Page 35 of Chaos

An hour. That’s all it is. That’s all I have to get through. A single, boring hour.

Bypassing the crowded snack table, I flop into the first empty chair I see. The uncomfortable plastic creaks beneath my weight, and again when I shift, once more when I tuck my hands beneath my thighs.

Not nervous, I remind myself as I glare at my bouncing knee.You’re not fucking nervous.

“You need some money, kid?”

Startling, I glance at the man with the white hair and a pale, weathered face sitting beside me, leaning in all conspiratory-like. “Excuse me?”

Gray-blue eyes remain steadfastly fixed on my legs, and right as I’m deciding whether or not to shove my boot up the old creep’s ass, he tuts. “Those tights, girl. You need new ones.”

Following his gaze to the ladders in the well-worn, not-quite-opaque nylon material, I snort. “I’m good.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

It’s October in California—that word’s not even in my vocabulary yet. I only wore the extra layer because the hemline on this dress is a lot north ofshortand I didn’t think my bare asscheeks hanging out would make all that great of a first impression.

“Here.” Surprisingly, he doesn't thrust a ten dollar bill at me—just one of the five chocolate chip cookies stacked on his wrinkled palm. “Not enough meat on your bones to keep you warm.”

I roll my eyes, but I accept the dry-looking baked good, dramatically ripping off a chunk and waving it at the old man. “Happy, Grandpa?”

He harrumphs. “I ain’t old enough to be your grand nothing.”

I’m one-hundred-percent positive he’s at least a decade older than both of my actual grandparents, but I keep that to myself.Picking at the cookie that’s actually not all that bad, I slump, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I wait for this stupid meeting to finally begin, trying to ignore the obnoxious huffs coming from beside me.

When I hear something lowly muttered aboutthe youths these days, though, I can’t resist. “Can I help you?”

“What are those?”

He’s staring at my shoes. At the chunky Mary Janes with platform soles as thick as a brick and the shiny black material broken up by red, faux suede hearts that are, admittedly, slightly inappropriate for the event at hand. And for a girl with an ankle injury, but hey, I needed the three-inch confidence boost.

Stretching my legs out, I thud my heels together. “These areshoes, old man.”

He pulls a face like he’s not quite sure they are. “You got a vested interest in breaking your neck?”

“No, but I’m starting to get one in breaking yours.”

The man gasps, one leathery hand flying to a frail chest. The other hand, he sticks in the air and waves frantically in a quest for the attention of the Black woman standing near the coffee machine, smiling at the half-circle of people huddled around her. “Erica!The new girl justthreatenedme.”

Beneath my breath, I cough, “Snitch.”

One slitted brow crooks, a gold nose ring catching the godawful overhead lights and glinting as the woman—Erica, I guess—tilts her head to one side. “Did you deserve it?”

I answer for him. “Yes.”

Erica laughs. “Leave her alone, Silas.”

Don’t stick your tongue out at an elderly man, Charlotte. Do not do it.

I don’t. Only because the gaze of the person I quickly gather is the boss around here lands on me, and while her smile remains, I’ve been on the receiving end of enough gentlereprimands—and a lot more not-so-gentle ones—to know one when I see it. “We try to keep the violence to a minimum around here. Okay?”

Hunching further down in my seat, I grumble something affirmative.

She nods, pleased, before clapping her hands. Clearly, that’s some kind of cue I don’t know yet because everyone shuts up and finds a seat, waiting expectantly as Erica drops onto the blue plastic chair directly opposite me. “Why don’t you start us off, new girl?”

Fuck my life.

“How was it?”

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