Page 63 of Broken By the Bad Boy

The phone vibrates again. I pluck it out of my pocket and switch it off. Gracie is not only leaving me, but she is also leaving Champ. My fingers run through his hair. He loves it when I do that. I like it when Gracie massages my scalp or trims my eyebrows. It hurts, but her kisses soothe me.

“How was your date?”

“Awesome.”

“Hmm. How’s Tessa?”

I climb into the bed with him, and he creates more space for me. “She’s good. She’s traveling.”

“When will she be back?”

My heart jumps to my throat. I ball my hand into a fist and clear my throat. “I don’t know.” He makes a sound of disapproval, and I offer a one-hand shrug in the dark. “How was school?”

“Okay. Nothing interesting happened.”

I listen to the sound of his breathing. When I am confident he’s still awake, I say, “Mom called.”

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah.”

We will spend the weekend together and pretend Gracie never existed.

Thirty

Mom is calling again.I ignore her call and the new text that pops in and redial Ben’s number for the umpteenth time. Only now, it doesn’t go to voicemail. It’s switched off. My heart hurts as I pull out of his street. His bike is out front, so I know he’s at home. I was hoping we could talk.

Are we breaking up?

If he’s mad at me for this, he’ll hate me when he finds out I picked NYU amongst other schools outside San Francisco. I haven’t said anything to avoid hurting his feelings, and I don’t know my fate yet.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Tears trail down my cheeks as I resume the drive home. Ben is not a good boyfriend. A good boyfriend would have tried to hear me out. Does he think I want to move away? He won’t pick up my calls. He won’t let me see him. It’s unfair. I also want to be with him, and he is acting out.

The lights in our house are on. Mom is probably packing the last of our things. She has been up and moving since morning. She doesn’t want us to forget anything since we might never return. It’s a good day for her. Too bad I don’t share in her excitement. I can’t even be happy about Dad’s promotion.

I knock on the door. No response. Another knock, then another, before Mom finally answers.

Mom opens the door with her phone glued to her ear. She pecks my cheek and walks away to continue her phone call. I am grateful for the call because I don’t have to lie about the inexistent date. Tonight would have been great. We are one step closer to winning the prize money.

My room looks foreign without the sticky notes on the walls and the poster hanging on the door. The pictures of me, Maria and Ben, are gone. Stacked boxes are in a corner. I dive into the bed and sink my face into the pillow. There are a few more things to be arranged, but they can wait.

Footsteps approach my door, and Mom’s muffled voice filters into my ear. I can’t make out her words, but I know she’s not happy with the caller. She curses, something she tries not to do around me, then knocks.

There are two options: pretend to be asleep or get this talk over with and move on with my miserable life. Ben seems to have moved on. I can do the same. At least he will get to be with Olivia. She can have him. I roll onto my back and pull the cover over my face. If she sees me, she will know I have been crying.

“Come in,” I say to the door.

The bed sinks with her weight. She tugs on the cover until I release it, and a thick lump collects in my throat. I breathe through my mouth before sitting up. If she notices my red eyes, she says nothing.

“Sweetheart,” Mom says.

I try to smile, but my lips are in a permanent scowl. Folding my legs under me, I hug a pillow. Mom inspects my face and sighs. I love her and want her to be happy, but I can’t fake it.

Pushing one leg to the bed, so our knees are in contact, she asks, “How did he take it?”

Mom holds Ben on a pedestal. She doesn’t think he’s worth restructuring my future, but she likes and respects him. I want it to stay that way. I take minutes to gather my thoughts. It can’t be so hard to lie.

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