Flipped // DNF

Chapter Twelve

As I was getting dressed for the dinner party, I found myself staring at the painting my father had given me. I became furious all over again. Clay had never been a friend to me, ever. He hadn't taken my side about the tree, he'd thrown away my eggs, and he made fun of me at my uncle's expense.

When my mother called that it was time to go, I went out with every intention of telling her that I wasn't going. But she looked so happy and she's gone through so much trouble over making pies, that I couldn't. But that didn't mean I had to be nice to Clay.

George and his family were welcomed into Clay's home. His brothers and Clay's sister went to her room, their mothers were in the kitchen, and his father and Clay's grandfather were talking in the living room.

Clay apologized to George.

"I don't want to speak to you. Not now, not ever."

It felt good to take charge. I felt strong, in control. I told Clay what I thought and I was determined not to talk to him for the rest of the evening.

At dinner, it struck me that we were sharing a meal with a group of strangers. We have lived across the street from each other for years, because, except for Clay's grandfather, I didn't know these people at all.

Clay's father was clean and smooth on the outside, but it seemed like there was something rotten buried just beneath the surface.

By the end of the evening, all I felt was detached, neutral. No fireworks, no leftover anger, no flutters, nothing.

I went to bed that night feeling peaceful. I was grateful I had the family I had. And it felt good to no longer care about Clay.