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“If you say so,” she says.
She pulls onto the main road, but we’re going the wrong direction.
“Where are you going?” I mumble.
“We’re going shopping.”
I jerk up. “What?”
How did I forget? Shopping is my definition of a nightmare. Shopping with Mom takes hours. Every time I think we’re done, she heads to another store and makes an entire day out of it. All I want to do is go home and sleep.
“Becca, your shoes are falling apart.”
“You know my size. Just pick some up.”
She gives me a side eye. “You’d never wear them.”
“That’s because the ones I have are perfectly fine.” I kick my feet to solidify my point.
“They have holes in them.”
I’m not going to be able to convince her that these shoes are decent. The soles are stained an awful shade of brown, they’re fraying on the ends and she’s right, one of themdoeshave a hole on the side.
“Well, I can’t go,” I say, crossing my arms, preparing for battle.
“Why not?”
“Because I—uh—” I wrack my brain thinking of every possible excuse, but I know my mom will counteract every single one. If I tell her I have homework, she’ll argue that it’s Friday. If I tell her I’m sick, she’ll dote on me all evening. But then . . . “I’m hanging out with Caleb today!”
I blurt it out so fast, and with so little thought, I even surprise myself.
She hums like she doesn’t believe me, her mouth pulling to the side. “I thought you and Caleb didn’t get along.”
I shrug. “Well, we have—” There’s no way I’m telling Mom any details. She’d have a heart attack if she knew her precious, antisocial baby was going on five dates in the near future. “We have a project we’re working on for school.”
“I’m sure he’d be okay with moving it to tomorrow.”
“No. It’s a really big project, and we already made plans. Can you just drop me off and then go shopping?”
Please, please still go shopping so I can stay home instead.
At the very least, she turns the car in the direction of our house. “Don’t be silly. I was only going to go shopping to find you shoes.”
That’s a lie.
She continues, “I’ll drop you off at his house, and then I’ll get some things done around the house.”
Great . . .
The rest of our drive is filled with questions about our imaginary project. So many that my brain is about to explode. I’malmostrelieved when we pull up in front of the Park’s house.
Mom shoos me out of the car, eagerly watching as I walk up the path.
I knock on the door, holding my breath.
Celeb swings it open and raises an eyebrow as he leans against the door frame. “What are you doing here?”
I take a deep breath and force it out. “Why do you think? I’m here to get our first date over with.”
