Skinny • Book 1 In The Reality Series

Calum

TUESDAY

You missed math.

Are you coming to school today?

Government sucked.

Miss Kit asked about you.

Are you okay?

Can you please text me back?

WEDNESDAY

Are you okay?

Please answer.

I'm really worried.

Your my partner for the history project.

You're*

Please call me.

THURSDAY

Annie keeps asking about you.

School is somehow even worse without you here, I didn't think that was possible. :(

Please say something.

I told Miss Kit your sick.

You're*

With Mono. 

I panicked.

But for real, I'm worried. Text or call me or something.

FRIDAY

I'm ditching and coming to your house. 

I'll be there in 10.

Wiping my palms on my genes I looked down at the fold creased notecard in my hand, which had Katy's dress written on it in Miss Kit's elegantly looping hand writing.

Licking my chapped lips nervously I looked ahead at the small, lopsided puke green ranch sat in front of me.

A rusted, netless basketball hoop stood at the end of the cracked driveway, weeds sprouting from every jagged crevice. The lawn, which was nearly dead, yellow like straw and brittle to the touch looked as if it hadn't been mown in years, about the same time the place had been painted.

The paint was peeling in some places and chipping in others, revealing a bluish gray color from underneath. There were no curtains in the windows, instead the inside was shielded by ripped and stained baby blankets. 

The mail box was lying in the ditch which circled the sad little dwelling like a moat. The word fat was spray painted in the driveway in piss yellow and a sun faded plastic kiddie swimming pool, which was sat on the porch was slowly leaking the brown, murky, bug and leaf filled rain water which filled it.

Double checking the address several times, I read it one more time before shoving it into my pocket and slowly dragging my feet up the driveway to the front porch.

My jeep looked out of place beside the rust stained, crumpled and dirty Neon parked beside it. Likewise, my one hundred dollar tennis shoes made my stomach twist with guilt, well aware that the group of elementary school aged boys stood bald, shirtless and barefoot on the curb were watching me. Judging me for what I had and they did not, hating me for flashing it before them.

Standing on the front porch I locked my jeep, once, twice, three times, giving the kids on the curb a warning look, before turning back to the house, raising my fist and knocking firmly on the front door.

I didn't expect anyone to come to the door, but I also hadn't thought ahead enough to plan what I would if they didn't.