Dear Luck, Meet Fate

Chapter 12: HotHead.

Chapter twelve: HotHead.

"Hey! So how did school go today, with your new look and all?" My mom asks when I finally arrive home.

"Hectic, mom. Drama everywhere," I tell her, throwing my backpack on the couch.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asks.

"No. I'd rather not," I reply, walking into my room. I feel so exhausted, physically and even mentally. I hurriedly take off the tight little gown on me, and replace with a big black hoodie and I feel instantly relieved, comfortable.

Maybe Dustin was right. I could never get used to this. I'd better take a nap.

★★★

When I open my eyes again, it is late evening and I feel like I need more sleep. Knowing I would find it hard to sleep at night if I do now, I get off the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

What is that smell? Is mum cooking something? Something is burning, meat or chicken maybe. I run to the kitchen and find the chicken my mum is roasting in the oven. Luckily, the chicken had just gotten done so I take care of that.

At least I'm not the only one capable of burning down the whole house. I am so going to rub it in my mum's face.

I walk up to her room and proceed to knock but I freeze when I hear her voice from inside the room. I've never been the type to eavesdrop but suddenly, I want to hear what she's saying and who she's talking to. I rest my ear on the door so I can hear more clearly.

". . .yes, I know."

". . .listen, I understand but. . ."

"Hello?" Okay, now I know she's on the phone.

". . .yes, I'm still here and I still think. . ." She is almost whispering now so it becomes even harder to hear what she is saying.

". . .please, don't. . ."

". . .I understand, but we both know what's at stake here. . ."

Already tired of eavesdropping, and hungry for chicken, I turn to go.

Then I hear a familiar name - mine.

"But you know Daisy cannot know about you. . ."

Wait, what the hell? Who can I not know about? What or who is my mother hiding?

I turn the door knob and open the door, seeing my mom swiftly dropping the phone, turning to look at me.

"Hey mom, who was that?" I ask suspiciously.

"What? Who? What? Me? No I wasn't," she laughs nervously.

There is definitely something up with this woman.

"I. . .I thought you were on the phone, mom," I place my hand on my waist.

"What are you talking about? On the phone? No I wasn't on the phone why would you say that? I was. . .I was just talking to my imaginary little friend."

"Seriously now? Your imaginary friend? What's his name then?"

"George! No, no, no. I mean uh, Elvis, not George, who's George?" She laughs again.

"Really mom? Elvis? You really have an imaginary friend named Elvis?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's embarrassing, I know. Don't ask me anything about it again. Oh! I'm roasting some chicken in the oven! I don't want it to get burnt!" She picks up her phone and rushes to the kitchen.