Little Miss Nosy

Chapter Six: You Win Some, You Lose Some

-Edited-

Not many things can shock me nowadays. 

I've become desensitized to my own trauma and humiliation so much so that what one would label shocking, I'd consider another day in the life of Paige Adams. As sad as that sounds I consider it a blessing and a curse with more positives than negatives. 

I can go longer than most before reaching my breaking point, but as a past therapist said, all the pent up emotion will one day crack and burst resulting in "a serious mental break." 

Said mental break hasn't happened yet. Carmen once cracked a joke about how she was counting down the days before it did, but I'm stubborn enough to ensure we'll never see that day.

Although I don't experience much shock anymore, I have to give credit where credit is due. 

I was stunned to wake up to a text from Nick asking—more so demanding—me to come to his house as soon as possible. I usually spend my Sundays wasting away in bed binge watching the YouTube videos I put in my watch later folder. Instead I'm standing on his doorstep trying to muster the courage to knock on his front door.

The last time I was here was by force. Mom suggested I attend a party to celebrate Nick's sixteenth birthday in order to make some friends. Instead of building new relationships I left with the friends I already had and spent the entire time being ignored. 

Everything is familiar to me: the grey stone walkway leading to the porch, Mrs. Novak's creepy rocking chair in the corner near the banister, the white two story home. The only difference is Nick's bike that used to lay on the lawn is replaced by a shiny blue car parked in the driveway. 

When I finally lift my hand to knock, the door opens to reveal a very antsy looking Nick. He grabs my hand and leads me upstairs without a word. "Hi, Mrs. Novak!" I say to the woman drinking from a mug in the living room. 

She probably doesn't know who I am, and I would've laughed at her hesitant wave if I had time to.

"You said you'd fix me," Nick says as he slams his bedroom door shut. 

"Come again?"

Nick's room is cleaner than I expect. I was prepared for a clothes littered floor, unmade bed, and messy desk. I was instead met with the complete opposite besides a soda can and empty chip bag sitting next to his computer monitor. 

"You said you'd help fix my grades, but look." He thrusts a stack of papers in my face. I take it slowly, aware that whatever state he's in isn't his usual.

The stack consists of a mixture of graded assignments from different classes; the highest grade being a C and the lowest an E. Striking red and black markings from teachers stare back at me as I skim it all. 

I peek over the edge of the papers and find Nick pouting in his desk chair. He crosses his arms as he stares at the computer wallpaper—a foggy picture of what looks to be a dystopian city—and taps his foot rapidly on the wooden floorboards. 

I never imagined what it'd feel like to miss the cheeky player I've grown annoyed of, but seeing him so out of character is odd.

"I said I'd help, but I never promised anything. I tried my best," I hurry out at the end in defense of his glare. 

"Coach is threatening to put me on academic probation and my parents are up my ass about getting my grades up for college applications." He runs a hand through his curls, subtly pulling at the roots. "I can't deal with this shit now! What should I do?" His words are pleading; the clenched jaw and balled fists a sign he doesn't want to beg, but his options are running thin.