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I tucked my phone back in my pocket and headed for the pool.
If I wanted to be seen as more, maybe it was time I started acting like it.
Chapter 8
PENELOPE
MyfatherarrangedaridefromMrs.Geigen,themusicteacherandoneofElliotLandscaping’slongtimeclients,onthedayswhereIneededtostaylatetotutor.AsifIweren’talreadyasocialreject,thisalonewouldearnmemajorloserpoints.Anditwasprettymuchasawfulasyoucouldimagine.Afterbeingforcedtomakesmalltalkwithher,Ihadtoenduretenminutesofheryellingathertwenty-something-year-oldsontocleanhisroomand“getadangedjob.”Thoughnotinthosewords.
She pulled over to the curb in front of my house, but when I glanced over at her, she was too caught up in the throes of her conversation to say goodbye.
“Food doesn’t grow on trees,Jacob. Do you really think you’re going to meet a nice girl this way, huh? Lounging around in your underwear with orange Cheeto dust all over your fingers?”
“Um . . .” I pointed toward my house, trying to get her attention to let her know I was going. “I’m just—”
“That’s it! No more allowance for you.”
My brows rose to my hairline.Allowance?
Finally, she turned her gaze to me, so I waved, then motioned to my house. When she nodded, I opened my door, mumbled my thanks, and all but ran from the car.
I let myself inside, then headed straight to my room, calling Scarlett on the way. I only had an hour to myself before Sara had soccer practice and I had to bum another ride. This time with our neighbor to the soccer field.
I supposed I didn’t have to go. After all, my dad would pick her up on his way home from work at the end of her game regardless of whether I went or not, but most of the Lakeview moms attended since the majority of them didn’t work. In fact, sitting at practice was like watching a behind-the-scenes episode of the Housewives of Lakeview. But I hated the thought of Sara being at a game alone, even if it was only a scrimmage. She was too young to remember our mom. She died when Sara was two, but ever since, I vowed to make it so that she felt her absence as little as possible. And although there were times where I saw her watching the moms with their daughters, so far, I’d done a pretty good job.
I pressed my phone between my shoulder and ear as it rang and dropped my bag inside my bedroom door.
“How’d it go?” Scarlett blurted over the line.
“Like you even need to ask,” I said, envisioning Topher’s smug face. “How do you think it went?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Well, I guess it could’ve been worse. Can you believe he actually had the gall to try and apologize?”
“Wait, what? And that’s a bad thing how?”
“Do you actually think it was sincere? Like after six years of torture, he can just bat his eyes, give me some lame sorry, and all is forgotten now that he needs my help. That’s just more of the typical entitled Royal attitude.”
“Eh, true. So what’d you say?”
“I told him exactly what I thought of him, that he was a flaming butt bag.”
Scarlett snorted out a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Not quite, but I did agree with him that he and his friends are all jerks and not much was going to change my mind about that, especially not some half-hearted apology.”
“Wow.”
“What?” I asked, half distracted as I put my cell on speaker and set it on my bed.
I quickly changed out of my shorts and top into a tank and cotton shorts. It’d be scorching hot at the soccer field sitting on the hot metal bleachers, so I may as well be comfortable.
“Nothing, it’s just . . . Penelope Ewe speaks her mind twice in one week. Will the miracles never cease?”
She had a point, although to be fair, I thought I’d kept my comment about him hitting on Ms. Stone yesterday to myself.
I laughed. “Shut up.”
