Loving Mr. Collins

Chapter 3

When I get home, I gather my poems from the closet and put them in my binder. My mom comes into my room.
"What are you doing?" She asks.
"Oh. My teacher was impressed by a poem that I had to submit as an assignment. He wants to see what else I've written."
"That's great. It sounds like you're doing well so far."
"Yeah. I probably won't be valedictorian but I'm trying my best."
"I don't care about that. I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression. I just want you to succeed."
"I know, Mom."
"Good. Anyway, I just came to tell you that your dad wants to go out for pizza tonight. We're leaving in about an hour."
"Okay. I'll be right out."
She nods and leaves the room. I slide the binder into my backpack and zip it up. I look at myself in the mirror. I brush my hair and pull it into a ponytail. I have some time to apply some makeup; I only feel like putting on mascara and my favorite pink lip gloss. We go out to dinner and share a large pepperoni pizza.
"Abigail was telling me that her teacher was impressed with her poem," Mom says.
"Oh yeah? What poem?" Dad asks.
"It's just one that I came up with for our assignment. We got to choose the theme. I like writing about love like most poets, so I went with that."
"Do you write from experience?" He surprises me by asking.
"Yes but probably not in the way you're asking. I have love for my family and friends in mind when I'm writing."
My mom smiles.
"That's sweet."
"I ask because I used to write poems for girls that I was trying to impress. I wondered if you're writing them for someone."
"I'm not. I just enjoy it."
He nods. My mom looks at him.
"You never wrote me any poems."
"I actually did. I just never gave them to you. I only said that I wrote them, which I did."
"I want to see them."
"I don't have them anymore. I trashed them years ago."
She gasps.
"You didn't."
"I did. I never gave them to you because I thought they were terrible."
"Even if they were, I wouldn't have cared. I would've appreciated the thought of you writing them for me."
"I'm sorry. I'll write you a new poem."
"Okay."
My parents go on about the poem thing which indicates that they're done talking about me. I grab another slice of pizza and sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top before eating it.
"I'm full," I say.
"Me too," Mom says.
"There's still some slices left. Can you ask them for a to go box and a bag?" Dad asks me.
"Sure."
I wipe my hands with a napkin and approach the counter to pick up orders. There aren't any employees that are immediately available, so I wait patiently.
"Hello, Abby," I hear a familiar voice say.
I look to my right and see Mr. Collins waiting in line to order.
"Hi, Mr. Collins. What a coincidence."
"I guess we were both in a pizza mood. Actually, if I'm honest, I just didn't want to cook tonight ."
I chuckle silently.
"I get that."
I see an employee walking towards the counter. I ask him for the box and a bag to put it in. He hands it to me and I thank him. I look at Mr. Collins.
"Well, I'll see you at school," I say dismissively.
"See you then."
I smile and join my parents at the table.
"Here's the box," I mutter.
"Who were you talking to?" My dad asks.
"Oh. That's my English teacher, Mr. Collins."
"Did you know he was coming?"
"No. It was a coincidence."
"I'd like to meet him real quick," Mom says.
"As would I. You can put the pizza away," Dad says.
"Okay."
My parents walk over to his booth. I try not to think about what they're telling him as I put the pizza into the box. They're still talking when I join them with the sealed bag. My mom looks at me then back at Mr. Collins.
"Well, we're going to go. It was nice meeting you, Chris," she says.
"Likewise."
He shakes hands with both of them. It feels kind of formal but I doesn't say anything. I wave and walk out after my parents.