Page 9 - My FlipBook

to sit with us. Instead, he joins Jasmine up front, like usual.
My face warms because I’m not sure why I thought he would
sit here. Of course he’d sit up front. He’s the club vice pres-
ident, after all.
Trey stands and squares his shoulders as he readies to
address the room.
“Great turnout.” Trey projects his voice without fail.
“Come up and grab some food, talk amongst yourselves
for a bit, and the meeting will officially start in about ten.
Sound good?”
Everyone eats pizza. I ask Lance about how he keeps
his long, curly black hair so shiny. Not the tangled mess
my red waves turn into at the drop of a hat. “Conditioner,
baby,” he says, before Candace pipes in, “Seriously, this guy
spends more on hair products than anyone I’ve ever met.
It’s ridiculous.”

I laugh into my pizza, feeling less alone than I did before.
Jasmine clears her throat, standing at the whiteboard,
marker in hand. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve got some
bad news. Hope House, the battered women’s shelter across
town, is officially closing their doors. The city council voted
against increasing the funding for all shelters in town, and
Hope House was already hanging on by a thread.”
The room goes eerily quiet. Because we’ve talked about
this before. Without Hope House, there will be dozens more
assault survivors on the street or returning to their abusers
because they have nowhere else to go.
“That’s it?” Lana asks from beside me. “There’s gotta be
something we can do to help keep their doors open!”

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