A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

2. Friday Night

Three Days Prior

My phone rings. It's my best friend and accomplice, Tristian Fields.

Tristian: "Are you down or what? We gotta go, plus we'll get free drinks."

Me: "I'm in the car with my mom," I say, so she gets it. I can't let Mom know Tris drinks alcohol. "We always get free sodas. Let's see each other another night. You know I'm babysitting Richie."

Tristian: "There won't be another night, Yaya. Plus, I know 'The Greek God' will be there."

"Anaya, turn down the volume, hun. I'm taking an important call."

Me: "I'll call you back."

I hang up.

I do what Mom asks and lower the volume to the radio, watching her talk on the phone. She's not here with me, in the car. She might as well be in her office at City Hall. We haven't had a single constructive conversation today.

Her lack of interest would have offended most people, but not myself. She's too busy running Mayor Bishop's political campaign. He's our current Mayor. She's heavily invested in his campaign, so involved that she won't stop talking about him when I do try to speak to her. I thought she liked Mayor Bishop, but their relationship is platonic—on her end, anyway. I've met Mayor Bishop, and he's weird—nothing else to it. There are specific traits required to be Mayor: old, bald or balding or hair plug, must wear too much cologne, too happy personality that's fake, selfish, overwhelming, boundary-crossing care for people that will eventually cross all lines and laws to ensure your safety whether you want it or not, and deep down, evil. Mix all those ingredients, and boom, you get a top-tier politician.

Mayor Bishop is self-conscious and contradicts himself depending on his poll numbers for the week. It's pathetic to me, telling people one thing, retracting to say something else to keep your power and influence for as long as you can. That's the beauty of politics.

Mom is organizing a press event for Mayor Bishop next week. Something to do with feeding the only homeless person living in Eugenes. Mom has been assuring Mayor Bishop that reporters will be there to film him handing Apollo, that's the homeless guy's name, a gift card to a chicken shack, and some of Mayor Bishop's merch. I've been trying to get one of Mayor Bishop's t-shirts for a while now. I want this white, gold, and silver Tie-Dye T-shirt with a tiger fighting a lizard and a crow. It's so badass and has nothing to do with Mayor Bishop, but it sold out in ten minutes on his website—my loss. His merch is to die for.

My mom, Adah Matthews, has always been fixated on her career. I don't know what Mom's title is. She helps the Mayor with his secretarial stuff and writes his cue cards. She makes him look good. Still, to the simple sheep-minded townspeople of Eugenes, my friends at school who see her on the news talking for the Mayor, covering for him when he messes up, she's a next-level boss woman.

Not that I care that she's famous in our small town. She's just mom to me.

When she has time to be my mom.

Mom is helping Mayor Bishop rerun for Mayor. I find it exhausting because it's too much work dealing with people. I've seen Mayor Bishop shake voters' hands, kiss babies, take pictures in front of the VA Hospital, visit the veteran's recreational center, and host events for large corporations that want to destroy the forest surrounding Eugenes to build warehouses and factories. I attended one of Mayor Bishop's award ceremonies because Mayors constantly receive awards for who knows what. I hated being there because I didn't like the flashing lights, cameras, reporters, and stupid photo ops Mom forced me to do with Bishop. More people, more problems. That's my opinion.

So, this weekend, Mom is ready to set sail and begin her brainwashing propaganda on the masses, telling them who to vote for and releasing rival's dirty little secrets her team conjured up as a controversy. Hilarious, really, but annoying cause she'll be doing this until I graduate at the end of June. Off on the road, forgetting her children, leaving us to crazy Grandpa Solomon in the woods.