Page 21 of Good Girl

Suddenly, a shrill ringtone filled the air, and I jumped, then glanced at my phone. Part of me was disappointed that it wasn’t Derek calling me—until I reminded myself that he didn’t even have my number—but anyone calling me would have been better than my mother.

I answered with a heavy heart.

“Charlotte.” My mother barked out my name before I could even say hello. “It’s about time you answered your phone. I was worried sick something had happened to you!”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m sorry, it’s been a busy day.”

“You’re not fine, you’re all the way out in the city and I have no idea what could be happening to you!” she scolded. “You know I don’t like it when you don’t keep in regular contact.”

“I know,” I sighed softly. “I’m sorry, classes have just been really intense and I keep losing track of time.”

“Losing track? Charlotte, you’re not on drugs, are you?”

“What? No!”

“I read that losing track of time and places is a sign that you could be on drugs. Changes in behavior are a sign too, and you haven’t called as much, you didn’t come to the inn last weekend.” My mother took a deep, audible breath in. “Charlotte, if you are on drugs you'd better tell me right this second!”

“I am not on drugs!” I snapped. “Mom, please. I’m just busy.”

“Not too busy to go shopping, though, hmm?”

“What?” My heart sank.

“Mrs. Johnston saw you this weekend. Shopping in one of those fancy stores that sell skimpy material as clothes. That’s not the sort of place you should be visiting, Charlotte, especially not after blowing me off forschoolwork!”

Fuck. My mother’s coven of friends reached everywhere, it seemed.

“I was doing school work,” I lied gently. “I just took a break to go shopping with a friend and get some new jeans, that’s all. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t make it home last weekend but—”

“You used to be such a good girl. Look at you now. I don’t even know if I can trust you anymore.”

I was used to my mother cutting me off, but these words struck as deep as if she were standing right in front of me with the wooden spoon she used to reprimand me with as a child. Ithurt, and the swirling excitement left over from Derek swiftly churned into guilt.

“I am a good ...” I cut myself off. “Of course, you can trust me, Mom. Listen, I’ll be home this weekend, okay? School just caught up with me. We’re entering the final stretch, so things are intense, but I will come home. And then you can see that I’m not on drugs or anything like that.”

“Hmm.” My mother scoffed sharply. “I’ll be checking your arms!”

“You do that,” I replied tiredly.

By the time my mother ended the call, what little happiness I had scraped up from my time with Derek had flickered out. I stared down at my phone as my mother’s angry words swirled around my head. Did she really think I was on drugs? Somehow, I think she would prefer that compared to what I was actually doing, lusting after a teacher.

I quickly skimmed through a few emails, and then, as I was catching up on all the missed text messages from my mother, another name caught my eye.

Jonathan. My ex. I hadn’t spoken to him since I dumped his pathetic ass before I started college. My mother adored him. I had been scared of him for a while, and dumping him had meant to be the start of the new me. I was a little late at the starting line for that. I quickly read through the three texts he had sent, but there was nothing important about them. One was a weak attempt at trying to meet up so we could talk and the other two were claims that I had stuff that belonged to him and we had to get in contact so he could get it back.

I certainly didn’t keep anything of his.

Ignoring the texts, I tossed my phone onto the bedside table and rolled over, cuddling up with my pillow as my thoughts ran rampant. Guilt was starting to grow, festering in the silence of the room as I considered what I had done with Derek. It almost didn’t feel real. And yet in that half hour we spent together, I had felt more important and seen than at any other point of my life, by anyone else.

He had looked at me, touched me,andgiven me my first orgasm at the hands of another. He had shown me more kindness and care than my mother had ever shown me, had been more patient with me than Jonathan ever had, and he’d been sweeter than Haley ever had.

He wasn’t real. He was a dream.

As I lay there, the note Derek had given me flashed up in my mind, and I rolled over to the edge of my bed. Rummaging in my bag, I located the note and unfurled it as I settled into my back.

It was an address.

And a promise.

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