Author's note: Hello my dedicated ones, this is a formal apology for taking so long to update. This chapter was freakishly hard to write, for reasons that may become apparent. I hope you'll forgive me. LOVE YOU ALL ANYWAYS!
ps. I am going to be updating soon, and I mean it this time!
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On the Friday of half-term, Mum finally ungrounds me. She said that she was going to do it sooner, but then I went ‘behind her back’ to see Nina, which added a few more days to my incarceration.
‘So, what are you going to do now that you are free?’ she asks me cheerfully on the Friday morning as I traipse into the kitchen.
‘Wait, now that I’m free?’ I squeal. ‘The grounding is over?’
She nods, laughing. ‘Silly girl. I hope you learnt your lesson.’
‘Definitely,’ I say, grabbing an apple for my breakfast because I can eat it on the way. ‘Thank you! I promise I won’t ever be bad again!’
I run out of the door, and Mum yells, ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep!’
Freedom has never felt so good. I mean, she let me go into the garden, or shopping with her (where I saw Nate), but even then I felt like I was on a leash. And it was a bit extreme, I feel. It wasn’t like I took drugs or anything.
I pull my phone out and dial Nate’s number. Thank God for technology- I had to talk Nina through a nasty row she had with Louis the other night, and I don’t dare to think what would have happened to Nate and I if I hadn’t seen or spoken to him for over five days apart from a snatched conversation in a bakery.
I’m sure he would have still been a gentleman, but that’s quite a long gap for a new relationship.
He answers on the first ring. ‘Hello jailbird, how are you coping? Got cabin fever yet?’
‘Nate, I’m free! She let me out!’
‘Really?’ The leap in his voice makes me smile. ‘That’s great!’
‘Can I see you? Are you working today?’
‘No, I’m free too. Why don’t you come over? My parents are out, although I’m afraid Nisha has her boyfriend over.’
‘Nisha has a boyfriend?’ I wonder how that juicy bit of information slipped past me. Now I definitely have to go round.
‘Yes,’ I think I detect a little bit of brotherly disapproval in his voice.
‘Alright, I’ll be there in ten,’
‘Fine. I’ll be counting every second…’ he says, laughing. I grin; we’ve been having a competition to see who can be the most soppy each time we hang up the phone.
‘Love you,’ I say, with a sigh like a vapid cheerleader.
‘Love you more!’ He shrieks back, in an American accent.
‘No, I love you more!’ I squeak into the phone, giggling so madly that a passer-by gives me a wide berth.
‘No, I love you more!’
I sigh. ‘Hmm, yes, I guess you do.’
He splutters down the phone. ‘Well this is awkward.’
‘Not as awkward as your American accent,’ I laugh.
He sighs. ‘Honestly, I try my hardest, and it’s just not enough for you, is it?’
YOU ARE READING
Safety is Relative
Roman pour AdolescentsSafety is Relative, my Dad once told me. It depends on how you look at it. For example, many more people have a fear of flying than a fear of driving. Why? Cars are familiar, and we see them every day. Most people don't crash their cars. Planes, how...
