Fall_A High School Bully Romance by McKayla Box

Author:McKayla Box [Box, McKayla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-30T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY EIGHT

“Your mother wants you to call her,” my father says.

I'm home and he's actually home at a decent hour. We're able to have dinner together and it's nice to sit with him and catch up. Until he brings up my mom.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because she's your mother?” he says, gathering our now empty plates from the table. “I don't know.”

“I don't want to.”

“Yeah, well, there are lots of things I don't want to do, but sometimes you have to do them.”

“You're telling me I have to?”

He carries the plates to the counter next to the sink and shoots me a look. “I think you should, yes.”

I sigh. “Fine. Maybe tomorrow.”

“She asked if you would tonight,” he says. “She has a trip or something tomorrow.”

“Ugh. Fine.” I leave the table and head to my room. I shut the door and crash on my bed. I scroll through my phone until I find her number. I frown at it, take a deep breath, then tap it.

“Presley!” she says a moment later. “I was just going to try you.”

“Hi. Dad said you wanted me to call.”

“I was hoping we could FaceTime so I could see you.”

“He didn't say that.”

The call immediately interrupts and I can see that she's asking for FaceTime. I sigh again and tap the screen. The phone chimes and her face appears on the screen.

“That's better,” she says, smiling. “How are you, Pres?”

“I'm fine,” I say.

“How is everything at your new school?”

“Fine.”

I see her fidget wherever she is sitting. “I was hoping for more than one word answers. I haven't talked to you in over a week.”

I lay back on the bed. “Sorry. I've been busy. School and stuff.”

There is an awkward moment of silence. I know she wants more from me, but I just don't feel like giving it to her.

“Tell me about your classes,” she says.

I shrug. “It's school. They're classes. Nothing special.”

She stares at me through the phone. “Presley, we can't have a relationship like this if you won't talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” I say. “I called you. We're talking.”

“You know what I mean.”

I do know what she means, but I don't care that she's angry. “I don't know what you want from me.”

“I would like to be able to talk to you,” she says. “I would like to be able to hear about your school and your friends and whatever is going on in your life. That would be a nice start.”

Her voice is like a cheese grater on my ear. “I told you about school. I've made friends. Is that better?”

She looks down. “No. It's not.”

I know I'm being a bitch, but I have so much anger toward her every time I hear her name or see her face that I can't help it. She was the one who decided to break up our family and she was the one who decided to move to Washington. I didn't choose those things. She did.

She looks up again at me. I feel like I barely recognize her.

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