The Bucket List

T w o

I hear the phone ring behind me and jump in startlement. Sighing, I reopen my book and flip to page 225, then realize I've already read that bit and flip forward. When the phone rings a second time, I almost throw my book into the roaring fireplace before me.

"Marce, can you get that, sweetie?" my mom calls from her office on the second floor.

"Yeah," I say reluctantly, pulling the phone out of its stand and holding it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, kiddo," a voice – my least favorite voice in the whole world – sounds through the receiver. "How're you doin'?"

"Fine, I guess," I mumble back. "How about you, dad?"

"I'm great," he replies enthusiastically. "I'm actually on the way over from the Lone Star right now."

I'm not surprised. I can hear the rushing of the wind in the background, and can just picture him cruising down the highway in his bright green convertible. I place my hand over the speaker and murmur, "Woah, awesome," in a nasal, sarcastic voice. Than I uncover the phone and place it back beside my ear. "That's awesome."

"Well? You excited?"

No, I almost blurt out. I'm most definitely not excited. I hate it when my dad comes to visit. At least he's not bringing Carol and Remi this time. Last year they came with him and it was a total disaster.

"Yeah, totally," I say, trying to add a joyous edge to my voice. After that, an awkward silence fills the air. Dad tries to break it by saying, "So, winter break? How's that going for you?"

"It's going good," I lie. It's been the most boring winter break of my life, and this is only adding to that. "I'll see you Tuesday, okay dad?"

"See ya!"

I want to hurl the phone against the wall and smash it till it becomes a light powder, but I hold back, placing the little machine back in the stand with a click and turning back to my book. But now I'm unfocused, and the words swim before my eyes. Repressing another surge of rage at my father, I shut the book softly and place it down beside me on the couch.

When my cell rings in my pocket, it's all I can do not to scream. I slip the device out and recognize the number onscreen immediately as Bella's. Of course, I know what she's gonna ask me, but I pick up immediately anyway.

"Hey," I greet her, imagining her blue eyes sparkling on the other end of the line as she brushes through her black waves and asks, "How you doin'?"

"I'm right after a talk with my dad," I inform her.

"'Nuff said," she replies ruefully. Her voice suddenly goes all chirpy, though, and she proposes, "So. Abbie and I are heading out to the rink later today. Wanna come?"

I mentally scroll through my reading list of the season, out of which I've only completed ten percent. My brain also hops to the thought of my current short story, which is only three-hundred words long and is pretty much a lost cause unless I get back to it in time. But even with my list of personal chores and hobbies I need to work on, I find myself answering, "Sure!" right back.

"Cool. Be there at three." I hear a boop as she hangs up, and sigh as I detach the phone from my ear. You're such an amazing friend, Marcy, my mother's voice rings out in my head. I'm so proud of you.

Of course she would be if she knew, and I know it should make me happy. So I shove down the overwhelming sense of frustration at myself and reopen the book, trying to get in a bit more progress before three o'clock.

"Come on, Marcy! You're great at skating!" Abbie calls over, her purple scarf swishing behind her as she swooshes by me. As if on cue, I slip and grab onto the barrier. "Pfft. Yeah right."