air told my dad “
see, I’m smarter than I look.”
“Actually, tomatoes are a fruit,” Dad responded flatly, knocking me off my pedestal.
Laughing, I put the cup down and picked up a pencil to continue my outline for the essay we were assigned on Henry Kissinger. “No worries, Dad. I’m eating fine. Soup just sounded good tonight.”
“Alright, I’ll back off. I just worry. You inherited my eating habits. Your mom would freak if she saw the things I let you eat.” Dad frowned, and I knew he still missed Mom like it was yesterday. We both did.
After a moment, he continued, “You’ve got August’s bills all paid, right? And you have plenty of money in your account still?”
“I haven’t blown my entire trust in a week. Everything’s under control.” He did this every time we talked. I had complete access to the life insurance my mom left me, and he still always asked if I had enough money. It was like I was going to go ballistic with my college fund without him looking, and he knew better. Maybe he thought he was doing his job as a parent the best he could from so far away.
My phone buzzed with a text, and I grabbed it off my bedside table.
Be there in 5.
“Oh , Dad? I forgot K.C. is stopping over. Can I let you go?”
“Sure, but I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a day or so. Taking the train to Nuremberg for some sightseeing. I want to chat with you in the morning before I leave and hear about the Science Fair prep you’re doing.”
Ugh, shit.
No prep had been organized, because I hadn’t even come close to deciding my project.
“Ok, Dad,” I mumbled, leaving that discussion for tomorrow. “Call me at seven?”
“Talk to you then, sweetie. Bye.” And he was gone.
Closing my laptop and tossing my book onto the bed, I walked to the French doors and opened them wide. School had ended for the week three hours ago, but the sun still cast a radiant glow around the neighborhood. Leaves from the maple outside my doors rustled in the subtle breeze, and a few tiny clouds sprinkled the sky.
Turning around, I slipped out of my school clothes and into a pair of plaid pajama shorts with a white and gray fitted raglan t-shirt. I let out an overly dramatic sigh.
Of course, I would be in my pajamas at six p.m. on a Friday night.
The doorbell echoed from downstairs, and I jogged to answer the door.
“Hey!” K.C. breathed, stepping into the house with her arms loaded down.
What the hell?
We were just doing my hair, not a makeover.
My eyes watered at her perfume. “What’s that scent you’re wearing?”
“Oh, it’s new. It called
Secret.
You like?”
“Love it.”
Don’t loan it to me.
“Let’s go up to your room. I want to have access to your bathroom when we do this.” K.C. insisted on coming over to give me a honey hair treatment she read about in Women’s Day. It’s supposed to soothe sun-damaged hair, which she says is a danger with all of the outdoor sightseeing I did this summer and with the cross-country practice.
Okay, so I didn’t really care. I thought my hair looked fine, but I wanted to catch up with her after the busy first week.
“Can I take the chair to the window? There’s a nice breeze coming in.” The honey would be messy, but the room boasted dark hardwood floors, so it would be an easy cleanup.
“Yeah, sure. Just take your hair out of the pony tail and brush it out.” She handed me a brush, and I positioned myself in front of the doors, enjoying the serene evening.
“I’m going to put some olive oil in, to thin it out, and a bit of egg yolk for protein.”
“Whatever you say,” I accepted.
As she mixed the ingredients and brought me a towel to protect my clothes, I caught sight of Jared backing up his car from the garage into the driveway. My stomach fluttered, and I realized my teeth were clenched together like glue.
His black t-shirt rode up as he got out and popped the hood. Grabbing a towel out of the back pocket of his jeans, he used it to
see, I’m smarter than I look.”
“Actually, tomatoes are a fruit,” Dad responded flatly, knocking me off my pedestal.
Laughing, I put the cup down and picked up a pencil to continue my outline for the essay we were assigned on Henry Kissinger. “No worries, Dad. I’m eating fine. Soup just sounded good tonight.”
“Alright, I’ll back off. I just worry. You inherited my eating habits. Your mom would freak if she saw the things I let you eat.” Dad frowned, and I knew he still missed Mom like it was yesterday. We both did.
After a moment, he continued, “You’ve got August’s bills all paid, right? And you have plenty of money in your account still?”
“I haven’t blown my entire trust in a week. Everything’s under control.” He did this every time we talked. I had complete access to the life insurance my mom left me, and he still always asked if I had enough money. It was like I was going to go ballistic with my college fund without him looking, and he knew better. Maybe he thought he was doing his job as a parent the best he could from so far away.
My phone buzzed with a text, and I grabbed it off my bedside table.
Be there in 5.
“Oh , Dad? I forgot K.C. is stopping over. Can I let you go?”
“Sure, but I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a day or so. Taking the train to Nuremberg for some sightseeing. I want to chat with you in the morning before I leave and hear about the Science Fair prep you’re doing.”
Ugh, shit.
No prep had been organized, because I hadn’t even come close to deciding my project.
“Ok, Dad,” I mumbled, leaving that discussion for tomorrow. “Call me at seven?”
“Talk to you then, sweetie. Bye.” And he was gone.
Closing my laptop and tossing my book onto the bed, I walked to the French doors and opened them wide. School had ended for the week three hours ago, but the sun still cast a radiant glow around the neighborhood. Leaves from the maple outside my doors rustled in the subtle breeze, and a few tiny clouds sprinkled the sky.
Turning around, I slipped out of my school clothes and into a pair of plaid pajama shorts with a white and gray fitted raglan t-shirt. I let out an overly dramatic sigh.
Of course, I would be in my pajamas at six p.m. on a Friday night.
The doorbell echoed from downstairs, and I jogged to answer the door.
“Hey!” K.C. breathed, stepping into the house with her arms loaded down.
What the hell?
We were just doing my hair, not a makeover.
My eyes watered at her perfume. “What’s that scent you’re wearing?”
“Oh, it’s new. It called
Secret.
You like?”
“Love it.”
Don’t loan it to me.
“Let’s go up to your room. I want to have access to your bathroom when we do this.” K.C. insisted on coming over to give me a honey hair treatment she read about in Women’s Day. It’s supposed to soothe sun-damaged hair, which she says is a danger with all of the outdoor sightseeing I did this summer and with the cross-country practice.
Okay, so I didn’t really care. I thought my hair looked fine, but I wanted to catch up with her after the busy first week.
“Can I take the chair to the window? There’s a nice breeze coming in.” The honey would be messy, but the room boasted dark hardwood floors, so it would be an easy cleanup.
“Yeah, sure. Just take your hair out of the pony tail and brush it out.” She handed me a brush, and I positioned myself in front of the doors, enjoying the serene evening.
“I’m going to put some olive oil in, to thin it out, and a bit of egg yolk for protein.”
“Whatever you say,” I accepted.
As she mixed the ingredients and brought me a towel to protect my clothes, I caught sight of Jared backing up his car from the garage into the driveway. My stomach fluttered, and I realized my teeth were clenched together like glue.
His black t-shirt rode up as he got out and popped the hood. Grabbing a towel out of the back pocket of his jeans, he used it to
Similar Books
