Stupid Cupid by Rhonda Stapleton

Author:Rhonda Stapleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 2009-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

When I got home, I keyed the front door of my house and pushed it open, shuffling through. I needed some peanut butter fudge ice cream therapy, stat. The confusion over Derek’s ambiguous words in art class had run round and round in my head throughout the rest of the period, and then on the walk home from school. Even in spite of Britney and Matthew’s gross garbage-digging date.

What was going on with Derek? Was he actually trying to flirt with me, or was I just reading what I wanted to hear into the conversation? Why were guys so hard to interpret, anyway?

Regardless of his intent, I was seething anew over my mom’s snarky public commentary on my chest size. Boy, was she gonna hear about it when she got home.

I pulled off my boots and hung my coat up, slogging into the house with my backpack over my shoulder. Right after ice-cream therapy, I needed to call Andy and dissect every word of the discussion. Maybe she’d help me find clarity.

Andy was pretty good at what I liked to call “guyomancy”—where you picked apart everything a guy said to interpret his true meaning. I couldn’t count the number of evenings we sat on the phone and practiced this mystical art as old as time. Of course, it was usually more about Andy’s dates than mine, but whatever.

This time, we’d have some good Derek stuff to talk about before I went to my weekly meeting with Janet in a couple of hours.

I dumped my backpack on the couch and headed toward the kitchen. I happened to glance over at the stairs. A pair of Dad’s black socks was draped carelessly on plateau of the lowest step. They must have fallen out of Mom’s laundry basket. I snagged them, then walked up to toss them into their bedroom. Geez, and there were Mom’s panty hose, the toes drooped over the top step.

Maybe it was time for her to get a new laundry basket, given how much stuff was falling out. The House Nazi would go ballistic if I’d left my socks on the stairs. Nice double standard, Mom.

I grabbed the pantyhose too, then turned the corner at the top of the stairs and froze. Two pairs of naked feet were stretched out on the ground, sticking out my parents’ bedroom doorway.

What the …?

I heard a low chuckle. The toes on the small pair of feet wiggled, then rubbed along the inner arches of the big pair of feet.

Understanding cracked me over the head like Rob’s Whack-a-Mole mallet. Those were my parents’ feet!

“Aaaah!” I screeched.

The feet froze in place, then scrambled inside the room.

“Felicity, is that you?” my mom asked, her voice slightly muffled.

Horrified, I dropped the panty hose and socks in the hallway and booked it down the steps, almost tripping over my own feet. I grabbed my purse, threw on my shoes and coat, and ran out the front door, escaping into the brisk air.

As I headed down the sidewalk to Andy’s house, I scrubbed my hand over my face.

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