Me, Me & You

Chapter 12

The movie sucked. But I watched it. I was present for it. Archie leaned over during the more ridiculous scenes and made wise-cracks, making me laugh.

We don't have Ubers or taxis in town because everyone has a car. Everyone except us. One of Archie's friends worked the concessions and could give us a ride, but that meant waiting for his shift to end. To kill time, we snuck into another movie for a double-feature, some Oscarbait biopic about a long-dead boxer. I fell asleep.

But we snagged our ride and got home safely.

"Bye, Arch'!" I called to his closed window. He gave me a small wave. "And thanks for the ride, Steve!"

The car backed out of the driveway, its headlights sweeping across the garage door and neighboring house. With one last wave, I turned to enter the house.

A fine layer of snow coated the driveway and entryway, making my walk up to the front door deceptively slippery. I rang the doorbell and waited, stomping my feet and hugging myself to keep warm. As comforting as numbness was, at least I was feeling something close to content.

I heard shouts on the other side of the door and immediately tensed up. The door swung open and revealed my father's face. From the way his mouth was pulled back in a thin line, I knew I messed up somehow.

"Get in," he ordered. Stepping into my own fate, I opened the screen door and stepped through to the foyer where the stairs to the upstairs and downstairs converged of our split-level house. My mother loomed above us on the balcony to the upstairs bedrooms, leaning against the banisters and glaring down at me in her pajama set.

"Do you know what time it is?" My father said, raising his voice.

"Yeah, it's eleven."

"Yes, eleven," he stressed. "Eleven on a school night. Not only did you stay out without calling or telling us, but you march home, ring the doorbell, and wake up all your younger brothers because you couldn't come home on time."

"You guys never cared before!" The phone call accusation went both ways: they didn't call me either. They could've texted if they cared. They forgot all about me.

"You weren't coming home at eleven before! Your mother cooks you dinner and you can't even be bothered to show up! I swear, if I would've pulled this same stunt at your age, my father would've locked the door and made me sleep outside—snow or no snow—to teach me a lesson. You're goddamn lucky I'm not like that."

I scowled. James used to do the same thing when he was my age. He'd do even worse things when he and his friends stayed out late. I know for a fact he was responsible for setting a neighbor's detached garage on fire, and I'm pretty sure my parents guessed the same.

"So, what? I can't hang out with my friends?" I said, emotion flooding my voice. "I thought you liked Archie!"

"No. Boys. After eleven. Not even Archie," my dad said, jabbing a finger at me to punctuate each phrase. I flinched and turned away from his prodding.

"Why? Archie's fine."

"I don't care! No boys!"

"Why 'no boys?'"

"Because! Because I know what boys do—."

Uncontrollable rage flooded my arms and legs. My heart erupted with fury.

"WHAT BOYS DO!?" I shrieked like a banshee, and my vision tunneled. "WHY ARE YOU CARING NOW!?"

"Luna!" My mother shouted.

My dad slapped my face with a crack. My head jerked backward and my vision whirled. My purse slipped off my shoulder and into the nook of my elbow.

"Jonathan!" My mom gasped. "You'll hurt her!"