Page 48
“You’re early,” are the first words out of my mouth when I open the front door and find Milo’s smiling face staring back at me.
“Or am I right on time?” he retorts with a playful wink.
“No, you’re definitely early.” I scowl, glancing at my watch. I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up for at least another hour.
“That’s okay. I can wait out here on the porch if you’re such a stickler for being on time. Might freeze to death while I wait, but… whatever makes Max Morgan happy.” He pretends to shiver, rubbing his arms dramatically.
“Get in here,” I grumble, opening the door wider for him to step through.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, flashing me all his teeth and then some, only for his smile to falter the second he steps inside.
I’m not sure whether to be offended or not. Sure, my living room isn’t much to look at, but it does have the bare essentials. An old TV that should’ve been put out of its misery years ago. A couch that’s seen better days. Two recliners and a coffee table that are probably older than I am. Still, the house is clean and tidy. I make sure of that, at least.
“I changed my mind.” He glances around before looking back at me. “I think I have a better chance of not getting frostbite out there than I do in here.” He points toward the window, where most of Maple Road is buried beneath a blanket of snow.
“You’re being dramatic.” I pick up my school bag from the floor and pull out my biology textbook and notebooks.
“No, I’m being optimistic. At this rate, losing a toe before our biology test feels like a pretty safe bet.” He rubs his hands together. “Why is it so damn cold in here?”
“It’s nothing. Just something with the thermostat. It stopped working all of a sudden. My dad will get to it eventually.”
“Eventually, as in sometime this winter, or should I check back in a year or two?” I thin my lips at his statement.
I hate to say it, but knowing my dad, a year doesn’t sound all that far-fetched. Dad isn’t exactly known for being handy around the house, and it’s not like we have the extra money to hire someone to fix it. Neither fact is something I want to admit. Especially not to Milo.
“He’ll get to it, okay? Stop asking so many questions.”
“No can do. I got one more for you. Where’s your dad? Call him up. I’m sure he and I can get the thermostat working in no time.”
“He’s not here.”
“Yeah, Max, I can see that.” He gives me a ‘no-shit’ look. “Where is he then?”
“At work. Like he normally is.”
“When will he get back?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” I make a show of looking at my watch before meeting Milo’s gaze again. “It’s two o’clock now, which means he should be back by Thursday.”
Milo’s eyes widen so much I almost laugh. He looks just like one of those cartoon characters we used to watch as kids, their eyes practically popping out of their sockets.
“He left you here alone?”
“Yeah. So? It’s not like it’s the first time.” I shrug. “You do know my dad’s a truck driver, right? That means he drives from point A to point B. Sometimes that takes hours. Sometimes it takes days.” I arch a brow. “You are familiar with the concept of driving, aren’t you?”
“This isn’t a joking matter, Max,” he says, his voice turning serious. “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t be left alone.”
“I’ll be sixteen in two months. I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like knowing you’re all alone here. At night. In a fucking freezer, to top it off.” He groans, dragging a hand through his dark curls.
“Milo Fletcher cursing. Wow, you really are upset,” I tease, trying to defuse the situation.
“Quit it, Max. This is serious.”
“No, you’re the one making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m perfectly capable of being on my own. I don’t need adult supervision. It’s not like I’ve had much of it in my life anyway.”
This is the real crux of the matter—Milo being left to his own devices at fifteen is a monumental deal, but to me, it’s just another day in my life. I’ve been fending for myself for as long as I can remember.
