FORGET YOU LAUREN

CHAPTER 16

At that time: 16 and a half years
Lauren POV
Dear Lauren,
I would like to thank you (again) for reporting me. Thanks to you, my mom never lets me leave the house to check the mailbox. She took my phone and I can't use the computer to send emails without her permission.
You played with MANY girls from our school and I never told your parents - even when you were playing with some of them at the same time - that you were bringing them to your room. You always bring girls to your room, and I never give it to you!
(The return will suck, and I'm still not talking to you on the way to school).
Forget me,
Camila
PS - Mandy Banks is telling everyone that you're a terrible kisser and your cock is small. So, since you're going on a date with Shelby Hannah tonight, you may want to keep it in your pants since its clearly not that impressive.

PSS - Please toss your response letter through my window as THANKS TO YOU, this is my only means of communication O_o

***
Dear Camila,

You're welcome. Given the fact that you were about to have sex with Glen Easton, he should also have committed you to a mental wellness institute, so consider yourself lucky.
Miss. Popular usually dates most school girls, Camila. That's the goal of being me 🙂. The only reason you didn't report it is because you were too busy taking notes.
(I prefer the quiet rides to and from school anyway).
Forget me,
Lauren
PS - No comment on whether it's impressive or not. (That type of conversation can't be had with someone who has never seen a cock in real life) I'll be sure to give you all the details tomorrow since that's as close as you'll ever get to having sex.

PSS - You're welcome.
***

STEPPING OUT OF MY car and into drizzling rain, I crumpled my letter into a ball and threw it up through Camila's window. As usual, it went in on the first attempt, and I waited to see if her lights would come on, but they didn't.

My "date" tonight with Shelby wasn't a real date at all, and I honestly felt like I'd wasted my time. When I took her to the drive-in theater, she spent most of her time talking about how "cute" of a couple we made and asking me if I thought she was prettier than Camila. (Every girl I went out with asked me this shit for some strange reason) I spent most of my time texting the girl I went out with a few days before and telling her that I thought every girl was prettier than Camila.

Our sex in the backseat of my car wasn't good at all, and for some reason, I wanted to talk to Camila about it.

The lights in her room were off, and I was tempted to throw a few rocks to wake her, but I knew she was still too pissed to talk to me. That, and she definitely wasn't waking up at three o'clock in the morning to do so.

I made sure that my car was locked, that the lights were still off in my parents' room, and then I climbed up the ladder that led to my bedroom. Gently moving the books I'd wedged in the frame, I tossed them to the grass so they wouldn't make a sound. When I was sure that all was clear, I pushed the window all the way up and climbed inside.

The second I hit the floor, the lights in my room came on, and I was face to face with my parents.

What the fuck?
"Where the hell have you been, Lauren?" My father's face was beet red. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
I didn't get a chance to answer.
My mother took a deep breath, as she always did when she was about to scream, and all hell exploded.
"We said the curfew was at 11 o'clock, Lauren!" She shouted. "Eleven hours! And that's more than generous, given what many of your colleagues get, don't you think?"
I got up and held a sigh.
"Every time we try to trust you." My mother shook her head. "You try to push the limits and do something like that."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you sorry?" She hissed. "Are you sorry? Well, that's nice. You're also grounded."