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As for me, I apparently don’t have a self preservation mechanism to speak of since tonight I’m attending the homecoming dance with none other than Kyle.
In my defense, he kind of wore me down.
He started asking a month ago, and I had declined for the first week with a sure no. But that didn't seem to deter him, asking every day the following week too, until my answer switched from a solid ‘no, thanks’ to something a bit gentler like ‘I’m busy’ or the not so fool proof ‘I have to study.’ When the third week came around and he still didn't look to be losing any steam, I finally relented. Or at least I pretended it was his persistence that changed my mind.
I don’t want to think too hard on the real reason why I’m going to this godforsaken homecoming dance. Like hell I’ll admit that my answer only changed after I overheard Stacy bragging in the school hallway about everything she and Noah have planned for tonight.
Admitting to that means that I care. And I don’t care. Not one bit.
Staring at myself through my bedroom’s mirror reflection, I smooth down the light pink dress Daisy and I had found at the mall in Falmouth last weekend. The minute Daisy learnt I was going to the dance, she made sure we took a day trip off the island to buy me the perfect dress. In all honesty, I really didn’t care what I wore, but the outing was a welcome relief from the tension I constantly experience in our new home.
I was so happy to get out of Thatcher’s Bay that I made the rookie mistake of texting my father and telling him both Daisy and I would be on the mainland that day. He replied back saying at one point during the day he would definitely meet up with us to have some father daughter time but neither of us had really expected him to show. In fact, I knew Daisy would have preferred to chew her arm off than have him tag along and ruin our fun with his presence.
It was to both of our surprise when we got off the ferry and there he was, a giant smile on his face like it made his year seeing us.
"Little bird," he bellowed, his arms outstretched like I was still a small child that was going to run towards him and jump into his arms.
It was kinda sad, but for a second, I actually felt like doing it.
I wonder when that faded away completely, the need to feel loved by your parents. It was definitely fading as I got older, but not fast enough. It was my fervent wish that one day I would wake up and truly not care what he did.
One person shouldn't have the power to make or break your day.
My mind immediately flicked to Noah with that thought, but I gritted my teeth and pushed his image out of my head.
My father's grin had dimmed when neither of us made a big deal that he was there, but he quickly recovered, giving both of us tight hugs once we got to him. I was still feeling off from our trip across the water. As much as I longed to get off the island, having to be on the boat for that long had been pure hell. The water was choppy today, the waves licking at the boat and sending it rocking back and forth. One of the deck chairs had almost knocked me over the railing, and I’d finally gone to sit inside on the benches, squeezing my knees to my chest and taking deep breaths.
"Daisy," my father said affectionately as he gave my sister a hug.
"Grant," she drawled disrespectfully, and I elbowed her in the side as soon as he let her go with a frown. She shot me a look and I gave her a begging one in return.
I may have been in a constant state of unhappiness with my father, but that didn't mean I wanted the visits I did get with him to suck. I knew what that was from. It was because a big part of me thought that the more amazing I was, the more interesting I was, the more exciting I was…the more he’d think about me.
And maybe it would get him to want to see me.
I knew it was pathetic, thinking like that.
But I couldn't help it.
It was the part of me I hoped faded in time.
"So I hear we’re going to be looking for dresses," he commented as we got into his rusty metal truck that I was always surprised was still running. He’d had it for as long as I could remember. I don't think it actually got that many miles since he preferred to use his motorcycle, so maybe that accounted for the fact that it was somehow still kicking despite him having it since before I was born.
"Who are the lucky guys?"
Daisy made a snorting noise from the front passenger seat and I glared at the back of her head.
"I think Daisy has like three dates," I offered. "One to start the night, one to have dinner with, and one to dance with."
My father shot Daisy a surprised look. "More and more like me every day,” he spouted proudly.
Daisy stiffened in her seat, her face paling.
I wish he hadn’t said that.
Our father might think that pointing out the obvious, that Daisy is just like him, a free spirit that nothing and no one could chain down, is something that they could bond over, but he’d be wrong. For her, those similarities between them only makes her hate him more.
Or at least that was the theory I had going.
