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I reached for the hem of my shirt and twisted it between my fingers. “Not entirely.”
“Not entirely?” My mother frowned. “Did he do this to you? Did he give you a black eye?”
“Well, it’s not really a black eye, just a little bruising.” What was I saying? I wanted them to feel sorry for me, and I wanted the blame on Carson.
Balance. I needed to find balance, which usually rested somewhere between the truth and a lie. I needed middle ground.
“He hit me with a basketball.”
“On purpose?” Mom asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Well,” I drawled, “it was meant to get my attention, but his aim was off, and he hit me square in the face.”
“And your part in all this was?” My father asked.
“Um… The impact kind of blinded me for a moment. I was so surprised, and it hurt pretty bad, so I stumbled my way toward him.” More like loped my way in an angry rage. “And I intended to shove him, but somehow my hands went around his neck instead.” I winced.
Wow. I was really winning at this lying thing.
“You’re trying to say you accidentally tried to choke him?” My mother asked, brows raised.
I hesitated. This sounded like a trick question. One that could get me into more trouble.
“It was more like a playful shove in the trachea.” I held out a finger. “Also an accident.”
My parents glanced at each other, and I swore for a moment, I saw a spark of amusement, like they both wanted to burst out laughing. And if this were five years ago, maybe they would’ve. But not anymore. They found humor in nothing, least not with each other, which extended to me as well. Because wasn’t I a part of both of them, an amalgamation of their love? I was merely a reminder of what once was. Nowadays, if one was happy, the other was automatically mad. If one was hot, the other was cold. When one was hungry, the other lost their appetite. It was exhausting. Most days I wondered how they were still standing.
“Mrs. Parks said she handled it and that the two of you are doing a peer remediation project?” Dad asked, and really, the project was perfect because judging by his rigid stance, he wanted to punish me. And Dad’s “go-to” had always been grounding me, something he couldn’t entirely do if I needed to meet up with Carson to work on the project, and if I just so happened to run into Ethan on the way, well…
“Yeah.” I stepped forward, smiling. “Actually, that’s where I’m headed now. We’re working on the Sweet Water Angel Program and the Angel Tree for Christmas.” I glanced to my wrist a moment too late, realizing I hadn’t worn my watch today. I shook my arm uselessly. “Uh, I was supposed to leave five minutes ago.”
Dad sighed and glanced to Mom one last time. “Fine. But I’m going to call Mrs. Parks in a week and make sure you’re doing everything required of you.”
Just when I thought I’d gotten off easy, he said, “And no going out for the next two weeks, other than to work on the project. It’s school, the project, and your room. Got it?”
I nodded mutely.
“That seems a bit harsh,” Mom said. “Look at her face, and I’m sure if she’s not doing what’s expected, Mrs. Parks will give us a call.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Penny. I forgot. We should just let our daughter get away with assaulting other kids. Great parenting.”
“She’s best friends with his brother, I highly doubt—”
“Yeah, speaking of which, I was never fond of how you thrust those two together. She’s an eighteen-year-old girl. Her best friend should be another girl.”
Mom snorted. “What is this, 1940? She can’t be best friends with a boy? According to you, the opposite sex can be just friends and coworkers. Or, are you just blowing smoke?”
“Of course, you’re going to turn this around. . .”
With a resigned sigh, I hurried from the room, letting the sound of their arguing float away, fading into the distance.
It was amazing how good I’d gotten at blocking them out.
???
Normally, I drove to Ethan’s house, but today, I decided to walk. The temperature was mild, nearly fifty-six degrees, so I knew my hoodie and jeans would suffice. It was only fifteen minutes by foot, and I desperately needed to clear my head, to shake off the aftereffects of my parent’s fighting.
I breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the simple sensation of filling my lungs until bursting, then releasing the pressure. It was the same feeling I got at home, like I was filling up-up-and-up until I thought I might explode.
