Sweet 16 to Life by Kimberly Reid

didn’t seem like your type, although I’ve never seen you with a boy so I have no idea what your type is.”
    â€œAnyway . . .”
    â€œHe was just some random dude who asked Cisco for some directions and left like a minute later.”
    I suppose that’s possible. The minute I recognized that hoodie, I went back inside the house because I didn’t want him to think I was checking him out. Right now I’m working on the assumption Lux saw me the day of the fire, and that he was the random dude on Michelle’s porch last night even though I never saw his face. That jacket just keeps appearing too many times for it not to have been worn by Lux every time I’ve seen it. But Michelle’s explanation of why Lux was there is pretty lame. He couldn’t ask his alleged girlfriend—the one who lives right across the street—for directions? Michelle could be lying, but I doubt it since I can’t imagine what she’d have to gain from it.
    â€œDo you know where he was trying to get directions to?”
    â€œNo, I never heard that part. He just came up to the porch and said to Cisco,‘Hey, man, I’m lost. Can you give me some directions?’ Like that.”
    â€œJust walked right up there to Cisco, almost like he knew him? Seems kind of dangerous to step to a gangster like that, especially after dark.”
    â€œThat’s true, but like I said, he was just some random guy. He didn’t know Cisco.”
    I don’t buy that, but keep it to myself. “What did Cisco do?”
    â€œHe didn’t just give the guy directions, he walked him all the way to Center Street to make sure he knew where he was going and didn’t get lost again. See? I told you Cisco was a nice guy. You just need to give him a chance.”
    Yeah, I might just do that.

Chapter 13
    I love Saturday mornings, especially when they kick off a weeklong break from school and I wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, one of the few dishes Lana can’t mess up. All she has to do is put the bacon on a microwave plate and pour pre-mixed batter on a hot skillet, so it always turns out right. Saturday and the smell of breakfast cooking also means she isn’t dodging me this morning, and maybe now I can get some answers out of her. When I go downstairs to the kitchen, I find my assumption is wrong. Lana is pouring bacon drippings into the grease can, and instead of wearing her robe, she’s dressed for work. Her weapons are on the counter next to her keys and cell phone. So much for getting her to talk this morning.
    â€œWorking on a Saturday?”
    She takes a seat at the kitchen table so she can strap a holster and gun to her left ankle. “I offered to take a weekend surveillance detail for a friend. With Christmas coming next month, I could use the extra money.”
    I don’t say anything while I get a plate from the cabinet.
    â€œYou’re the only one I spend on at Christmas,” Lana says in a fake cheery tone, “so all my time and a half will go to you. I know you’ve been wanting me to buy you a—”
    â€œThe only thing I really want you to do is stop avoiding me and do what you promised to do two weeks ago.”
    â€œI haven’t been avoiding you. It’s just so busy at work. . . . .”
    â€œMom, I haven’t seen you in two days and we live in the same house. Even when your caseload is mad heavy, we’ve never gone two days without seeing each other. Even on your sixteen-hour days, you usually wake me in the morning before you leave and make sure you get home before I go to sleep. I don’t need to be a detective to figure out you’re avoiding me.”
    â€œOkay, you’re right. You’re right,” she says a second time, like she’s trying to convince herself. “Tonight—we’ll talk over dinner. I’ll make us something nice and we’ll talk. I promise,” she says before