Ian didn't reply to any of my texts last night. And so far, he hasn't replied to any of my morning texts either. If we were officially dating, I'd threaten to break up with him.
My phone is set on super loud and vibrate mode but I check it again, just in case. Nothing. I shove it back on the nightstand, grinding my teeth. Then I wriggle back under the covers. It's a beautiful Saturday morning, the first day of summer break and I have nothing do but lay in bed all day because I am grounded. And they say we have it better than our grandparents did. Right. I groan, pull the pillow over my head, think seriously about suffocating myself but I know that would never work.
I wish there was some kind of over-the counter-coma pill. A pretty blue pill that would knock me into a three-month coma, ending on the first day of my sophomore year. School sucks, but at least I'd get to see Ian because he promised me he would come back to school for his senior year.
Mom calls for my little brother and me to come to breakfast. Bentley's socked feet run and slide down the hallway. Hard wood floors are fun like that. Run, slide, run, slide. Ugh. Ten year olds have life way better than I do.
I crawl out of bed, grab my phone and trudge to the kitchen. My hands feel sweaty. The morning after fighting with Mom is always awkward. Chances are, she won't mention it anyway. She always yells at me and then on the next day she pretends that nothing happened. Maybe that is some kind of psychological parenting ploy. Or maybe it's all she knows how to do – mothers are the nurturing type. I don't have a father to inflict punishments, so nothing happens when I get in trouble. I smile. I love being the bastard child of a single mom. No punishments – just yelling.
And then she starts yelling at me from the kitchen and I change my mind.
“Bayleigh!” Her voice carries down the hallway. I cringe, but at least she didn't use the middle name too.
“Yeah? I mean, Ma'am?” I say. Bentley's sitting at the bar playing his Nintendo 3DS with the volume way too loud.
“You left the TV and the hall light on all night.” Mom rips into me almost like it was rehearsed. “Unless you want to start paying the light bill, you better turn everything off, dammit.”
“Okay,” I say. She flips a pancake with unnecessary spatula force. “And you haven't fed Patch all week and you know that's your job.”
I sigh. “Yes ma'am.”
She sets a plate of food in front of Bentley and he digs in, somehow still managing to play his video game. She's not going to make a plate for me so I get up and get my own. Between layering pancakes and syrup, my phone vibrates from the counter. I leap around Mom, slamming into her shoulder as I lurch for my phone. It's a text from Ian.
“Jesus, Bayleigh.” Mom's coffee splashes out of her cup. “You almost knocked me over trying to read a text message? Seriously?” Mom is moody today. I open the message.
“It's important,” I say, looking at my phone.
Hey
My heart warms. It's only one word, but it's a word from Ian. I type a reply, read over it, decide it sucks and type a new message. I press send. When I come back to reality, Mom is still gripping her coffee. Her lips are pursed into a frown. She's been watching me.
“What?” I ask.
She reaches out to me with the hand that isn't dripping with coffee. “Give me your phone.”
“What? No.” I pull the handset to my chest, press the lock key just in case she forces it out of my grasp. She can't read my messages without the password.
“You're grounded. That means no parties, no boys, and now it means no cell phone. I tried to give it back to you, but this just won't work.” Her hand, palm up waits for me to surrender my phone. It seems hopeless to try now, but I do what I do best. I cry.
“Please, Mom. Please please don't take my phone.” I grab her, hold her tight. She hugs me back, showing the weakness in her parental armor. “I'll be good, I promise.” She sighs. Pulls me back. Her face is more wrinkly this close. My hand vibrates and I want to read Ian's reply so bad, but I know now is not the time.
The last tear rolls down my cheek. The lines in her forehead soften. “Fine,” she says, retracting her hand. I almost start jumping up and down. “Thanks, Mom.” I hug her again. She freaks because the bacon is burning and rushes over to it.
“You're still grounded,” she says as she rescues the bacon, her back facing me.
“Okay.” I smile. It's not like I can't find a way to see Ian when she's at work.
Chapter 4
After breakfast, Mom and Bentley go shopping for new baseball gear for his summer league. I retreat to my room and play on Facebook. Ian's profile has been tagged with fifty-six new photos from last night's party. I have been tagged in exactly zero photos. Because I didn't get to go.
My blood boils the moment I click on the first photo. Forty of the photos were added by some girl named Stacia who looks like she could very well be a Victoria's Secret model. She definitely doesn't go to our school. One thing is for sure – I've never seen her before. What the hell kind of name is that anyway? I click on her profile. It's private. Fuck.
I go back to his photos and sink into a depression hole that gets deeper with every click. Stacia's captions bother me: TWO HOTTIES. It's a self-taken close-up of her and Ian. I scrutinize every detail, every pixel. At least her hand is around him, not the other way around.
The next several photos chronicle their game of beer pong. The last one has Ian looking tipsy yet adorable. I save it to my desktop. He's holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand, two ping pong balls in the other. I LOVE HIS BALLS! XOXO is the caption. That's it. I text Becca.
Who the fuck is this Stacia girl?
