chapter four

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Finding my way back home was easy enough

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Finding my way back home was easy enough. If this was the 19th century, I probably would have died before I could make it make back to the school parking lot.

Thank god or whoever, for GPS.

Sure, I could have just kindly asked the girls to take me back, but after they so rudely ambushed me in the first place, I didn't want to spend anymore time with them...or have to force myself to be nice.

The door to the house was unlocked — typical — but the house smelled like shrimp fried rice, a dish my Dad had learned and perfected while watching various cooking shows over the years.

"Please tell me you cleaned the shrimp this time," I said, entering the kitchen and depositing my bag on an empty dining chair.

My Dad's back was facing me, but I knew he was rolling his eyes.

"I did that one time! When will you and Bea let that go?" His hands were on his hips as he laughed, fulling facing me now. A cloth was draped over his shoulder like always and he wore his lucky apron. It wasn't really his lucky apron...it was his only apron.

It was black, with big, rainbow block letters that read: Straight as a Rainbow.

Gifted by 8 year old me. I had seen it while my babysitter was navigating me through online shopping. She laughed at the time and placed the order, agreeing with me that he would love it.

I don't think I had ever seen my Dad laugh as much as he did when he uncovered his eyes to see me holding out his gift.

10 years later and he wears it just about everyday. I'm sure if the world was ending, this apron would be his choice of attire.

"Come on, Dad. You know we'll never let that go," Bea called as she descended the stairs, her brown hair in a low ponytail.

Dad smiled, setting three heaping bowls of shrimp fried rice on the small dinning table. We each sat in our designated seats; the smell of egg, shrimp, rice, and veggies made me instantly salivate.

"Beatrice, phone," Dad commanded. Bea sighed, quickly typing something on her phone before setting it face down on the table.

The rules of the dinning table were simple: no phones allowed. We must eat and converse with each other. Seemed like a strict rule, sure, but it's a rule that we always unconsciously followed, anyway.

"How was school?" Dad asked, blowing a spoonful of fried rice on his spoon to cool down.

"Awesome! I met these girls from art club — they invited me to come over sometime so we could practice our portrait styles on each other is that's okay?"

Dad raised his eyebrows. "You know I have to meet the parents before I allow you to go to anyone's house, Bea."

Bea sighed, shoveling of spoonful of fried rice into her mouth. "I know."

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