My mother’s laughter echoed through our small apartment as she stumbled inside, her heels clicking against the tile floor. I knew that sound too well – the drunken giggle that meant another man would be joining us tonight. At thirteen, I’d already learned more about adult relationships than most kids my age, watching my twenty-nine-year-old mother bring home different men every weekend. While other girls were worried about homework and crushes, I was learning how to get what I wanted from the men in my mother’s life.

“I brought someone special home tonight, honey,” Cindy slurred, leaning against the doorframe. Her dress had ridden up, revealing a lacy thong that barely covered her ass. “This is Mark. He’s a friend from the bar.”

Mark stood behind her, his eyes immediately drifting down to where my school uniform ended – a pleated skirt that didn’t quite cover my thighs when I sat down. He was in his thirties, with a beer gut straining against his polo shirt. My mother often said I looked older than I was, with my developing body and mature attitude. Tonight, that would work to my advantage.

“Hi, Mark,” I said, flashing him a smile I’d practiced in front of the mirror. I crossed my legs slowly, letting my skirt ride up even higher. His gaze locked onto my white cotton panties before darting back up to my face. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Zoe, be nice,” my mother chided, though her eyes were half-closed with intoxication. “Help me get comfortable, sweetheart.”

I watched as my mother led Mark into the living room, her hand resting possessively on his arm. I followed behind, my heart racing with excitement and nervousness. This wasn’t the first time I’d been part of one of my mother’s “special nights,” but it never failed to thrill me – the danger, the power I held over these grown men.