Rolling Dice by Beth Reekles

Author:Beth Reekles [Reekles, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2013-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Dwight’s mom breezes into the room about an hour into our work on the project, saying, “Dwight I have told you a billion times not to shut Gellman outside—you know it upsets him.” She stops short on seeing me with Dwight. “Oh!”

“Hi, Mrs. Butler,” I say timidly, smiling politely to her.

She looks … I don’t know how to describe it exactly. She’s obviously quite young, and her hair is a dark auburn with some graying strands, but her face looks so much older; it’s like she’s worn down. Tired.

She’s slim, and wearing jeans and a pink sweater. Her hair’s tied back in a ponytail and her cheeks are flushed. I heard the front door open and close a minute ago; I guess she’s been out somewhere.

“I didn’t realize we had company,” she says apologetically to me, and shoots Dwight an irritated look. “You must be Madison, right?”

“Right,” I say with a broad smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being such a bad hostess; Dwight didn’t say you were here. You’re staying for dinner, though, aren’t you?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble … I don’t want to intrude.” I mumble it slightly, but I’m still smiling at her. Like her son, she just radiates friendliness, and an easygoing nature.

“Of course not!” She waves both her hands around dismissively. “How’s the project going?”

“All right,” we answer unanimously. I glance at Dwight, and the corner of his mouth tweaks up at me.

“Good. I’m Teresa, by the way. Right. I’ll leave you kids to get on with it! There are plenty of snacks in the pantry if you want anything, but just try not to spoil your dinner!” She glides back out after giving us another smile.

“Sorry about her,” Dwight mumbles to me as I turn back to my notebook and laptop. “My mom can be a little … scatterbrained, sometimes.”

“She seems really nice!” I reply honestly. “She seems a lot like you.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “You think?”

“Yeah. You don’t look like her too much,” I admit, “but she seems to act like you do. Same smile.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just—everyone’s always said I’m like my dad.”

“Oh …” I say it quietly because we both know I’m never going to be able to make that comparison. But then, before the silence can grow awkward, I go on, “You’re still like your mom, though.”

He laughs. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“A good thing.”

“I’m inclined to think otherwise,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice that makes me sure he agrees with me. Then he glances down at his textbook—an old one he dug out from the bookshelf. “What was I looking for again? Oh, yeah …”

Teresa pops her head around the door a while later to tell us dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. But we carry on working hard until she yells from the general direction of the kitchen that dinner is on the table and getting cold.

Dwight and I tidy up out stacks of notes and save the documents we’ve been working on.

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