Page 21 of Crazy for this Girl

“No, I’m okay,” I reply with a forced grin, like I appreciate her asking me.

I’m not.

She’s aware that Cal and I are going to row around the lake today with a packed lunch. We’re back on our painted turtle hunt and Jonah is coming with us.

Her brows furrow a bit, as if she’s confused. “I was thinking we could get some things to bake or maybe make s’mores with.”

Why do you need me for that?

Stealing a glance at Dad, I see he’s too busy reading the newspaper to put a stop to her forcing me to spend time with her. It always ends the same way, never with a peaceful outing, but my desperately wanting to lock myself in my bedroom afterward with music blasting in my ears to try and erase it.

Yesterday, I spent all evening with her, stupidly giving her the benefit of the doubt, picking out wallpaper patterns as she not-so-subtly grilled me with questions about Cal and what kinds of things we talk about.

What kind of boy is he?

Does he go to church?

Does he swear?

I think he’s cute. Do you think he’s cute?

Maybe you should tell him to keep his shirt on when he’s swimming because he’ll get sunburnt.

Instead of getting irritated, I kept my answers vague, except for the cute one. That was a solid no, even though it was a lie.

Cal is cute.

He’s got great taste in most things, but crossing that line to become more than friends… I don’t want to put that at risk. Plus, Cal doesn’t like me like that.

“I’m good, Mom. Maybe next time.” She frowns, her painted red lips downcast, and I know she’s looking for another way to get me to go. Another guilt trip or reason why I should.

What she’s really trying to do, I think, is get me away from Cal for most of the day.

A solid knock on the back sliding door grips my immediate attention and said boy walks through my family’s kitchen like he’s been doing it for years. Cal takes full advantage of Dad giving him permission to walk in whenever he swings by.

Which is every day.

“Hey, Reese Family,” he greets cheerily, smiling at me first, then Mom when she looks over her shoulder at him. That boy is trying to lay his charm on her, and all I can say is good luck. “Smells good in here.”

Only because Dad made breakfast.

“Good morning, Cal,” Mom replies, her tone fake as if she’s super elated. “Thank you. Have you eaten yet?” At least Mom has kept her manners since she can’t openly come out and say she doesn’t want me hanging out with him as much.

“I have, but I can eat again.” He rounds the table, dressed in blue jeans, a sky-blue tee with I’m the real Slim Shady on it, and ruffles up Jonah’s sandy blonde hair while he’s in the middle of taking a bite of cereal, before plopping into the seat next to me.

Dad already has the sports section of the newspaper ready for him. He quickly became a norm at our place and it’s the only part Cal reads.

“You’re not going to be happy with those scores,” Dad says, reaching over the table to hand it over to him. “Don’t flip the table over. I’m not done eating.”

“Oh, great,” Cal grumbles, opening the front page and skimming the black font.

“How many eggs do you want, Cal?” Mom asks, and I’m surprised that she does. Every time she’s opening the fridge, she’s huffing that all the food keeps disappearing quicker than she’s buying it.

“The usual,” Cal replies, not removing his eyes from the page of the latest sports scores.

“Are you ever full?” I ask with raised brows when I already know the answer.

“Have your musical tastes changed in the last twenty-four hours?”

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