The Boyfriend Diaries

20) I bet you tell that to all the boys

    Chapter Twenty: I bet you tell that to all the boys

    It was four-thirty in the afternoon, Dad and I had just gotten off the bus at the end of the street, pushing and shoving each other as we walked into the house.

    “We have to do that again.” Dad was saying, with a genuine smile on his face for once, hanging his coat up on the rack behind the door. I followed suit.

    “We sure do. Feel free to let me skip school more often.”

    “I meant in the half-term holidays or something, I'm surprised the school hasn't given me a telling-off for all the days I've pulled you out without any valid reason.”

    I gave him a look. “You tell them the real reason you let me skip? You're rubbish at this. Dad, you're supposed to lie to them. Tell them I have some contagious, rabid disease then I can skip a whole week.”

    “Nice try, missus. What kind of role-model would I be if I did that, hm?” He said as he disappeared into the living room, then through into the kitchen. “I possibly could not live with myself for being so deceitful.”

    I rolled my eyes as I followed him, kicking my shoes off in some random direction along the way. When I saw him behind the marble counter-top he was looking down at something, suddenly quiet.

    “What is it?” I asked as I slowly moved closer to get a look at it myself.

    “Your mother's left us a note.”

    Oh, great...I inwardly groaned.

    “What's it say?”

    “That she wont be home until late, and not for us to wait up.” I could help but notice the sting of hurt in his voice. It was her day off, a rare day for my mother, and she couldn't stay away from the office for even a few hours for her family. I guess, at a push, I could forgive her ditching us this morning, it did sound like an emergency but now working through the night was just a kick in the round, shiny jewels. The burning anger for my non-existent parent just kept on rising, but I tried not to let it show in front of Dad.

    “So who's up for making brownies!” He suddenly shouted, as if the room was packed full of people, waiting for a rise of hands. I knew it was a plot to keep his mind from the rising disappointment he felt for his wife, and maybe he was trying to take my mind off it too. Whatever the reason, how could I pass up a brownie-pig-out night?

    “Me! Me! Me!” I hollered, jumping up and down on the spot as I used to as a kid. Like I ever grew up, psh!

    “Pop quiz! You've got one minute to find all the ingredients and put it all on the counter, and if you've forgotten something I'm gonna eat your share of the brownies.”

    “Over my dead body...” I sneered under my breath but I could stop the little girl inside me buzzing at the thought of such a challenge. I racked my brain for what we would need, hoping to get it right, it had been quite a while since I had baked, and let's just say...I'm no master chef.

    I did good though and passed the pop quiz with flying colours. Dad and I worked as a team, both of us muttering about what we were doing as if we had a camera on us and had to describe each step for the viewers at home. I blamed Dad for that annoying side to me, he'd brought me up on baking and chattering away to no one in particular. With good team work, he mixed as I poured and soon we had the perfect combination that was ready to be put into a tin and into the oven.

    While I had my head inside the mixing bowl, licking the last remnants of brownie mixture, there was a knock at the door. Dad was in the living room watching TV and clearly hadn't heard it, so I went to the door with the bowl still over my head in case he decided to grab it and put it in the sink before I was done with it.