Surviving Year One (Grim Reaper Academy 1)

CHAPTER ONE

It was one of those days. I dumped more sanitizer in the toilet and scrubbed harder than necessary. It was already clean; I had been scrubbing and cleaning for the past half hour, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not yet. Because it was one of those days, when I believed them. I believed that I was worthless, lazy, stupid, and that was why I was cleaning toilets. It wasn’t that my parents hadn’t hired a cleaning lady to clean the diner every evening. Of course they had. But she was in charge of the tables, the chairs, the bar, and the front windows. The kitchen and the toilets were my job because, apparently, I was supposed to learn responsibility. To get somewhere in life, you had to start from the bottom. The low, rock bottom.

Yeah, it was one of those days, but at least I wasn’t at home, in my own bathroom, where the temptation would’ve been too much. Here, I was safe. It stunk, it was disgusting, I’d had to clean someone’s vomit off the toilet bowl, but there were no sharp objects in sight, and that made it easier for me to focus on the task at hand. To keep my thoughts at bay. Easier.

I told Mom the mayonnaise is expired. I’m cleaning off puke, but she’ll have to deal with the health inspectors. That was, if anyone actually reported us. Lena’s Diner was a rundown place in an old building on the wrong side of the tracks. Family business. And it was such a great, flourishing business that my dad didn’t even want to put his name on it. That was why it was called Lena’s. And if you ate at Lena’s, you ate at your own risk. Or mine. After all, I was the one who was going to clean the shit and the vomit. Mom and Dad respected their cleaning lady too much to let her deal with the awful things one could only find in Lena’s kitchen or toilet. That, or they were afraid Mrs. Flores would ask for more money.

I flushed the toilet, pulled myself to my feet, and pushed the bucket out of the stall. This had been the last one. I threw the gloves into the trash, washed my hands quickly, then stuffed the cleaning supplies in the small, dark room across the hall. I’d cleaned the kitchen earlier, and now all I had to do was lock up and head home. Mrs. Flores was cleaning the last window as I walked out of the back, jiggling the keys. I was always the last one here, and even though I kind of liked her, I didn’t appreciate that she always seemed to take forever with the most menial tasks, and make me wait even more. It wasn’t like it was almost 2 AM and I was dead tired.

One month. One more month, and I’ll go back to school. That had been my mantra the whole summer. Three months. Two months. One month. Almost mid-August. And even though school wasn’t much better than home, at least I wouldn’t have to scrub toilets and then listen to my dad’s lectures about how I should be grateful that I got to pay them back for food, a room under their roof, clothes, and all they’d invested so I could get an education. One month, then one more year, and I can go to college. Maybe. If not college, then somewhere. Anywhere.

“Pues ya esta, mija,” Mrs. Flores smiled at me as she put away her supplies.

I nodded and waited for her to change. Ten minutes later, I was finally out in the chilly night air. I closed my eyes and stayed like that for a minute, in the middle of the sidewalk. It was oddly peaceful tonight. The full moon was high in the sky, its majestic glow turning the streetlights obsolete. It was a miracle we had them in this part of town. When the night chill crept under my old, battered hoodie and made me shiver, I rubbed my arms to warm them and hopped on my bike. Home was a 10-minute bike ride away. I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and catch four hours of sleep before I had to be at the diner again.

* * *

The shrill sound of the alarm made me jump and throw my phone on the floor. When it didn’t stop, I groaned and pulled myself out of the bed to look for the stupid thing. 6 AM. Shit. Fuck. I went into the bathroom and came out fifteen minutes later, fully dressed. Yesterday’s clothes would have to do, and I didn’t care my faded blue hair was in dire need of a wash. The blond roots were showing. I’d have to take care of that before the first day of school.

Yawning, I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. My father was drinking his coffee – which he liked black, as black as his soul, – feet perched up on the kitchen table as he browsed on his tablet.

“Morning,” I said, stifling another yawn.

Dad ignored me. I rolled my eyes and stepped next to my mother, who was just breaking eggs for an omelet.

“How did you sleep, sweetheart?”

“Good, good.” I cut the fresh white bread and put two slices into the toaster. “I’m just going to eat real quick and head to the diner, make sure everything is alright.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweety. You don’t have to go today.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t?” Well, that was a first. I’d worked at Lena’s all summer, no breaks. Not even a weekend.

My mom turned to me, her beautiful blue eyes smiling as her face glowed. In her forties, and she was still a beauty. Sure, her skin was a bit saggy here and there, and there were deep wrinkles around her eyes and lips, but her long blond hair was as shiny as ever, and her eyes spoke of a much younger soul. If she’d only had the time and education to take care of herself, poor thing… But she would’ve had to leave my dad first.

She put the pan on the stove, wiped her hands on an old kitchen towel, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s your birthday, sweety. Maybe you want to go out, celebrate with your friends.”

I blinked. It was. It was my birthday. God! My life was so fucked up that I’d completely forgotten about my own birthday! Wake up at 5 or 6 in the morning, work, scrub toilets, back home at 2 AM, sleep, repeat.

“My darling Mila is eighteen,” Mom whispered. “Tell you what. I’ll give you some money so you can dye your hair back, okay?”

I pulled away. “Mom, no! My hair is blue. It stays blue.”