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His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners with his half-smile. “Inconclusive. I can’t tell if this is just another one of his games or if he really is into you.”
“Well, no worries because I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”
Ethan said nothing to that. Instead, he paused and glanced around. “Where is he anyway?”
“He left to give Greg and Jeremiah a ride home. They were too drunk to drive, and I guess he had promised.”
Ethan nodded. “Wanna leave and go hang out?”
I sighed and glanced around the kitchen. I didn’t want to be there when Carson got back. Whatever happened between us was over, and Olivia’s words had hit their mark. I didn’t know whether to trust my gut—that feeling I had when Carson was drawing me close, his lips about to crush mine—or my head which told me we never stood a chance. We hated each other. That’s the way it’s always been. Our rivalry was inevitable. No use changing that.
“Um, no. I think I’m just going to call it a night. You’d better stay, though. I know Carson will only be a few minutes, but one of you should be here at your house.”
“You’re leaving?” Ethan asked.
I knew what he was thinking—I must be desperate to get out of there if it meant returning home. And he’d be right.
“Yeah. I think so.” I stepped forward and pulled Ethan into a hug, then headed for the door.
???
It was the start of winter break. For most kids my age, that marked the start of freedom, of staying up late and sleeping in. It meant Christmas movies, cozying up with hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, and shopping, some of my favorite things. But lately, my favorite things no longer seemed to matter. At least not like they used to. There was no holiday spirit at home. The typical joy of Christmas had dulled. I no longer looked forward to weekends, let alone two weeks off school, because it meant spending more time at home. Sure, I’d spend as much of it with Ethan as I could, and I’d hang with some of my other friends, but they had their own families, their own holiday festivities to attend to, most of which wouldn’t include me. Ultimately, nothing changed my reality—that this Christmas wouldn’t be merry or jolly or bright.
I sat in my room; earbuds crammed into my ears as far as possible, though I hadn’t needed them (yet). I gave my parents a couple hours before they found something worth fighting over.
Usually, I’d call Ethan, but considering my less than stellar mood, I decided to wait until I was out of my funk. Why drag him down with me? Plus, I still felt awkward about the party, everything too fresh to ignore.
I flipped the pages of my pocket calendar to today’s date. Everyone else my age preferred using their phone for everything, but I preferred a paper calendar. There was something oddly satisfying about being able to write things down, then physically scratch items off a to-do list.
Until now.
Now I hated the little blank squares and numbers marking time because for every box I drew an X through, I grew closer to the deadline for receiving an early acceptance. Pretty soon, I will have run out of time, and I was pretty much guaranteed a rejection letter.
I gripped my pen tightly and put an X through today’s date. The mail had already come. There was nothing for me. Sighing, I flopped back in my bed, and an earbud popped loose.
It was Monday, and Carson and I should be working on the Angel Program. We needed to do the remaining shopping for the kid’s gifts and the leftover tags on the Angel Tree, but my motivation was severely lacking. I wasn’t sure how to face him after the party on Saturday night. Olivia’s words continued to run through my head, and the more they did, the more accurate they seemed. After all, I was there. I saw the way he kissed her. That was not the kiss of a boy who liked someone else.
I covered my face and moaned. Why was I even thinking about Carson? He was nothing to me. I needed to forget that whole awful party. The way Ethan and Carson embarrassed me. The way Carson looked at me with those soulful eyes, like he wanted to kiss me.
I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. The sound of my parent’s voices carried up the stairs, to the ear where the bud had come loose. Typically, I blocked them out, but at the moment, I was feeling oddly masochistic and reveling in my truth, so I plucked the earbuds out entirely by the chord and listened to the disjointed sound of their voices.
“I just want to know. . .worth it. . .” my mother said.
“Maybe if you were actually. . .when you’re here. . .”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“. . .call it like I see it. . .”
“Whatever,” my mother’s anger radiated from the floor below.
The doorbell rang, and I tensed, wondering which neighbor had heard them fighting this time. The other night, Mrs.
Wheeler had come knocking on the door to make sure everything was all right.
Nope. It’s okay, Mrs. Wheeler, you know, just another one of the Randall’s blowouts, I wanted to say. Instead, with shame burning in my gut, I told her I’d ask them to keep it down.
I listened, waiting for my parents to answer the door, but they didn’t even pause in their fighting this time. Even when the doorbell competed to be heard, their voices rose.
