Page 2 of The Thought of You

But she chases after me. “It’s just hard to believe you’re not on my side about this.”

I release a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

“You could sell the car, Cloud. Imagine the good we could do for the environment with that money.”

“By that logic, we should sell the house and everything in it,” I toss back as I jump down the porch steps, my never-before-worn shoes bright and ready to be shown off, as is my shiny new car.

“You sound just like your father,” she calls out as I pluck the driver’s-side door open.

“Probably because he’s the one who practiced with me,” I mutter under my breath.

My father and I both predicted she would be appalled by his expensive birthday gift to me over the summer. It’s why he coached me through rebuttal statements like he and I do for my debate team meets.

Why does she continue to bug me about this car, anyway? At the end of the day, I will always win. It’s my name on the title, and I have decided to keep it.

I’m sixteen, with countless extracurriculars, and I need a freaking car. With Dad living three states away, Rain has been the only one left to drive me around for school and fun with the girls, and she’s always been late.

Now that I have my own ride, I can finally make it to the previews of movies for once.

“Have a good day!” I lift my hand to wave, but my mother’s already halfway back inside. As I slide onto the pristine leather seat, I ramble to myself, “I’ll have a great first day as well, Rain. And oh my gosh—you like my outfit? Great to hear. Daphne helped me pick this out from her boutique last weekend, no thanks to you. I so appreciate you asking about me, Rain. As always, it’s been a gigantic pleasure talking with you.”

My heavy sigh pushes through my flaring nostrils with the pent-up frustration of the last six years—ever since she and my father divorced.

During that time, I’ve had to deal with the finances. I’ve had to do most of the grocery shopping and first-day-of-school planning. I’ve had to keep up with the house and call the exterminators, plumbers, and lawncare experts.

I do it all because my mother is too busy with her “hobby” of dating and her second favorite love affair—nature.

Before he moved from our quaint little town of Sapphire Creek, Georgia, my dad would ask if I needed his help with anything. “Is your mother taking care of you?” he’d ask. “I’m willing to lend a hand when she’s not there,” he’d say.

And I’d always shake my head no. He divorced her for a reason, and I didn’t want to bring him back to the scene of his near insanity.

After he moved to Louisiana and remarried, he stopped asking, and I could finally stop lying to him.

The school comes into view, and I exhale, my muscles instantly relaxing into the leather seat. Relief seeps into my bloodstream as I turn into the parking lot and enter the parameters of my happy place. I scan the empty spaces for my best option—a spot where everyone can see me exit this killer car for the first time.

This car will get me noticed for something other than being a nerdy teacher’s pet.

This car will make me cool.

I might even secure a date to the homecoming dance before the final bell rings this afternoon, and I can cross it off my to-do list a whole week early.

My heart thumps with grand plans of arriving to school today as a new Addie Lockhart.

This is my year!

But the splash I make isn’t quite the one I was hoping for. Instead of a glamorous arrival, I open the door of my car and drop my foot into a puddle of muddy water.

“Ah!” I shake my foot and sling droplets every which way, but it’s no use. The grimy water has seeped all the way up my sock. Brown stains already form around my ankle, and before I closely inspect the crime against my once white shoes, I already know I’ll need to change.

The whole fabric of the canvas shoe is ruined.

As class president the last two years and running, I’ve tried and tried to convince the administration to fill in these stupid holes in the parking lot. I figured getting it done would be child’s play, but they always turn me away like I’m asking them to solve world hunger.

Screeching tires coming to a halt pull my attention away as a Jeep skids into an empty parking spot a few yards away.

Owen Conrad.

Class clown. Baseball player extraordinaire. And major thorn in my side.

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