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“It’s not her fault,” he says, causing my eyes to widen. He then proceeds to launch into a psychological evaluation of her behavior and the likely causes. I’m sure it’s interesting to a certain kind of person, but by the time he’s finished, my eyes are glazing over and I just want to go home.
“Fine.”
“Really?” he asks like a kid on Christmas.
I shrug. “I guess. If you want me to pretend date you so some skanky girl—”
“Hey.”
The way he scowls at me, I can see she’s already the mother of his children in his vision of the future, so I don’t bother reasoning with him.
I shrug again. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll do it.”
His guard drops, and he grins at me. “Thanks, Kennedy. You’re the best.”
I head for his bedroom door. It’s open now. It was shut when we first came in, but Milo popped in to ask Jet something while we were studying. His gaze drifted to me, and, with it, a tsunami of warmth I felt clear down to my toes. Then he left, taking the warmth with him and leaving the bedroom door wide open.
I wonder if he really wanted to talk to Jet or he just wanted to check in on us.
As I make my way out into the hall, I find myself watching for him, expecting him to come into view. I don’t realize until I get to the front door without seeing him, I was kind of… hoping to.
Since I have no reason to stay, I hoist my drooping backpack and walk through the door out into the chilly late October evening. It’s a bit windy. The leaves crunch beneath my shoes as I make my way to the car.
“Hey, Kennedy.”
At the sound of Jet’s voice, I turn and look back at him.
He’s holding his phone up in front of him. He snaps a picture of me.
“Proof,” he explains when I shoot him a funny look.
I roll my eyes, but good-naturedly. He’s such a nerd. “Goodnight, Jet.”
“Goodnight, Kennedy. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
___
I’m in my bedroom vibing to some music while I study when all of a sudden the headphones are ripped right off my head.
My heart rate kicks up and I instinctively lean away from the danger, but when I turn around, I see it’s only my mother. “What the hell?” I demand.
Her eyes widen with annoyance as she holds my headphones hostage. “I asked you a fucking question.”
“I obviously didn’t hear you,” I say, snatching the headphones back but not putting them on. “What do you want?”
“I asked if you’ve seen my red lipstick.”
“No.” Irritation cuts my tone short, but Jesus, she doesn’t have to be such a pain in the ass.
“Are you sure? I thought I saw it in your room the other day.”
“I don’t wear red lipstick,” I tell her.
Ignoring me, she walks over and starts knocking things over on top of my dresser, looking for the lipstick I never touched and muttering, “I know you have it.”
I shake my head and slide my noise-cancelling headphones back on. I secure them over my ears to block out the noise and try to go back to researching for the paper I’m writing, but it’s no use. My concentration is broken, and I won’t be able to repair it as long as my mother is moving through the room like a fucking cyclone.
Tamping down rage as she tosses things out of my backpack and makes a complete mess of my room, I seek some kind of distraction so I don’t absolutely lose it.
