with her; she constantly complained about stupid, insignificant things.

At least with her out of sight, I could roll my eyes without getting slapped.

I didn’t have my own alarm clock and my big sister, Megan, who I shared a room with, always refused to wake me up for school.

The way she figured, I was old enough to get up on my own.

Being fourteen sucked; too old to be treated like a kid, too young to be treated as an adult. The everlasting in-between.

Our mom hardly ever bothered to get out of bed to see us off to school, so it startled me even more that her voice bounced off the walls.

She didn’t have anywhere to be that early, so she usually stayed in her room while Megan and I helped the younger kids get ready.

It’s not like she had a real job like everyone else’s parents.

She earned her money from whoever she let spend the night in her bed.

She called it “entertaining”, but I knew what she was doing, and it made me sick.

Since she was up, it was probably one of her regular guys.

I must have been tired, I slept so hard I didn’t even hear them through the thin walls. I looked out my bedroom window to see who had parked their car in the driveway overnight. It was my way of preparing for which face to put on.

We rarely interacted with any of the men; the regulars were the exception. I was nice to Issac—white F-150—because he was nice to me. If his night fell on a weekend, he would make pancakes for all of us kids the next morning.

Mike was a jerk—black minivan—I refused to even look at him.

He had no patience for smaller kids. One morning, my sister, Emily, hid behind my legs when Mike yelled at her to be quiet.

I found my voice, raised it, and advised my mom’s friend that he had better not scare my sister again.

I didn’t expect my mom to slap me across the face for protecting her.

Steve—red Camaro—was okay in the beginning, but anymore, the way he looked at me gave me the creeps.

Last week, he winked at me and reached for my arm.

I tried to pull away, but his grasp was too strong.

He forced me to sit on his lap and whispered in my ear, “you’re so pretty, Kennedy.

And so young.” He tried to kiss my neck, but I wriggled away.

I told my mom that he tried to touch me, but she blew me off.

Told me to forget it, that I was imagining things.

A newer model silver Camry sat in the driveway buried under a fresh layer of snow, so I knew it wasn’t any of them. Of all the men my mom “entertained”—her word, not mine—more than one drove this kind of car, but none ever stayed more than a couple hours.

I found a halfway clean sweatshirt and jeans in the dirty laundry basket and pulled them on, ran my fingers through my shoulder-length curly brown hair, and stuffed my feet into bear-foot shaped slippers to ward off the mid-winter cold which permeated the floors.

Even at fourteen, I knew that what my mom did was wrong, but as she explained, how else would we eat? I told her that maybe she should go get a job at Dollar General or as a receptionist at the hospital.

Even a waitress or bartender was something she could be proud of and actually tell people what she did for a living. She wouldn’t hear it; told me how I was too young to understand her struggles and I didn’t know what she had to put up with—whatever that meant.

If my daddy had stuck around, maybe things would be different. Maybe not, but I liked to think about “what if.”

What if he had been a caring person who would fight for his family and his kid?

What if he didn’t leave Seward for a college education in Anchorage?

What if he was man enough to break the cycle of his own family tree?

From what Mom told me, his dad left when he was a kid, too. She thought telling me that would help me feel like I wasn’t alone. Didn’t work. She didn’t even bother to give me his last name: Johnson. The only thing he gave me was his genes.

Tom Johnson had been on a vacation with friends in Seward when he met my mom. They hooked up and she got pregnant. He had already enrolled in college and didn’t want to be tied down with a kid. Gee, thanks, Dad.

He and Megan’s dad had the same MO, though—neither of them cared, they didn’t want to have anything to do with us. They walked away from their responsibilities and didn’t even bother to pay child support. More information than a fourteen-year-old needed to know, but here we are .

Most of Mom’s middle-of-the-night phone calls when she’s drunk were to my little brother, Nathan’s dad.

He was the only one who still answered her calls.

The normal conversations began with her begging for money, and ended with her screaming obscenities, then slamming the phone on the counter.

Those nights, she’d cry herself to sleep.

In my opinion, Mom is so hard to deal with that she scared our dads away even if they cared at one time, but Megan doesn’t agree.

She thinks all they’re losers and we were just dealt a bad hand.

Except Zack. He was the lucky one. His dad got full custody last year after our mom showed her true self in court.

When she came home without Zack, she told us kids about how she chewed out the judge when he asked stupid questions. No one needed to convince him Mom was an unfit mother; she proved it herself.

Mom must have been hungover; her hair was in a rat’s nest and her makeup was smudged.

A bruise on her neck became more visible with each passing second.

Usually, she did her best to be presentable the next morning, to make sure her friend returned for more.

She didn’t even have the energy to completely close her robe, her black lace bra and panties peeked out through the opening.

A gust of cold air rushed through the front door as the man from last night left. Mom leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed. “That was a rough night, he barely let me sleep. He left a nice tip, but I’m almost too old to entertain like that anymore.”

EIGHTH GRADERS were supposed to have best friends and people they could count on when life turned bad.

At least, that’s what it looked like for everyone but me.

I was the only girl in class who didn’t have a buddy to study with or eat with.

Even in grade school, no one ever wanted to play with me during recess.

Most of the time, I chose to stay inside and read. Next year, in high school, I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone. Next year, I’d be able to hide in the library and study as much as I want without anyone knowing any better.

Only a few of my classmates lived in the trailer park and they were part of the smelly kid group.

Everyone knew how poor they were and that their family life was depressing.

I refused to walk the two miles through spring breakup to school with them because I didn’t want anyone to think we were alike.

Thankfully, my mom demanded that all her kids stay clean and taught us to care about how we looked to others. Megan caught a ride with her boyfriend but wouldn’t let me tag along. Whenever I asked Mom to drive me, she would shrug and say she didn’t have enough gas.

Melted snow mixed with the still-frozen ice patches and I managed to step in almost all the slush.

My boots from last year were too small and had cracks in the soles, letting freezing cold water seep through to my socks.

At the beginning of last winter, I got smart and shoved my feet into Ziploc bags before pulling on the boots.

Even if my feet were cold, at least they would stay dry.

When I finally made it to my locker, I changed into sneakers. Alan Martin, my locker mate, told me every day how smart I was for thinking of the Ziploc solution.

The popular kids ignored me, which was better than getting picked on, like Alan. The boys made fun of his ripped clothes and messy hair every day. He wasn’t a good-looking kid, and he didn’t get good grades, but maybe someday he’d grow into himself. At least he didn’t smell.

Kids of two backgrounds jammed the hallway—the “have its” and the “don’t have its.

” Those who “have it” were gorgeous and rich.

They wore all the newest fashions, donned the latest hairstyles, and rode to school in their parents’ Hummer or BMW instead of walking or riding the bus.

They ran the halls and decided who would be welcomed into their group and who would be forever ostracized.

These same kids thought Megan had it; she knew exactly who to hang out with and what to say so they didn’t find out her truth. I had learned some of her tricks, but the fact still remained that I didn’t have it. No question. Not even close.

Teachers and my mom’s boyfriends always told me I was pretty, but even I knew you couldn’t trust what adults say.

They’ll lie to you just so you don’t turn into a mean, uncaring person.

Just because they said I was great, didn’t mean I was, or ever would be.

One day, maybe I would be lucky enough to find a good guy, get married, and move to Florida or California.

I’ve seen plenty of palm trees on TV and wished, with all my might, that someone would get me out of Alaska.

The bell for lunch startled me out of my warm-weather daydream.

The days seemed to meld together, each one the same as before.

Lunch hour was my favorite time of the day.

One server would sneak extra dessert onto my plate if she noticed I was in a mood.

Her daughter, Brittany, would be going to Seward High School next year, and she promised I would have a friend waiting for me when I got there.

I always sat at the table closest to the hallway entrance so I could escape if I needed to.

One of my weird quirks; I hated to be trapped.

Once I finished my cold French fries, I picked up my chocolate milk just to have it batted from my hand.

I frowned, ready to kick someone’s ass for messing with my food.

I searched for the source and found Cody Miller standing over me with a big grin.

His buddies laughed and gave high-fives.

Long strands of blonde hair framed his symmetrical facial features.

Blue eyes sparkled as he took in my surprise.

Not only his gorgeous face, but everything about him checked off the boxes of my description of perfection.

His quarterback physique, his straight-A report card brain, and his smooth, deep voice.

“Kennedy, right?” My mouth hung open as he straddled the seat beside me. I could hardly believe he knew my name. Cody sat in the front row of my English class and always turned around to look in my direction, but I thought maybe he was eyeing the new blonde girl with boobs who sat behind me.

My voice shook. “Hey, Cody.”

“Want to go to the dance with me Friday night?”

In that moment, all my dreams came true—in an instant, my social status changed for the better. I could visualize graduation, getting married, moving to Florida, and having four kids as if it were written in the stars.

“Okay.”