Page 12 of The Substitute
I type in my number, then send myself a text. “I’ll pick a day next week and pick you up.”
I’m not leaving it open, not with Ambrose trying to get with him.
“Oh-okay.” Tobi seems a little mystified.
SIX
TOBI
Mr. Pre-Med can’t even be out of the building when my phone pings. I don’t dare pick it up, not with Ambrose grilling me on what his brother was doing here.
“Why did you let him in?”
“I didn’t even want to answer the door. He kept banging and then invited himself in.” I cross my arms, getting more defensive by the minute.
“In the future, please ignore him.”
“What’s that all about, anyway?” I ask, unable to help myself. He knows so much about me, seeing me like he did in the spring, but I didn’t even know he had a brother. My fault I guess, since I’ve barely said a word to him since he moved in.
“I’m not speaking to my dad anymore.” Ambrose’s words are curt.
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.” Ambrose shoves his hand into his auburn hair like a fucking model.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.” His walls are higher than mine, and I’m too tired to fight him on it.
We fall into silence, but he lingers in the living room, almost hovering.
“Sit down or something,” I snap.
“If you insist,” he says, then forces himself into the oversized chair with me, putting his arm on the back. “Much better.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Maybe you need to be more specific.” He shrugs. “Wait, didn’t you have class today?”
I avoid his gaze. “It’s just review—I don’t need to be there.”
“My classes did more than just review. Aren’t we the same year?”
I glance over at him. “I’m sure my classes are very different than yours.”
“Alright, if you know better.” He glances over at me. “Want to grab dinner?”
I avoid his eyes. “I’m not really hungry. I think I’m just going to go back to bed.”
I shuffle to our room, hating how pathetic I am. I should have just gone to dinner with Ambrose. I like him. He’s nice, but I’m just not over Rhys, and the idea of spending time with anyone else, makes my chest ache.
“I’m not giving up on you.” Ambrose stands in the doorway, eating a Power Bar.
“There’s nothing to not give up on.” I roll my eyes.
“Mmmhmm.” He leaves, so I finally open my text.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but not this.
Mr. Pre-Med: I’m picking you up Monday at 7.
