Weeping Willow

Chapter Five.

I barely slept last night. My mind wouldn't stop formulating every single negative thing that could possibly come from me leaving my notebook at Weeping Willow. How could I be so stupid? I take a notebook everywhere I go and I've never done that. Not in a public place, at least. My mom's nightstand seems like a juvenile mistake now that I left the book at the coffee shop.

Not just any coffee shop, a coffee shop where I would like to be able to go to again. I'm psyching myself out, I know I am. It's going to be fine. I'm sure one of the baristas, preferably not Trent, picked it up and is holding it in the office until it's owner comes to claim it. Nice private office where no one opens my book.

I lay awake until it's time to get ready for school. I'm going to try to convince my parents to let me drive to get my notebook and be late for school. It's only one day, is my argument. I have a feeling they may actually go for it, if I tell them how important it is that I get the book back as soon as possible. When I say soon, I mean like freaking yesterday.

While I'm getting ready for the day, I find myself swiping mascara over my lashes and trying on three different shirts with my jeans. My favorite jeans have been worn so many times that the insides of both thighs are starting to wear. I got them from a trendy consignment store and haven't been able to find the brand anywhere else in town.

I end up going with a black and white striped shirt that hits just above the button of my jeans. My sneakers are downstairs with my parents who I need to charm the pants off this morning. Not literally. I gross myself out sometimes. Finding myself funnier than most people do, I laugh at my awkwardness while walking to the kitchen. I think the anxiety of not having my notebook is starting to eat my brain alive.

My dad is sitting at the table and my mom is bending over, digging something out of a messy cabinet under the sink.

Her voice is muffled, "I swear I saw it under here last week!" She claims.

My dad barely looks up from a ring he's gluing a large green stone to.

"I'm sure you did honey," he agrees with her.

Before they can go into a married -couple debate over whatever it is she's looking for, I begin my plea.

I sit down across my dad and begin, "I left my notebook at Weeping Willow last night," I tell them. My mom bangs her head against the counter when she lifts up to look at me. Her white overalls are covered in a mixture of paint, food, and something that looks like blood, but I'm not going to ask.

"Oh no," she's sympathetic. Good start.

I rest my elbows on the table and put the next step of my plan into action. "So, I have to go get it. It's full of poems."

My dad nods and puts the finished ring on a towel with rows of many other rings with all different color stones. The deep green is my favorite. "That's no good. We can go tonight," he says, looking to my mom for approval.

She closes the cabinet and wipes her hand across her forehead. "Yeah, we can go tonight. No big deal, baby." She smiles, happy to solve my problem.

"I wanted to go this morning," I begin. Both of them are ready to say no, I can tell. "That notebook is full of poems that I'm not ready for people to read yet. I don't think I'll be able to focus on my schoolwork knowing that he could be reading every single page," I try to correct myself from saying "he" but it's too late. Both of them catch on immediately.

"Who is he?" My mom asks first. My dad looks straight at me.

I look away, "No one. I meant in general, not specifically."