Charly's Epic Fiascos Read Free Page B

hollered. “I know she’s here. She always is, like she don’t got a home. Heck, I should claim Lola on my taxes as much as she’s here and eating up all the food I work so hard to buy!”
    Charly gave Lola an apologetic look as they walked through the living room, passing the old-school thirty-two-inch television, and made their way to the steps. “Sorry. Now what were you saying about your uncle?”
    Lola waved away Charly’s apology. “Sorry for what? Don’t be. I’m not. You buy all the food I eat!” Lola covered her mouth and laughed. “I don’t take Brigette serious.” Lola’s smile faded. “Uncle Steely. Don’t you remember him? He’s the one that steals any and everything not bolted down, including people’s identity.” She shrugged. “So I can’t keep your money for you anymore ’cause when he steals it—and he will steal it, trust me—I can’t afford to replace three hundred dollars.”
    Charly nodded at Lola’s reasoning, and wished she were old enough to go open a savings account on her own, without Brigette’s signature. “Two hundred and eighty-six bucks,” she said, counting the last of the dead presidents, then shoving the wad into her pants pocket. “I won’t have the rest of the cash for the phone—or the hundred-dollar cable bill Brigette keeps ragging me about—until Friday because I had to pay the electric company. But, thanks for keeping it as long as you did, Lola. If Brigette knew . . .”
    â€œOh, I know. It’d be spent at the mall or deposited in her account,” Lola finished Charly’s statement. “That’s only two days away. I sure hope it hurries up and comes, for your sake. You can’t keep walking around talking on that old clunk of a phone. Not with everyone thinking you’re the ish!” Lola laughed.
    â€œCharly . . . I’ma count to ten, and if you’re not up here . . .” Brigette threatened.
    Charly just shook her head and quickened her pace. She didn’t feel like dealing with Brigette today or any day, truth be told. Her mom was a trip, and because she’d had Charly when she was sixteen, Brigette seemed to forget that she was the parent. Instead of a daughter, Charly was more like Brigette’s maid and personal handmaiden, or like a roommate who footed bills but had no say, and a live-in nanny for Stormy, which Charly didn’t mind. As far as Charly was concerned, she and Stormy were better off without the lady who’d given birth to them. It was peaceful and loving when she wasn’t around, and when she was home it was hell.
    Brigette was a modern-day demon-licious witch, complete with cascading fake hair and too ample cleavage, courtesy of the G-cup over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder she wore and, Charly finally realized that, like her, her mother was also a liar. So maybe, just maybe, Charly had inherited the dishonest gene because there were many things wrong with Brigette’s barrage of questions and statements. One, Stormy had walked in the door only a couple of minutes ahead of Charly. Two, if there was “only static” showing on the television, how were “some” of the stations coming in? Three, no one could “slip” into that contraption her mom had called a girdle. It wasn’t really a girdle, it was some magic bodysuit sort of thingy that two or more people had to literally tuck Brigette’s fat inside, then she’d have to sleep in it for a day or two to look ten pounds lighter and a couple of sizes smaller. Four, Brigette hadn’t actually called Charly to her; she’d only said her name and asked if that was Charly. And five, Lola was right; Brigette didn’t buy most of the food they ate. In fact, Brigette was laid off, so how could she be working so hard to buy food?
    Charly raised one foot high, then rushed it toward the floor