1And here it was: the last week of Cassandra's day at work. She had worked at the local coffee shop, Cuppa Good, for the four long years she was in high school. Then, the summer before college, she had spent practically 14 hours each day fixing cappuccinos and espressos and lattes. But now, she was almost done. One more week. One last week of dealing with annoying busybody mothers and awful businessmen. Only 7 days left.
It had been a quiet day. Most of the day, she had spent picking at her nails, annoyed that the pink paint had chipped away in most places, revealing random spots of the nail underneath. It didn't help that she had been rushed when she was doing it, smudging the pale pink polish onto her mud-colored skin. She had tried to be so careful, as to make her hands look halfway decent. But, like the rest of her, they were ruined. With her dry, cracking skin and frizzy black hair, most of the girls at school had made fun of her. "Afro cow", they called her, "Leatherskin". As if she could change her genetics to make her skin any less drab. If she could, she would. It had felt awful enough to be the only African-American student at the prestigious Graysen Academy, but to be ugly as well, that was just a double whammy of pain.
Pushing her hat down for the umpteenth time in an effort to control her crazy curls, she looked around the shop. There was a couple in the corner, staring into each other's eyes like lovesick teenagers. The man clutched the other's pale hands like they would save him from death, and they was biting on their bottom lip hard enough it seemed a miracle that they weren't bleeding. Cassandra thought it was sweet that they were so open with their love, as opposed to the prim and proper cardboard cutout married couples in town, with their strained smiles and uncomfortable glances at her. Across the room, an older woman typed furiously on her laptop, dressed for a meeting but cursing at her computer enough to be ready for a fight.
"So close. So, so, close," Cassandra mumbled, sighing deeply.
The bell rang, but she didn't look up until the customer was at the counter.
"Hello, and welcome to Cuppa Good-" Cassandra said, staring at the countertop, "- how may I help you?"
"Hmm, one black coffee and a lemon square, please, darling," the customer said, their voice thick and edged with a slight drawl.
Cassandra nodded, looking up for a moment and stopping in her tracks.
The customer, in a word, was a goddess. Not literally, but as close as you could get.
She had long hair that was pulled back in a braid and thrown over her shoulder, dyed at least ten different colors. She wore a navy blue dress shirt and white jeans, coupled with knee-high black boots and an array of gold jewelry. There were her stunning gold heart earrings, the lines of gold bracelets on her wrists, and the elegant golden key Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement, and her tan skin practically glowed with confidence. She had to be at least 21, if not older.
"Um, yeah, one minute," Cassandra said, her voice squeaking.
"Take your time, sweetie," the woman said, winking.
Cassandra somehow managed to get her thoughts together enough to prepare the coffee and grab the pastry, although she managed to tear her sleeve in her rush. She'd have to mend it later, or she'd pay for it.
"Sorry for the wait, er, miss," Cassandra mumbled, shakily holding out her order.
"Thanks. And it's Rodey, my name, I mean. I assume you're Cassandra, by your nametag?"
"Um, yeah, Cassandra is my name," she said, dumbstruck that a beautiful woman was actually talking to her.
"Well, it was lovely meeting you, Cassandra. Lovely shirt, by the way," Rodey said, smiling as she turned to leave.
Cassandra rose one eyebrow, looking at her shirt. Had she spilled something on it? She just had the tear in the sleeve, but otherwise-
Her eyes widened. The tear was gone. Completely gone, no evidence of it ever having been ripped.
She looked up as the woman left, and saw that she was looking back at her. Rodey winked, and then went through the doorway.
Cassandra took a deep breath. She had to have imagined the tear. It didn't make sense for it to just vanish. But hallucinations were not good. If she was going to do well at college, she would need to be at least partially sane.
"I was just shaken, that must be it. She surprised me. That's it. All good, we're fine," she sighed, rubbing her eyes.
When the day ended, she closed and locked the cash register, said a quick goodbye to Marie, the manager, and left, ready to get home and sleep.
Walking down the streets, she pulled her XL hoodie on and pulled the hood up. It was better, at least in this town, to just look suspicious, than to look like Cassandra.
Taking her time to walk down Main Street, Cassandra frowned at the way people scoffed at her as she passed, as if simply taking up space was a sin.
Of course, she knew that she did take up more space than most of the girls her age in the town, and that those girls were all beautiful and worthy of taking up space. She'd only been told that by every other inhabitant of the area.
Sighing as she arrived at Reed Way, she turned the corner and prayed for an easy walk to her apartment. It was a nightly routine for her, her silent pleas of, "Please let me get home," to any god or capital-G God that was there to hear her to echo through her head.
She hurried past the large house in the center of the street, where Andrew Wright, the most racist, most awful boy she had ever had the misery of speaking to lived. He was six and a half feet of pure hatred, mixed with a spoiled childhood and an extreme sense of entitlement. He had made her school years hell in the classes they shared, whether it was hitting on her or literally hitting her, he was just being an asshole.
She still cringed when she saw herself in the mirror because of him. Despite having told herself she had an unbreakable defense against insults, four years of hurtful words had gotten to her. The whale jokes and comments on how unintelligent she was had stuck into the cracks in her skin and poisoned her thoughts. Instead of priding herself on how she looked, she hid every inch of skin she could. It was like wearing armor. As long as they couldn't see her, she was safe. As long as she couldn't see herself, she was safe.
She got to the end of the street, where the beaten and weathered apartment she had called home for four years sat. The owner had been about to knock it down when she and her older sister arrived, and they allowed them to stay in it, only because it was at the end of town, where people rarely went.
Cassandra unlocked the front door and hurried inside, immediately locking it once she was on the welcome mat.
"Vivian, I'm home," she said, leaning forward to pull her shoes off.
"In the living room," her sister's voice croaked out.
Cassandra threw her apron and work shirt onto the table, leaving her turtle neck and jeans on, and hurried to her sister.
Vivian was on her side on the lone couch, staring at the wall bitterly, as if it had personally wronged her. Her brittle, thin hair hung limply in clumps on her scalp, hanging slightly over her dulled, empty brown eyes. She had a blanket pulled up to her chin, hiding her thin, bony frame and yellowed skin.
"Viv, you need anything?" Cassandra said quietly.
"I need for you to call mom."
"I told you, mom won't help. She left us for a reason," Cassandra sighed.
"I'm dying, you're leaving, she has to help," Vivian coughed out.
"No, she doesn't. We're both adults now, and she wouldn't have even when we weren't."
"But my account is almost empty, and you're going to have to pay for college. Cassie, we need her help."
"I'm not calling mom. She gave us up. I don't want her back."
"You'd let me die for your stupid grudge? I'm your sister! I practically raised you!" Vivian rasped, attempting to sit up.
"Viv, stay down. I'll go and see if she answers, just stay here," Cassandra sighed, not wanting to fight again.
"Good," Vivian sighed, closing her eyes.
Cassandra left and walked into her room, where she had left her cell phone.
She flipped it open (yes, she still had a flip phone) and scrolled through her ten contacts to find her mother's number, not that she really needed to. She had memorized it. 202-555-6667.
She dialed and held her thumb over the green button.
She didn't want her sister to die, even though they fought every night over the same thing. She just couldn't bear to ask her mother for help.
Her mother, Jackie Harrison, would be able to pay for chemo. She'd be able to pay for Cassandra's college tuition, too. But would she want to? That was the question for the ages.
Jackie Harrison, the current CEO of the biggest department store chain, Keys and Locks, could pay for half of the country's medical bills and student loans. But why would she? She was rich and she loved it. She had risen from the ashes of her life with her abusive husband and sprinted through the ranks of businesswomen and businessmen alike.
But no one knew that she had two kids that she had abandoned in the process. 18 years of being in the business, and she hadn't told anyone.
So what was Jackie to do? Just make a random donation to this random girl with matching eyes and identical smile, a girl with the same last name, a girl who remembered her awful parenting?
Of course not.
But, Cassandra thought, I have to try. Viv needs me.
She pressed the green button, praying again to whatever deity could hear that her mother hadn't thrown away her most recent cell phone.
One ring. Two rings. Thr-
"Hello, this is Robert Stingmond, how may I help you?"
Robert, Jackie's newest personal secretary.
"This is a personal call to Ms. Jackie Hillary Harrison. May I please speak to her?"
"May I ask who is calling?"
"Cassandra Harriet, her house's new contractor," Cassandra stumbled on her last name, hoping her wouldn't notice.
"Hmm, I didn't know she had a new contractor. Okay, one minute and you'll be through," Robert chirruped.
Obviously he was younger and newer, or else he would have caught her hesitation and hung up. Of course, with the rumors going around about Jackie, it wouldn't be surprising if he was extremely young.
"This is Ms. Harrison. You have five minutes to explain why you lied to my secretary. Time's ticking."
"M-mom?" Cassandra squeaked.
"Who is this? I am not a mother."
"Mom, i-it's Cassie, Cassandra, Cassandra Margaret, your daughter," Cassandra stuttered, amazed that she even got a response.
"I don't know who this is, but please leave me alone or I'll have you identified and arrested for harassment. Good day," Jackie hissed, hanging up.
Cassandra's bottom lip quivered and she dropped the phone onto her mattress.
She had to know that it was me. I'm her daughter, she has to know, Cassandra thought, but now what?
Cassandra walked back downstairs, glad to see Vivian sleeping peacefully, and turned the radio in front of her off, cutting off the tail end of some country song.
Cassandra walked back up to her room, trading her jeans for a pair of sweatpants, and sat down onto her bed, if you could call it that. It was an old mattress and a few blanket on the floor.
She spread out in the small space and stuffed a blanket under her head, worming her way under the covers and silently hoping that sleep would come quickly.
Six more days. Six more days.