One Big Cliché

Chapter 9

Nicole

          I stare at the picture of my mom, my dad and me that sits on my bedside table. I was probably only about four or five when the picture was taken, and the innocent look of naivety is embedded in that smile of mine. My alarm woke me up this morning, dragging me out of a peaceful sleep filled with pleasant dreams. Somehow, I managed to will myself to text Sarah, but other than that I just haven't found the energy to pick up my phone again, no matter how many times it vibrated unbearably loud.

          There's a soft knock on my door, before the faint sound of the knob turning. I don't bother to turn around and see who it is; I just lay there and stare at the picture.

          I feel the end of my bed dip down and my dad's hand on my ankle, "Didn't see you at breakfast, Kiddo."

          I don't really want to talk, so I just go for what resembles a shrug. He waits patiently, though, and the silence bothers me enough that I manage to croak out, "Wasn't hungry."

          "Is this about that boy Lyndsay was talking about?" He asks, making me hug my arms tighter to my chest.

          With a sigh, I try to think through what I'm supposed to say. Do I start yelling out obscenities about her? Probably not a good idea, but I really want to. I decide my best bet is indifference. "No, any guy I hang out with is just a friend. I guess she must not have believed me when I said there was nothing going on with us."

          "She just worries about you, Bug," he says gently, patting my ankle before pulling his hand away.

          My jaw clenches, and it takes me a second to relax it. I choose to ignore the remark and say, "I miss Mom."

          "I know, Bug. I know," He says sadly. "I—"

          The Wench's shrill voice cuts him off, calling out from I'm guessing the bottom of the stairs, "Honey, you're going to be late for work!"

          I can tell he wants to say something else, but he just sighs and gets up, leaving me alone in my room. I stay that way for I don't even know how long. Long enough for the sun to brighten my room and then slowly fade away until there's just a dim lighting. A loud knock on the front door booms through my house, and I groan as I realize it must be time to tutor Dustin. I should have texted him, too, and cancelled. Too late now, I guess. 

          I feel hungry for the first time today as I force myself out of bed and down the stairs, not even bothering to change out of my PJs or brush my hair.

          But when I open the front door, it's not Dustin standing there, but Chris. He lets out a low whistle, looking me up and down, "I hope you aren't planning on leaving the house like that. Steven and I have a bunch of video games ready to play at my house, and you're coming, proper clothes or no proper clothes."

          "The Dweeb?" I ask, taking in too much sudden information to process all at once. I'm going where? With who? And what about my PJs? "And so what if I don't change? What are you going to do about it?"

          He shrugs and purses his lips nonchalantly, giving me a pensive look, "I guess I just accept you for who you are and get over it."

          His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he hunches his shoulders against the cold wind, bouncing a few times on the balls of his feet. My skin gets goosebumps as the chill drafts into the open door, and I remember I'm only in a cami.

          I chew my lip, meeting his patient gaze before sighing in defeat, "One second. I'll go change."

          "That a girl," he says cheerfully, grinning ear to ear.