Page 52 of Ladybirds

She stares, disbelievingly, before her head drops to the steering wheel with a loud curse.

She waits two hours for the tow truck, and another thirty minutes at the mechanic’s filling out paperwork. By the time she leaves, it’s well past noon, but the mechanic promises to email her a repair estimate before the end of the day. Instead of picking up groceries, she orders a pizza while riding the bus home (and tries not to cringe when they tell her the total).

Three hours later, the pizza sits like lead in her stomach as she stares at the emailed estimate on her phone.

She should have bought instant noodles instead.

“What are you doing?” Seth says, frowning at her. “Don’t you have an essay due tomorrow in your art history class?”

The reminder only serves to make her feel even more stressed. “It’s half done.”

He glances at the clock, his eyebrows raised. “Do you believe the other half will write itself?”

“Shut up. Please, just shut up.” She rubs at her temples, staring at the numbers as if looking long enough will change them.

She can feel his stare, almost pinpoint the exact moment he recognizes the tension in her. “What’s wrong?”

She can’t bring herself to explain, so she holds up the repair bill in silent invitation.

A beat, perhaps two. “Ah. Yes, I can see how that would be mildly concerning.”

Sara groans, laying her face in the fold of her arms. “I need to get a job.”

Seth frowns, and for a moment he looks legitimately troubled. “No, you need these last few weeks to study. Particularly, if you still wish to pass without my interference.”

She hates that he’s right (she hates that she doesn’t have another solution even more).

Seth hums thoughtfully. “You could try gambling.”

Sara is in absolutely no mood for his humor. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Her head rolls to the side, temple pressed uncomfortably against the fragile bones of her wrist, as she looks at him. His blank expression instills little to no confidence. “Even if I had money to throw away, I suck at gambling.”

The exasperated twist in his expression would almost be comical if it weren’t for its tendency to make her feel like a child. “You have me, Princess. How could you possibly lose?”

Understanding dawns. “That’s cheating.”

“Your point?”

She shakes her head, sitting up and turning until she’s facing him fully. “That is my point!”

“Please, it’s hardly as if they don’t cheat themselves. You honestly believe all those pretty machines are random?” When she is unmoved, he rolls his eyes. “Think of it as divine intervention.”

“There’s nothing divine about you.”

“Fair point. Think of how miserable you’ll be if you have to repeat your literature class.”

Sara blanches, mouth souring at the thought. “Do...do you really think it would work?”

“I suspect you’re an abysmal player at best, but so long as you do what I say and at least make an attempt at having a poker face, I suspect we will get on just fine.”

Her fingers play with the hem of her flannel shirt, eyes tracing and retracing the numbers on the estimate. “Ok, but, maybe we should test it out first?”

Seth’s smile goes wicked at the corners. “I happen to know a fellow.”

Miles had been thrilled when she asked if he could teach her how to play. Sara hadn’t even known he had a love for it (and she’s mildly concerned that, somehow, Seth had). However, his enthusiasm started to trickle away two drinks and six hands ago.

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