Page 79 of Sunshine

I’m usually just as anxious to face my mom, but right now I feel like nothing could burst the bubble Wells and I have created around ourselves. I turn to give him an assured smile—I don’t want him to worry. “Of course.” I nod. “But I’ll be okay, Wells. I promise.”

He looks at me like he can’t stand to let me go, and it makes my heart flip. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. “Take you to dinner?”

My smile grows. “Yeah.” I lean to kiss him on the cheek, feeling the bite of his stubble on my lips, and then turn to push out of the truck. Wells waits for me to get inside the house before he drives away.

“Layla Lynette Hayes,” says my mother, her voice cold. It startles me, my limbs tensing as I find her in the entryway. Her eyes are sharp and narrow as she looks down, taking in the clothes I’m wearing. Realizing they’re not mine. “What in god’s name is going on with you and that boy?” she asks, her gaze horrified.

I straighten my posture. “Mom, please drop it.”

She scoffs. “You didn’t come home last night, didn’t answer any of my calls or texts, and then you saunter in here in a man’s clothes and ask me todrop it?”

I sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, I?—”

“You are still my daughter,” she states firmly, her tone taking on that regal southerness I’ve always been afraid of.

But not today.

“It’s not your business.”

“Oh yes it is. You might enjoy the freedom that being in New York affords you, but in this house, you aremydaughter and how you conduct yourself is my business.”

“No,” I clarify. “It’s mine. You don’t get to control my life anymore, Mom. I’m not your doll or your plaything.”

“Donotdisrespect me.” Her fists are clenched at the sides of her house dress—I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so angry. “You’re supposed to be mourning the death of the man who was to be your future husband! Not gallivanting around with trash, walking into this house in his clothes like somewhore.”

The word feels like a slap in the face, and my own anger burns bright.

“I need you to tell me how deep this goes,” she continues. “Tell me what is going on between you and that boy.”

“Thatboyis Wells Bennett, and he treats me better than Jason ever did.”

“That’s preposterous,” she counters. “Jason Moore had the means to give you the life you deserve. He took care of you, Layla. He was working hard to create a future that would have kept you safe.”

“He was cheating on me!” I shout. “He was building a future forhimself, not me. He wanted me to mold my life around him, to be someone I’m not, while he was taking what he wanted without any regard for me or my feelings. He was selfish, Mom. And Wells?—”

“Donotsay his name in this house again,” she spits. “He will ruin you, Layla. He and his family of criminals who don’tgive a shit about anyone else. He will use you to get what he wants and then he will drop you like you never existed—I’ve seen those boys do it to too many young girls. If you have any hope of a good man wanting to marry you, you need to come to your senses and distance yourself from the Bennetts.”

I shake my head, my body vibrating with exasperation. “I don’t need to be taken care of, don’t you see that?” I yell. “I don’t need a man to give me the life that I deserve—I willcreatethe life that I want on my own.” I take a step forward, chest heaving. “And I’ll surround myself with good people who care about me, about who Iam. Not about what I can give to them, or what I’m willing to sacrifice.”

She closes her eyes, and I almost feel sorry for her. For this archaic and flawed belief system she holds so tightly to, where a woman can’t be successful without attaching herself to a man. So I press on, hopeful my words might make a difference. “Annie is almost fourteen,” I say, keeping my tone level. “She’ll be in high school next year. You have a chance to build her up in a way you never did with me. You can teach her that she can flourish in her life on her own. That she can strive for more than a nice house and children to raise. And Mom,” I say, bracing myself. “I hope togodyou do. For her sake.”

I don’t give her a chance to reply. Instead, I turn to walk up the stairs, eager to get to my room and into my bed where I can lie in the quiet andreallyprocess the last twenty-four hours, and what it all means.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THEN

Senior year feels like the longest year of my life.

I can’t helpbut count down the days until graduation. My class schedule is light since I was able to get ahead on some of my credits, so I get to leave campus a couple hours early every day. But for the first few months I don't have anything to fill the extra time with, and my boredom makes the days move slower than molasses.

By mid-fall, I’ve applied to a handful of colleges—noneof them in Texas—but I know I won’t hear back from them any time soon. I’m a little nervous about the whole process; as much as I still want to get out of dodge and see more of the world, I’m not sure how I’ll feel once it all becomes official. I’ve lived in Saddlebrook Falls my entire life, and the idea of being somewhere else on my own is somewhat intimidating.

Ireallyhope I’m accepted into NYU. I also applied to USCand Northwestern because they both have great journalism programs, but when I think about where I can experience the most during college, New York feels like the perfect place. I think my grades are good enough to get in, though I wish I’d taken the last few years of my academics more seriously. Thank god for my love of photography, because I was able to submit some samples alongside my application.

“Hey,” Regan greets as she shuffles into a chair at the table I’ve been holding for the last twenty minutes. It’s Saturday night, and though the Mustangs didn’t win the game yesterday, Mustang’s Pizza is still crowded with our classmates.

“Hi,” I smile. “I already ordered us a pizza.”

---