Mom doesn’t falter. “That sounds like good company for you, Miss Done With My Math Through September.”
I force a laugh to lighten the mood and nudge her. “I told you I was done throughmid-September.” To be fair, since yesterday, I am now pushing on being done through break the second week of October, but that is beside the point. I told hermid.
“You mean you aren’t done for the year yet?” She puts a hand on her hip, exaggerating an eye roll, but I’m just glad she isn’t distant or upset anymore. “Hopefully that boy can be a good influence on you then.”
“Ha ha.”
He definitely isaninfluence. Good or bad, I have no idea.
Lex
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sugar: Thanks for not saying anything about theater.
After I got home from the festival with Jason, I took a shower. And when I got out, I checked my phone, finding her message snuggled up with my other notifications. It’s late. So late. She couldn’t have just gotten home, so how long did she agonize over sending this?
Wiping my hair with a towel, I continue staring at the simple seven words and try to analyze what bothers me about them.
They give no real information.
No background. No explanation.
They merely confirm that my assumptions were correct and almost imply that she thinks I already knew her secrets. When I don’t. I only got a feeling that the terror on her face when she saw me had to have come from somewhere important. Deducing that our only real link is theater, I omitted it.
“This girl,” I mutter, letting my towel rest around my shoulders and dampen my shirt collar.
No problem.
After sending the message, I remain standing in the middle of my room for a little too long, waiting. Minutes of nothing come and go, and I sigh, ready to accept that she isn’t going to respond, when little bubbles pop up on my screen.
Sugar: Your act reminded me of the mean girls in chick-flicks, though.
I snort. That’s a perfect description. The forced “nice.” The plastic “perfect” that hides malice. Even though I wasn’t particularly hiding any “malice.”
The second you were out of ear-shot, we made fun of your clothes and plotted to steal your boyfriend.
Sugar: Rude.
I don’t have a chance to think of a reply.
Sugar: Well, see you tomorrow.
That’s that. The politegoodbye.
So fast.Toofast.
I toss my phone on my bed and try not to think about how quiet it is or how much I wish it weren’t. Am I really so attention-starved that the mere notion of a text conversation with someone I barely know is enough to brighten my night?
Apparently.
Pathetic.
I run my fingers through my damp hair and let the quiet seep into my bones. It’s cold. My father is working late, as always. Ophelia is probably already home. Any live-in staff are probably already tucked away in their quarters. Not a creature stirs. So I go to bed.
~*~
Monday.
