16| Hate is better than love

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Max
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Forty deliveries later, I'm ready to quit. It's not the manual labor I mind–I've been working my whole life–it's the customers I'm delivering to. Specifically, those who live in The Palisades.

Say what you want about kids like me, but at least we say thank you. The rich folk open the door with a look of disdain before demanding I carry in their parcel. If I didn't need the money so bad, I'd have shoved it down their throats.

I count down the minutes until my shift ends, convincing myself that the long hours and rude customers are worth it for the paycheck, but by the time I reach my last delivery, I'm ready to snap.

It's why, when I pick up my brother from school and see him walking with Alyssa, I scowl. She's got him carrying her bag like he's her lap dog, and it irritates me to hell. Not only does this town expect us to wait on them hand and foot, but this crush of his is worse than I thought.

My truck's parked next to her Audi, so when the pair turn up, I push myself off the driver door and look straight at Alyssa. "What, you can't carry your own bag, princess?"

Her eyes widen, like maybe she's not used to being spoken to like this. She probably isn't. "Are you the bag police?" she asks. "He offered to carry it."

Kino glares at me, but I don't care. I've had a hell of a day pandering to the residents of The Palisades, and maybe that's not Alyssa's fault, but seeing her stood here in her designer jacket, getting my brother to carry her shit, sparks something dangerous in me. Ever since this girl came along, I've been getting distracted–I don't want to be distracted anymore.

Furious, Kino turns to Alyssa and says goodbye before climbing into the truck. He slams the door after him, and I wince at the sound before checking the paintwork. Alyssa continues to stand there, arms folded, and watches me.

I ignore her and climb into the truck before reversing. Kino doesn't speak the whole ride home, which doesn't surprise me. He'll realize one day that everything I do, I do for him.

By the time we get home, Mom is already back from work, getting ready to start her next shift. She stands in the kitchen in her uniform, shoveling cereal into her mouth while checking her phone. She takes one look at the pair of us and says, "Don't tell me you boys are fighting again."

"We're not fighting," I say, kissing her cheek.

She puts down her bowl and moves to the kitchen sink to grab a glass of water. I can't help but notice how exhausted she looks: her long, dark hair is half falling out of its ponytail, and her tanned skin is sallow. Beneath her dark eyes, which were once filled with light, are harsh, dark circles. These double shifts are killing her.

"Sit down, I'll do it," I say, but she waves me away.

This is my fault. I should have been smarter in school, or sportier. Maybe I could have gotten a scholarship to college and made something of myself. Maybe we wouldn't have to live like this.

"Call in sick tonight," Kino says, and when I look at him, I can tell he is worried. "You need some rest."

She shakes her head and sips at her water. "We can't afford for me to call in sick. I'll be all right."

I clench my jaw, because I'm powerless, and being powerless is the worst feeling in the world.

I'm running on fumes when I get to the gym, itching to release this anger. I don't exactly know what it is I'm angry at. Maybe everything: the world, the hand I've been dealt, the fact that some people have it so good while others have to suffer. Or maybe I'm just angry at myself.

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