Page 89 of As the Rain Falls
Cassandra: more strength 2 U
#Power
Beckett: I’m actually so nervous.
I feel like I might vomit
What if she hates me forever?
Cassandra: nooooooo
she’s going to forgive u!!!!!
u guys are going to be okay
i swear
Beckett: You really think so?
Cassandra: yeah
no one can be mad at you for too long
at least that’s how i feel
Beckett: That’s sweet
I feel the same way about you too
Beckett is typing…
A PERFECT GUIDE ON APOLOGIES
Beckett
NOVEMBER, 2016
The Cardoso’s live onthe other side of town, opposite from Port des Ondes. Their house is only a few blocks down from the public library. It’s the kind of neighborhood that used to constitute what people call “illegal housing”, but ever since Michaël secured his second term as mayor, he made a big show of revitalizing the area.
Now, the houses are prettier and the streets are definitely safer, but rent prices are soaring. Half of the original residents had to relocate to other areas of the city, which just goes to show that the problem wasn’t solved, just swept under the rug.
Angelina’s parents managed to hold onto their home, but her father works two jobs: delivery driver by morning and security guard by night. Her mother works at home, baking cakes on commission. Altogether, they’re both relentless, hard-working people, and it keeps me up at night knowing they’re likely investing everything they have to secure Angelina’s treatment for her borderline personality disorder.
I feel like a complete asshole for pushing her over the edge, but there’s no chance Mr. and Mrs. Cardoso would ever accept my help to pay for the cost. Le Port is made of proud people. It’d be offensive to even offer.
Traffic is a nightmare, stretching the drive twice as long. To top it off, I have to make a pit stop at the convenience store per Angelina’s request: she wants something to drink.
I end up grabbing her favorite, a weird green apple soda she loves, and a smaller bottle of Coca-Cola for myself. Her taste in food is borderline offensive.
By the time I finally manage to park the truck, the clock blinks 1:00 PM. I’m definitely late.
I tuck my phone and car keys into my back pocket, then call out through the gates.
“Clara!”
I hear her mother’s voice coming from inside, calling for Angelina to get the door. A moment later, the front door swings open, and the tall girl barrels down the stairs.
She’s wearing simple gym shorts and an oversized Pokémon sweater that falls down to her knees, practically swallowing her whole. I am to blame for her obsession with the cartoon; Luciaand Angie were forced to watch what I liked if they wanted to hang out in my room.
