ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Seven

"I can't believe they followed us here," Zachary says as he leans back in the passenger seat of our dad's car, chewing on his thumbnail as he eyes the police cruiser in the side mirror.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. "Everything's going to be fine." My phone dings but I don't check it. If I act too excited Zachary will ask questions and I like to keep my personal life as far as possible from my family life.

He cranks his window down and hangs out the car. "Why don't you guys go fuck yourselves, huh?" he shouts and flips them off.

"That's a good first impression for your interview," I mumble as he slides back into the car and rolls the window up.

"Cut the shit, Jo." He slams his body back into the seat and crosses his arms over his chest. "Pulling up with a cruiser on my tail doesn't make the odds of me getting this job any better."

We both know he won't get the job. No one hires felons but he has to try. It makes him feel like he's pulling his weight. Even if it means he'll be stuck serving greasy fast food to the brats from Jefferson High.

"Just let them know the cruiser is for your sister because she's being accused of murder." I laugh through my nose.

He punches my shoulder. Zachary's the only one who didn't treat me differently when I came back from the hospital. Always throwing a punch. Not in a mean way, but a 'loving' older brother way.

"Are you sure I look okay?" he asks, smoothing the wrinkles out of his khakis.

"You look fine. Stop crumpling your resume up," I order.

He un-clenches his fist from the single-sided paper that lists his GED and some volunteer experience he had to do after his jail time. I withhold a sigh. He's so screwed. "You got this." I nod at him.

He stares at me, swallows hard, and gets out of the car. He runs his hand through his curly brown locks a thousand times before he gets to the door.

I settle into my seat once he's inside and check my reassembled phone. Zachary put the pieces back together when I got home from Trevor's but the screen wouldn't turn on. The guy at the phone repair place fixed it but it only took the rest of my last paycheck.

Two messages. One from Brittany and one from Grace. I check Brittany's message first. It's out of character for her to be up at ten in the morning. She's more of the 'wake up at noon' type.

Where are you?

My heart pounds in my chest. Shit. Was I supposed to meet her today?

Del Taco. Where are you?

The response is instantaneous.

I've got dirt on Trevor. Meet me at the library?

I switch over to Grace's message. I get off in an hour. Should I be expecting you?

Grace and I have been going back and forth about hanging out. Our schedules never match up and whenever they do, something comes up.

Yes, of course. I'll be there. I send the same response to both of them.

Zachary is out of the fast-food joint within fifteen minutes. He slumps into the car and puts his feet up on the dash.

"How'd it go?"

He rolls his eyes and looks out his window. "The guy was lame."

"Lame?" I ask, pulling onto the street. The cruiser creeps after us.

"I tried my best, okay?" he shouts.

I roll my eyes and continue toward the house, careful to use my blinker and not to go over the speed limit. I don't react to Zachary's outburst. He hides his emotions behind anger, but if he follows the usual routine, he'll apologize later.