The Ice Box
I could have picked up the phone. I had just started gathering the necessary tools for this monthly project, so it wasn't like I was up to my elbows in ice at that point, but she shouldn't have called. She knew it was the first Thursday. Rachel was like that. She didn't think the rules applied to her, and there was a time when she was right, but things change.
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Fiction by Kate Sheofsky
It wasn't the first time I didn't answer the phone. In fact, I have a long history of screening calls. I pick up the phone just often enough so that my parents believe me when I tell them I have a place to live, and not just an answering machine hooked up to a forgotten line in the expansive City Hall building that I sneak into and check every once in a while. I have a job, a pretty decent one actually; still I think my mother goes to sleep at night with visions of me sleeping huddled inside a cardboard box at the back of some stranger's carport.