The woman gives me a quick, pitying look. “Come back when you convince one of your parents to give you permission. Like this kid.”
I take a deep breath. “Are you working here tomorrow?” I ask her.
She puts a hand on her hip, annoyed now, probably more angry because she briefly felt sorry for me, but I don’t care. “No, but the guy on tomorrow is gonna tell you the same thing. Get a parent.”
I nod, but I’m not really listening anymore, because my head is full of the sound of Lila shrieking from behind bars. Crying and crying with no one coming.
My dad taught me this trick to calm down. Like, before I was going into a house to steal something or if the police were questioning me. He said to imagine that I was on a beach and concentrate on the sounds of clear blue water lapping at my feet.
