“I’ll have Jake and Laura take the lead on all this catering stuff,” Maddy says, swiping under her eye. “I don’t want anything taking time away from your studies.”
Ugh. Get out of my head!
I nod. “Okay. Sounds good.”
“Speaking of, finish up your dinner so you can hit the books,” Maddy says. “No movies tonight because you skipped tutoring today.”
“If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have this potential catering job,” I protest.
Maddy smirks. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
Ugh. I send my eyes into a massive roll and move back to my plate. I wonder how long I can drag out this meal.
Twelve
Iexpectedalecturefrom Maddy on the way to school this morning. Instead, she was too busy discussing her travel itinerary and all the things she needs to pack. That then morphed into needing to buy new swimwear and evening dresses. She then giggled, saying she wouldn’t buy now. She’d wait and have a shopping spree in Hawaii.
A shopping spree. In Hawaii.
These are the things my aunt got excited about this morning.
Me. I get the luxury of a study session in the library while missing out on soccer practice.
Milo sits across from me, flipping pages. Every curl of paper makes my skin crawl.
I can’t stand his face this morning. I tap my pen against the woodgrain of the table. I stare at him and rage boils inside me.
Milo’s eyes leave his book and lock onto my pen. His gaze flicks up to me and his eyebrows lift.
“What?” I say bluntly, holding his stare.
He motions to the pen. “Must you?”
I tap the pen harder and to a faster beat. “I must.”
Milo huffs, slouching in his seat. “You’re in a mood.”
“You think?” I snap. “I’m missing soccer practice and it’s all your fault.”
At that, he sits taller. “My fault?”
“Yes. You opened your big yap in front of Coach and made me look bad. We only missed out on studying yesterday because you brought your friends along.”
Milo’s eyes scrunch closed as he shakes his head, comprehending my words. When he stills and opens his eyes, he asks, “Is that how you saw yesterday?”
My hand throbs from smashing the pen against the tabletop, but my frustration won’t let me stop. “I didn’t at the time, or I wouldn’t have let you sabotage me.”
“Sabotage? Excuse me for letting you have a minute to make a friend.”
I scoff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and Christie were hitting it off. I thought you were having a good time.”
The pen slips out my hand, greased up by my sweat, and hits the carpet below. I fold my arms and huff. “What’s it to you?”
“Whatever,” Milo grumbles, refocusing on the page in front of him. “I don’t care. Let’s just finish these notes for history class.”
With his eyes off me, my rigid arms slacken to my sides. I watch him underline a paragraph in his textbook. Without my incessant tapping, the silence is deafening.
