I’m
considering dropping out of school, but when I think of the progress I made for
this school year, the words ‘drop out’ just seems heartbreaking. I picked up my
pen and started scribbling the last question for Athena and Will’s reviewers.
And less than five minutes later, I stapled the two pages of each and looked at
my cloned copies. I scribbled one above, Will
and the other Athena. Okay, mission
accomplished.
I
lay down on my bad and fanned my hair around me. Thoughts were swirling around
my head and making me dizzy, and I tried closing my eyes but what happened was
much worse. Words in black and white were flashing through my eyelids, words
like Warner, Jacob, Potter, boyfriend, Athena, reputation, cookies – wait.
Cookies?
What
does cookies have to do with anything? Then my mind hit on the right memory.
Oh, right. The cookies for Dad saving my neck because of the bike near fiasco.
As I looked back on that day, it seemed to be a lifetime away from me. So many
things had happened and it’s not
good.
I
started getting up, thinking I should check the remaining ingredients
downstairs when my phone rang. Oh, what now?
I
grabbed it from under my pillow and looked at the caller ID, which displays,
Unknown number. Uh-oh. I watch the setting sun dip ever so slowly down the
horizon and felt like kicking something. I pushed ‘accept.’
“Hello?”
“Avery,
I need to tell you something.”
I
groaned and closed my eyes in frustration, “What do you want?”
“I
just wanted to tell you that we have to make a list.” A what?
“A
list?” I repeated, my tone full of doubt and uncertainty, “A list of what? Are
you out of your mind?”
“Any
list! But it has to be about us. Just – just write something like, Things I
love about Travis or something like that.” He is out of his mind. Why the hell would I do that? “Tell me what
this bloody list for is again?”
“My
Mom. God, she’s such a romantic. But
I really want to convince her and we need something concrete.” That way he says
that makes what we’re doing sound like against the law. Well, technically, it
is; it violates the law of etiquette. It crushes
etiquette.
“Fine, I’ll do your bloody list.”
“You’re
an angel. And I’m sorry if I’m talking to you like this, I’m kind of busy.”
“Yeah,
I figured. I have something to do as well, so we should probably – ”
“Absolutely!
And by the way, the Polaroid is with me. Bye, Avery. Thank you so much, you’re
wonderful.” Polaroid?
“What’s
with the – ” the line went dead. He just hanged up on me! I disregarded the
fact that he already said bye and therefore has the right to turn down the
phone but he bloody hanged up on me!
I
gritted my teeth for the millionth time this day and tried to bottle up my
anger. “Why is this insanity even happening to me?” I muttered under my breath
to no one in particular. After that damnable lunchtime, my friends smothered me
with cannonballs of questions and right now, I know they have it in their heads
that Travis and I are the type of couples that are lovey-dovey with each other
– which we aren’t.
The
situation is really bad for me! I don’t get irritated easily and I have rare
occurrences of foul moods but everything’s turning upside down now.
Travis
Warner is to blame for this mutation.
I
swept my hand through my hair annoyingly and got out my plain white stationary
from the cabinet as well as a Biro. I scribbled on top with a messy handwriting
– my handwriting was neat before! neat!
– the words, Things I hate about Travis
Anthony Warner.
I
paused in thought and started a first one, He
makes my blood boil. That’s perfect, but I’m sort of craving for more. I
added below the first, He thinks he rules
the world. I tapped my pen against the pad of paper, getting the hang of
this pointless scheme. This is actually not a bad idea – I already feel some of
the moodiness leave my system.
“Avery?”
I heard downstairs.
“Coming,
Dad.” I called out, but I couldn’t resist adding one more to my list, He’s vain. I put my items down and raced
to the stairs and saw Dad over the stove.
Dad
on the stove means trouble.
“Do
you need help?”
“Honey,
I did everything like your Mom said to prepare for dinner, but it just started
looking like that.”
I
giggled. My father attempting to cook is like Voldemort laughing with Albus
Dumbledore. “You know, Dad, you can tend to the garden; I’ll cover you up
here.” He gripped my shoulder and kissed my forehead, “You’re an angel.” I
laughed as he went to the cupboard. He got out his gardening tools and headed
out to the door. I turned to what Dad did and dumped the charred remains of –
chicken? I think it is. I started everything from scratch, hoping that my
not-that-bad-anymore mood will last until dinner.
2
hours later.
The
bloody mood didn’t last. Partly because a lot of people had been prank-calling
me ever since I went back to my bedroom – Travis’ girl minions, no doubt. And
because of his bloody messages – he
said he has a surprise for me and I texted him back, asking what it is but I
received no reply. I sent it again, still none. I did it again. And again and
again.
Nothing.
I
should get sick tomorrow. Really, maybe a fever would do. Better yet, flu.
Nobody can suspect me of having other motives for not turning up, right? It’s
flu, for Christ’s sake. I cut my tasty chicken thigh with my knife, imagining
it was Travis’ foot. I cut another slice because that trick did work like magic for my nerves. And
the Polaroid problem is really disconcerting me.
What
the bloody hell has that to do with us?
Somehow,
I don’t like the feel of it. He will do something, I’m sure of it. Why can’t he just cut the long story short and save me
from these stress attacks? I don’t even feel
stress before.
“Avery?”
“Travis?
I mean, Dad? Dad? What?”
“Ave,
you seem distracted,” Mom said with her forehead creasing, “You okay?”
“Yeah,
Mom. It’s just the three tests tomorrow and some people asked me for help and I
was thinking how to help them understand and…stuff.”
“I
was just saying,” Dad said, chewing the dinner he supposedly prepared, “That
you were planning to bake this Saturday.”
Saturday.
Weekend.
The
bloody park.
“Yeah,
I’m going to bake.” I said without vigor.
“You’ll
have to make a lot – Aunt Adelaine and the others are coming.”
“What?”
No! The timing is rotten! Rotten.
“They’re
going to stay for three days.” said Mom. Oh, God. My uncles. My grandma. My cousins.
I’ll
just have to commit suicide.
“Ave,
you okay?” Mom asked again.
“Yeah!
Yeah, I’m fine.” I said, putting a spoonful of chicken in my mouth and
swallowed hard, “That’s great! I missed all of them.” My voice trailed away as
disturbing images formed in my mind’s eye.
What
the bloody hell would happen?
I
clenched my jaw and stabbed the chicken mercilessly with a fork. They won’t find out. I won’t let them.
-
Sylvia
looked at her daughter from across the table. She was never really good at
lying; that’s one of the qualities that made her dear. The mother smiled
silently.
She
wondered when they’ll be able to meet this Travis.
-
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