Page 157 of Grounded
When I walk into the house, it's quiet. Everyone's cars are parked, but they must be hiding from me for good reason.
I don't even care if I'm being a dramatic, whiny princess. That was my dream job. My optimism is gone. What hope I had from the movies I fell in love with has ended.
I am not meant to have the ending I envisioned.
Everyoneavoidsmelikethe plague, until the morning of the event when I force myself downstairs for breakfast.
"Hi, Ames, how's your morning going?"
My dad's cautious attempt at feeling me out is obvious only to me.
"Fine, I'm excited to get this night over with and see how we do."
"Did a lot of people RSVP?" Molly asks.
"Yes, but like any party, I guarantee a lot won't show up, and even more will who didn't get back to us."
"We'll be there," my dad announces as he holds onto Molly's hand.
Theo enters the kitchen as I open a pack of his Pop-Tarts that got shoved to the back of the cupboard.
"Did you ask if you could eat those?" he questions me as I read his tone.
Is he kidding? Is he serious? I don't know the protocol since we've been ignoring each other and sleeping in our own rooms.
But when he winks at me, my bated breath is freed from my full cheeks. Okay, he's teasing me, like always, and I can handle this.
"Oh, did you want these?" I wave them in his face like he's allergic but craving them regardless.
"No, they're all yours."
"You sure? We can split them. There are two."
"Please, no. The smell alone is making my blood sugar levels rise."
"I'll take the other." My dad puts out his palm, and I hand him the other half of my brown sugar cinnamon.
"The box is practically empty," I exclaim.
"Oh yeah, that was me," my dad confesses. "I might have had a midnight snack here and there."
"Bruce! That's so bad for your cholesterol. You know what your doctor said."
"What did your doctor say?" I interrupt Molly before she can elaborate.
"I'm fine. I have to take it easy on the red meat. That's all."
I don't believe him. "Are you sure nothing else?"
"I swear, honey."
"Swear on Mom."
It slips out, a pinky promise assurance a scared child would make. But that's how I feel as I stand on two wobbly legs, terrified my only living parent could be sick.
"I swear on your mom. I do need to watch my diet, though. No more sugar."
He hands back the Pop-Tart and I exchange it for a banana.
