slid into my seat. “Where were you yesterday?”
“ Some doctors appointments,” he said. “I texted you. I wanted the homework assignment for today.”
I frowned. “I didn't get a message.”
He nodded. “Yeah, 'cuz I couldn't send it. I tried to call, too, but it said your phone was disconnected. Not in service or something.”
I pulled my phone out of my backpack. I'd spent the night at Aidan's —had told my mom I was at Jada's—so I hadn't used it. I punched through my recent calls, clicking on Aidan's number. The line stayed dead.
“ What the hell,” I muttered.
“ Bueños dias, mis estudiantes.” Mrs. Lopez stormed in, her black hair swirling around her as she plowed up the aisle to her desk. She didn't waste a second of class time. “Phone away, Miss Calloway.”
I shoved my phone back in my backpack and headed to my seat. I'd have to deal with it later.
There was a message blinking on the answering machine when Aidan dropped me off later that evening. I poked around in the refrigerator, searching for something—anything—to eat. We'd munched on a bag of chips and some salsa while we hung out in his room but that felt like hours ago.
A carton of milk sat on the top shelf. I opened it and sniffed and quickly wished I hadn't. Sitting below this was a wilted head of lettuce and a bag of shriveled grapes. I opened the deli drawer and found a package of dried-out veggie hot dogs and a block of cheese covered in fuzzy white mold. Disgusted, I slammed the fridge shut and opened the pantry cupboard. This was where my lunches came from most days —chips, granola bars, pudding cups. But we hadn't been grocery shopping in a while and the pickings were slim. I shook my head as I scanned the half-empty shelves. What the hell was wrong with my mom that she couldn't even get herself to the store to go shopping? I'd have to do it, I realized. I knew Aidan would take me if I asked; I just didn't want to.
I grabbed the last granola bar and hit the play button as I tore open the package.
“Megan.” My dad. Stern. Angry. “Call me. You'll have to use the house phone. I canceled your cell service.”
The granola bar slipped from my hand, breaking into pieces, crumbs scattering across the kitchen floor as I played the message again. Disbelief gave way to anger as I listened again. I slammed my fist down on the machine and the blinking light died.
What was he thinking? Wasn't it enough that he'd already left me and my mom, that he'd moved in with his girlfriend and was selling my house from under me? Now he'd turned off my goddamn phone? What was next—did he plan to start pawning off my possessions, sneak into my room and strip me of everything I owned, everything that belonged to me? Would he shut down the bank account, too so that, even if my mom wanted to buy groceries, could actually get herself together enough to restock the cupboards, there wouldn't be any money to do it? I stalked the kitchen. I wanted something to smash, to rip apart, to destroy. I wanted to destroy him .
I stormed down the hall to my mom's room and pounded on the door. I didn't know what I expected her to do but I needed to vent to someone. And she was the closest target.
“Mom?” I knocked louder. “Mom!”
She didn't answer and I barged in.
Her bed was empty. Made. The blue comforter was smoothed over the mattress and the pillows, a pile of pretty blues and browns decorated with embroidered flowers, were artfully arranged. The blinds slanted downward, allowing the dusky twilight to seep through, throwing pink and orange rays against the walls.
“ Mom?”
“ In here.” Her voice was faint. It was coming from the bathroom.
A tiny sliver of fear edged out my anger. “Are...are you OK?”
The door to the bathroom clicked and opened. She came out dressed in her navy blue robe, the belt tied loosely over her ample stomach. She'd wrapped a taupe-colored towel around her head, turban-style. All cleaned up, her face scrubbed
“ Some doctors appointments,” he said. “I texted you. I wanted the homework assignment for today.”
I frowned. “I didn't get a message.”
He nodded. “Yeah, 'cuz I couldn't send it. I tried to call, too, but it said your phone was disconnected. Not in service or something.”
I pulled my phone out of my backpack. I'd spent the night at Aidan's —had told my mom I was at Jada's—so I hadn't used it. I punched through my recent calls, clicking on Aidan's number. The line stayed dead.
“ What the hell,” I muttered.
“ Bueños dias, mis estudiantes.” Mrs. Lopez stormed in, her black hair swirling around her as she plowed up the aisle to her desk. She didn't waste a second of class time. “Phone away, Miss Calloway.”
I shoved my phone back in my backpack and headed to my seat. I'd have to deal with it later.
There was a message blinking on the answering machine when Aidan dropped me off later that evening. I poked around in the refrigerator, searching for something—anything—to eat. We'd munched on a bag of chips and some salsa while we hung out in his room but that felt like hours ago.
A carton of milk sat on the top shelf. I opened it and sniffed and quickly wished I hadn't. Sitting below this was a wilted head of lettuce and a bag of shriveled grapes. I opened the deli drawer and found a package of dried-out veggie hot dogs and a block of cheese covered in fuzzy white mold. Disgusted, I slammed the fridge shut and opened the pantry cupboard. This was where my lunches came from most days —chips, granola bars, pudding cups. But we hadn't been grocery shopping in a while and the pickings were slim. I shook my head as I scanned the half-empty shelves. What the hell was wrong with my mom that she couldn't even get herself to the store to go shopping? I'd have to do it, I realized. I knew Aidan would take me if I asked; I just didn't want to.
I grabbed the last granola bar and hit the play button as I tore open the package.
“Megan.” My dad. Stern. Angry. “Call me. You'll have to use the house phone. I canceled your cell service.”
The granola bar slipped from my hand, breaking into pieces, crumbs scattering across the kitchen floor as I played the message again. Disbelief gave way to anger as I listened again. I slammed my fist down on the machine and the blinking light died.
What was he thinking? Wasn't it enough that he'd already left me and my mom, that he'd moved in with his girlfriend and was selling my house from under me? Now he'd turned off my goddamn phone? What was next—did he plan to start pawning off my possessions, sneak into my room and strip me of everything I owned, everything that belonged to me? Would he shut down the bank account, too so that, even if my mom wanted to buy groceries, could actually get herself together enough to restock the cupboards, there wouldn't be any money to do it? I stalked the kitchen. I wanted something to smash, to rip apart, to destroy. I wanted to destroy him .
I stormed down the hall to my mom's room and pounded on the door. I didn't know what I expected her to do but I needed to vent to someone. And she was the closest target.
“Mom?” I knocked louder. “Mom!”
She didn't answer and I barged in.
Her bed was empty. Made. The blue comforter was smoothed over the mattress and the pillows, a pile of pretty blues and browns decorated with embroidered flowers, were artfully arranged. The blinds slanted downward, allowing the dusky twilight to seep through, throwing pink and orange rays against the walls.
“ Mom?”
“ In here.” Her voice was faint. It was coming from the bathroom.
A tiny sliver of fear edged out my anger. “Are...are you OK?”
The door to the bathroom clicked and opened. She came out dressed in her navy blue robe, the belt tied loosely over her ample stomach. She'd wrapped a taupe-colored towel around her head, turban-style. All cleaned up, her face scrubbed
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