Page 30 of You Had Me At Thirteen

Mum averts her gaze. Holy crap, sheisfucking him. Guilt is written all over her face, just like a dog caught stealing his owner’s steak.

‘You and him?’ My mouth falls open as I blink at her.

Mum tilts her head, pulling her eyebrows in before she realises what I mean. ‘Christ, Matilda. What do you take me for? He’s eighteen years old.’

‘Well, what then?’

‘It’s none of your business. If Wren wants you to know, then he’ll tell you himself. Now shut up and give me back your hand.’ She moves to the edge of the bed and looks over my hand again, this time with a little more love. ‘We’ll organise an x-ray. But even if it’s broken, there’s not much we can do. It doesn’t look too serious, maybe a fracture at worst.’

Audrey snorts beside me, so I give her a sideways glance and the middle finger before Mum tugs on my chin.

‘Focus,’ she says. ‘I’ll be back after I organise the x-ray. Try to behave yourselves, for Christ’s sake.’ Mum points at both of us before she heads for the door.

When she disappears, I stare at the closed door, leaving Audrey to her phone.

If Wren wants to tell me what? Is he sick? Shit, is he dying? There’s no way there’s anything physically wrong with him. I spied him in the school gym the other day doing damage to a punching bag. And that pummelling he gave Derek earlier…

Damn.

Just thinking about it has my pulse racing… in my vagina. I’m more concerned about his mental health, though. The way he snapped, he was like a rabid dog, sans the frothing mouth.

After my x-ray, it’s confirmed I have a slight hairline fracture in one of my metacarpal bones in my hand. Mum wraps a pressure bandage around it to reduce the swelling, sets me up with some strong painkillers, and sends me on my way.

* * *

Mum finds me sulking in the lounge room, a bag of frozen peas attached to the knuckles of my right hand. ‘Care to explain what the hell is going on with you?’

‘Nope,’ I say as I switch between channels, trying to find something to numb the pain in my hand and the one in my chest.

As the days keep coming, I’m becoming more restless. The race is in four weeks, my final year of high school ending in eight and I’m screwing everything up. I don’t need my mum coming down on me, as well. I’m doing enough of that on my own.

‘Not good enough,’ Mum says as she walks into the room, rubbing her chest. ‘What has gotten into you lately? Now, Wren, I can understand. He’s having a hard time at the moment, but you, what do you have to be so angry about?’ Mum sits next to me on the couch and rubs her eyes. ‘I’m at a loss here, so get talking.’

I glance down at my hand, inspecting the bruise left from Derek’s face earlier today as it peeks through the bandage. ‘It’s nothing.’

And what does she know about Wren? If I wasn’t busy sulking and feeling sorry for myself, I’d ask her about it. Although, I’m not sure I want to know. I want nothing to do with him right now.

‘It’s not nothing, Matilda. You just got suspended for punching Derek Jones in the face. It’s unacceptable.’

I scoff, but keep my mouth shut as I stare at the TV. Of course the incident with Derek is my fault.

‘What? What is it?’ Mum says. ‘Tell me what you want to say. It’s written all over your face, anyway.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just leave it.’

Mum stands, throwing her hands up. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘But, this has to stop. This isn’t you.’

‘Maybe it is me. Maybe I am like this.’

Mum blows out a breath, her shoulders sagging in the process. ‘Matilda come on. You’ve got so much to look forward to. Your race coming up, for one. It’s been a dream of yours since you were little.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t want it anymore.’ Shit, did I just say that out loud?

‘What are you talking about?’ Mum frowns, her hands on her hips, while she searches my face.

‘It’s nothing. Just leave me alone.’

She throws her hands up. ‘Fine, act like a child, but stop with the crap. I’m sick and tired of it,’ she says and stalks towards the hallway.

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