Hey, Mister In Denial (BxB)

Chapter 12: Theory

Chapter 12
Theory

Monday morning has come, which means that I should be preparing for school yet I can't seem to move any part of my body. This is what I'm dreading most: see and meet Dale after what happened at the Starbucks store. I'm still not sure of what to say to my friends and to him, but I'm glad that Dustin has my back. Seeing Dale is inevitable, that is, if he's not absent today.

Dealing with this is like a teenager high school girl who is caught up in all of her problems in her life, really. This gives me a massive headache, which makes me taking the idea of not going to the school at all. If I don't come into school, my mother and father will surely kill me. Education is important, as what they said to me a million times while I was growing up.

Rolling off the bed, I decide to do my morning routine, prepare myself for school.

I found out that Melody and Aunt Delilah have already moved in to their house, that's why I haven't seen Melody. "You're too caught up in your love life," my father says without looking at me, the newspaper in his hand blocking his face. My mother whacks the back of his head and my father groans. I suppress a laugh while waiting for my mother to serve breakfast: cheesy hotdogs, fried rice, sunny side-up eggs, and baked bacons. Each smell of food mixes up with the others, and it smells really good, tickling my nostrils and my stomach grumbles impatiently.

"Ignore your father," my mother says as she places empty plates on the table. Her hair is pulled back, making her look like a teenager. Her eyes are bright and smiley, and her lips are painted with pale red. She's currently wearing her work business attire: a grey dress, a skirt just above her knee, and pale pink stiletto. My mother looks like younger in this attire; she looks like somewhere around 30-year-old to 35-year-old woman. In the house, when it's her rest day, she looks like she has been in whirlpool of havoc due to house choirs. "He's just mad that he never got to interrogate your boyfriend, a plan he planned a very long time ago."

"That piece of shit, about to kiss my son like – Ouch!" my father grumbles under his breath, putting down his newspaper and glaring at my mother. The look my father is giving my mother mirrors my mother's face, and they both have a staring match contest, and eventually, my father loses and goes back to reading his newspaper. But before that, he gives me the look and I shiver, avoiding his look. His look really said: we're going to talk when your mother is not around. Just wait and see.

"Language, Nicholas!" my mother scolds my father. My father grumbles under his breath once more and focuses his attention on the newspaper he's reading. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate and puts it back on the table, ignoring everything.

I put fried rice, two baked bacons, one egg, and one hotdog on my plate and begin gobbling the food. In any time, Derek will come and pick me up. Without taking any break, my mother shoots me a look and I ignore her, continuing to eat like a kid. A honk of a car has me looking outside through the window, just enough to see Derek parking in front of the house and I hurry eating. Once done, I put my plate in the sink, kiss my mother on the cheek, and shout "see ya' later" to my parents before bolting out of the house and heading into the car of Derek. I climb inside, greeting my Russian best friend. "Good morning."

"Dobroye utro," my best friend says, his thick Russian accent laced with a chirp. "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair!" he shouts to my parents, who wave back at him through the window of the kitchen. I smile to my parents and my mother blows me a kiss. I chuckle, focusing my attention on my best friend, who gives me a look and accelerates the car forward. "Are you okay now?"

Derek really knows me. There's no need to lie to him. I shake my head slightly, exhaling the breath that I've been holding and Derek nods, his eyes focusing on the road. Good, I don't want to die yet. The radio is turned off and I wonder why he's not turning it on. Usually when he picks me up, his songs come blasting right through the speakers of his car so loud it makes my ears bleed, him singing on top of his lungs. But today is an exception; he remains silent and no trace of goofiness on his face.