Displaced ↠ BTVS [1]

sixteen; self worth

"When tomorrow comes, I'll be on my own, feeling frightened of the things that I don't know, when tomorrow comes, tomorrow comes, tomorrow comes." - Bethany Mota, "Flashlight"

Paige's POV

The second I walked,through the apartment door, Giles started harping on me.

"Paige! Where in the world have you been? I've been worried sick!"

I rolled my eyes.

"What are you, my mother?"

"Giles-" I started.

"No!" He pointed his finger at me. It was as if his was genuinely angry, "I don't want to hear any excuses young lady."

And can you believe just five days before he thought I was nuts?

"Giles-"

"You're lucky Buffy found you, you un-responsible, immature child!"

I crossed my arms.

"Giles-" I said again.

"WHAT?" He turned around and yelled.

"I left you three messages."

His face fell.

"What?" He said, quieter.

"Check your cellphone. I left you three messages when I was out today, telling you where I was and when I was coming back."

He slowly took his cellphone out of his pocket. He had two, one of which I had borrowed.

I've always found it odd that Lily, Esme, and I don't own cellphones, because the way our parents act, you'd think we'd have, like, bodyguards. All though we don't own any cellphones, we own some skills. When we were younger, we took like 5 billion different classes. Karate lessons, swimming, and gymnastics, just to name a few. We enjoyed doing them, but we always felt the classes were mostly taken for our parents. Basically, if it could help us defend ourselves, each other, or stay alive in a crisis, we took the class, no questions asked. I mean, I don't think our parents would force us to do anything we didn't want to, but I don't know. To this day, I wonder how a back handspring is gonna help me fight somebody. But hey, you never know.

He stood there for a moment, fiddling with the buttons.

"How do you work this bloody thing?" He yelled, frustrated.

I laughed and rolled my eyes playfully. "You're just like Angel."

"Here," I took the flip phone from him, "I'll do it."

I pressed the button and handed it to Giles to listen to.

He listened for about five seconds before slamming the phone shut and throwing it on the couch.

"Well, then," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "Sorry about that. Shall we have dinner?"

I grinned. Giles was embarrassed. Giles! That never happens.

"I hate to say I told you so," I said as he put something in the microwave, "But, I told you so!"

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