"Don't make promises you can't keep."
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Noah Reed is lost. Fed up with his constant attitude and need for self-destruction, his mother sends him to live out the rest of the year with his father in hop...
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Arriving home after school, I'm surprised to find that my dad is home. I suppose I'd assumed he'd be at work. Or maybe I'd been hoping he'd be away. I don't see a difference.
Unfortunately, I've never had good luck.
Walking down the driveway after stepping off of the bus, I notice Caroline in the front yard, leaving over the garden beneath the bay window.
So it is her garden.
Of course, she spots me walking past her on my way to the front door. I discreetly roll my eyes as Caroline rises to her feet, visibly splattered in dirt. Her smile is luminous as she faces me, exclaiming, "Noah!"
"Uh, hi," I mutter, wishing I could have walked by her unnoticed.
"I didn't think you'd be home so soon!"
"It's three," I point out gruffly, shuffling my feet in discomfort. I could abruptly end this conversation by cutting her off and walking inside. I ponder this for a moment.
"Is it?" Caroline's blue eyes widen as she face-palms herself with a dirt-stricken hand, smearing dirt across her forehead. I struggle to bite back laughter. "Silly me! I must have lost track of time . . . Enough about me! How was your first day of school?"
A bitter response comes to mind, and I'm tempted to snap, You should know, considering it wasn't too long ago you were in school. However, I manage to push aside the thought and keep it to myself.
I shrug. "It was okay."
"I want to hear all about it!" Caroline tells me, and I don't doubt that she wants nothing more than to sit with me over a cup of tea and chat about my day—though I'd rather not. "Your dad is waiting for you inside, though, so I won't keep you."
I offer Caroline a slight nod, unsure of what to say and not bothering to come up with a response. Instead, I turn my back on her and wander toward the porch, not putting effort into a goodbye.
Entering the house, I find my dad sitting at the kitchen table. As I walk into the room, he glances up at me expectantly. I could pretend not to notice him or blatantly ignore him and head to my room, but—for some reason—that doesn't feel right to do. I don't know when I started caring about the difference between right and wrong, but it seems to be a bigger deal to me today than usual.
I cross into the kitchen with a quiet sigh, deciding to get this talk with my father over with. I suppose there is no point in delaying the inevitable.
I stand behind a kitchen chair with my arms crossed over my chest, patiently waiting for my father to speak. I'm sure as hell not going to be the first to initiate conversation with him.
"First things first," Dad begins after a moment, holding my gaze with a stony expression. "You're going to get a job."
I blink. That is the last thing I'd expected my father to say to me, and also one of the worst things I could imagine hearing from him right now. Who does he think he is, acting as if he has the right to tell me what to do?
