Last To Know

2

I didn't dream it.

How'd I know?

Because at seven in the morning the next day the sound of my phone ringing woke me up.

"What the hell?" I groaned sleepily, slapping my hand against my nightstand for my phone.

I looked at the unknown number flashing across the screen. Who would call me at this time of the morning on summer-freakin'-vacation.

"Hello?" I asked, smacking a hand over my mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Emma!" A cheery voice chirped.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Maddox," the person answered.

"Maddox?"

"Do you know more than one Maddox?" He chuckled.

"No, I'm just wondering why the Maddox I know is calling me so early?" I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with the crook of my arm.

"Early? The sun is out, therefore it's not early."

"It's seven," I mumbled. "That's early."

He tsked. "Someone is clearly not a morning person."

"Nope, not at all," I agreed.

"Do you think you'll be feeling more chipper this evening?"

"Uh..."

"Great, I'll pick you up at six-thirty."

"Maddox, I didn't—"

He hung up.

I stared at my phone and the blinking screen that declared call ended.

I shook my head and set the phone back on the nightstand. Something told me I'd bitten off more than I could chew when it came to Maddox.

I rolled over and closed my eyes in the hopes of going back to sleep, but when I saw that it wasn't going to happen I pushed the covers back with a groan.

I padded down the hall and into the kitchen.

I wasn't surprised to find my mom sitting at the table reading the newspaper with a mug of hot tea.

She looked up when she heard me approach and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her blonde hair, the same shade as mine, flared around her head in wild untamable curls.

"What are you doing up so early, Emmie? Are you sick?"

I waved away her concern with a flick of my hand. "No. I..." I couldn't exactly tell her that Maddox had called or she'd ask me a bunch of questions, particularly about who Maddox was, and I'd have enough explaining to do later before he showed up for our—gulp—date. "I had a bad dream," I lied.

"Let me fix you some tea then."

My mom thought tea could fix everything.

Your dog died? Drink some tea.

Your bike got stolen? Drink some tea.

The world is ending? Let's all drink some tea!

"No, thanks." I pulled a chair out and sat down, but she was already making the tea.

"How was the fair?" She asked. When I'd gotten home I'd showered and went straight to bed. I hadn't even bothered saying goodnight to my mom. She was working in her studio—the garage—and I knew she hated when I disturbed her cosmic energy or some shit like that.