Other:
—J was still weird today about Friday’s conversation (told me again NOT to tell her anything about her future)
—Notes about J & me talking about dads made me curious… snooped in Mom’s room today while she was out. Insane what I found. Envelope in my right desk drawer. Not sure what to do except keep it hidden from Mom for now.
—Luke didn’t call again today (read back; he sounds awesome minus the no-calling thing)
I fling off the heavy quilt and plod over to the desk. I grab the study guide from the top and the overstuffed envelope from the drawer. On my way back to bed, my eyes wander to the framed photos of me and Jamie dating back to what looks like junior high. There is a silly collage with photos and magazine cutouts that I can only guess Jamie and I made together. It’s juvenile, but I like it. Without being able to remember for sure, I assume that things were a whole lot simpler then.
Half an hour later, my mom knocks and I rush to cover up the pile of contraband. When I don’t answer, she opens the door anyway.
“I knocked,” she says.
“I know.”
She looks at me quizzically in response to what I can only assume is an expression that is equal parts anger and guilt.
“You’re going to be late for school,” she says.
“Okay, I’ll hurry,” I say back.
“What’s up?” she asks, a funny expression still plastered on her face.
You tell me, I think to myself.
“Nothing, why?” I say instead.
“You seem… off. You seemed off last night, too,” she says, one hand on the open door and the other on the frame.
“Well, I’m not,” I retort. She holds up her hands in surrender.
“Okay, fine, London. Just get moving. You’re going to be late.” She turns and closes the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, during the ride to school, she interrupts my thoughts.
“Is this because of that boy?”
I whip my head in her direction. “Did you read my notes? That’s a total invasion of privacy,” I snap.
“Whoa,” Mom says calmly. “I most certainly did not read your notes, London Lane. I would never do that. Why would you suggest such a thing?”
“Because you know about the guy.”
“London, you told me about him,” Mom says, with an annoying smile.
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “Well, I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Whatever you say,” my mom says, with a little laugh that makes me want to scream. Thankfully, we’ve arrived at the school.
The moment the car stops in the drop-off zone, I jump out, slam the door, and walk purposefully inside Meridan High.
As the morning progresses, my hostility toward my mother morphs into anger toward the world. When Jason Samuels accidentally hits me in the shoulder with the basketball during PE, I chuck it right back at him.
Hard.
When Page Thomas dares approach me about her stupid crush, I silence her with one knifelike look.