Page 346 of Bad for Me

“You don’t understand my mom,”she started, but her friend wasn’t listening to a word she said. Frustrated and a little bit irritated now, she tried again.“She’s not someone you just run away from. Mom is serious, okay? She’ll be at the police station in a heartbeat, and when they do finally find me, she’ll ground me for eternity.”She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself in a bear hug.“Or maybe worse.”

“You’re just paranoid, you know,”the blonde retorted, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared down the meeker of them.“She hardly notices you when you are there. I bet she wouldn’t know if you stayed out a few more hours. And worst case, you tell her you had to run to the library for a book for a school project.”

“Only one problem–no book.”She spread her arms wide, displaying their emptiness.“What then?”

“Simple,”her friend retorted in a know-it-all tone.“You tell her you didn’t find the book at the library, and you lost track of time while you were searching.”

Pointing out that she’d have asked the librarian to find it for her in their card catalog would have been worthless. She had it allso figured out.Her meeker friend knew better than to argue her point. She’d never win.

So she shrugged, rising off the ground to join her at the window. Her fingers curled around the weak wooden railing that held them in, twelve feet or more up from the ground, and the ominous creak sent a shiver down her spine. One she ignored, because the sky chose that moment to open up, spilling a torrential downpour atop them in their little abode, surrounding them in a curtain of raindrops. The darkness prevented them from seeing beyond the reach of their hands, and for that, Scarlett was thankful. She shivered as a particularly chilly gust of wind wound its way inside their treehouse through the many cracks and crevices that dotted each wall, wrapping around her like an omen as lightning streaked across the horizon.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Crack!

The thunder echoed around them, not a low, easy rumble like she enjoyed during a pleasing summer rain, but a loud, staccato burst, punctuating the blinding lightning from four seconds before.

She turned to the other girl, who stood beside her with those hands now planted on her hips, staring out at the woods like it was her kingdom and she, the ruler of it all. Briefly, she wondered where she’d fall in the reign of such a self-important, confident girl. Would they stand at each others’ sides as equals?

Unlikely.

“Think it’ll rain?”she joked, her blonde hair hanging around her shoulders like a stormcloud. Like she’d plucked it from the sky above, straight from the storm that enveloped them.

Lightning shot across the sky again, and the ginger girl closed her eyes, counting as she waited for the next crack of thunder.

One. Two. Thr–

Crack!

It’s getting closer.

The crux of the storm neared every passing minute, and the rain pelted the side of the treehouse even harder. The biting cold wind was now frigid, thanks to the dampness in the air, and she shivered again, wishing she’d brought a hoodie.

It hadn’t been necessary when she left home, but the temperature dropped faster than the leaves in autumn.Cold front a-coming tonight,her mother had muttered in the kitchen before she left for work today.Better take a coat.She had grabbed a jacket from the hall closet on her way out the door, making a point to grab an umbrella, too, before turning to tell her daughter goodbye.

She’d left that morning assuming she’d come home and find her daughter diligently doing her homework for the weekend or perhaps finishing chores when she came home. Maybe she’d even be relaxing on the couch, watching TV.

But no. She’d answered the phone and let her best friend of several years talk her into sneaking out when she knew damn well better. She grabbed what snacks she could, packed her pockets, and snuck out the door, hoping to make it home before she was missed. But things with her partner in crime were never so simple. Cut and dry, easy, smooth sailing–these were never things one used to describe the vivacious, headstrong blonde.

“So what do you say? Stay with me? We can run away together for just a little while.”

The redhead stared back at the sky, realizing she didn’t have much time to decide. Was the punishment really worth the crime? Who could be placated more easily? Which angry person would she rather deal with in the long run? Her friend would be understandably upset, but she lived with her mom. She’d have to spend every day trying to make up for this minor transgression.

“I can’t,”she tried, leaning against the window frame, ignoring its’ creak and groan of protest.“You know how she is.”

The blonde scoffed, stepping back a foot.“You’re just being a wuss. You know, you’re not fun anymore. Always gotta do everything mommy dearest says, or else you have a fit.”

“That’s not fair,”she protested, but the other girl refused to hear her out. She’d already adopted that pose that told her the conversation was over. No point in arguing.“Come on, don’t be like that–”

“You know what? I don’t know why you bothered to sneak out with me tonight if you’re unwilling to take a risk.”

She watched her friend stalk around the room in a circle, stomping her feet like she was five again and being told she couldn’t have any more cookies. She really was a spoiled brat, but she was the only friend the redhead made from the moment her mother moved them into the poor neighborhood. With Dad gone, Mom’s income couldn’t afford the fancy house they had in the Upper East Side, so they’d downsized to a one-bedroom with an office, which promptly became her bedroom.

She hadn’t been worried about all that; after all, material things were the icing on the cake. She had a space that was her own, a parent who loved her, a roof over her head, and food in the cabinet–even if her mom still micromanaged her diet. Others had less and didn’t complain. She wouldn’t either.

But making friends in the poor community had been hard. There, everyone had known each other since birth. And with the fancier clothes she had from her old life, the nice car her mother drove, and the designer backpack she hauled her things to school in, she’d been branded an outcast from the start. Slumming it, they called it. A rich kid who would never be friends with the likes of them. They didn’t give her half a chance to try.

But her blonde friend had been an outcast, too. So it was fate, really, that pulled them together. And now, fate threatened to tear them apart. Over something as simple as being grounded if they were found out.

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