Текст книги "The Year I Became Isabella Anders"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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THE YEAR I BECAME ISABELLA ANDERS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Coming Soon
About the Author
Books by Jessica Sorensen
The Year I Became Isabella Anders
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Sorensen
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.
For information: jessicasorensen.com
Cover Design by:
Okay Creations
Photography:
Perrywinkle Photography
Interior Design and Formatting by
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
I’VE ALWAYS ROCKED the weirdo gene, and I’ve mostly been okay with that. But life would be a tiny bit easier if my parents and sister marched to the beat of their own drum, too. Unfortunately, their style is more Leave it to Beaver with an edge. My mom is the epitome of a Stepford housewife on crack. She can bake a cake, clean the house, put together a fundraiser for our school, and make sure my sister and I are doing our homework, all while looking perfect.
To most, my dad is the perfect husband and father. He works in the city and is the vice president of a company. He makes a decent salary, like most people who work in the city do, holds a high status in the community, and gives my mother everything she asks for.
Then there’s my older sister, Hannah. Growing up, Hannah was the star prodigy of my parents. From preschool up until first grade, she starred in beauty pageants and won so many tiaras and trophies my parents made a special room for them, which basically meant she has two bedrooms. As she got older, she got into modeling and was even in her own commercial for some robotic gadget that was supposed to tease hair to its ‘fullest potential’. My parents were always bragging about her at work functions and community get-togethers.
High school is where Hannah really blossomed, according to everyone. She developed an obsession with makeup and fashion, and her confidence and beauty helped her rise to the top social status tier. She became student body president, head cheerleader, and Queen of Sunnyvale, the title handed to one lucky senior who receives a flashy crown, free dinner at the club for a year, the privilege of riding on the float in the Sunnyvale Sunny Days parade, and a scholarship.
Then there’s me, the baggy clothes wearing, manga loving, aspiring comic book artist, zombie enthusiast addition to our family. Being different would be fine—there has to be a weirdo in every family—except mine isn’t very accepting of people they can’t understand, including their own daughter. A junior in high school, my greatest accomplishment is having my own blog that is just a way for me to get all the clusterfuck of weirdness out of my head.
I once beat the entire neighborhood, including the guys, in a free shot competition. But when I do shit like that, it always earns the same reaction from my mother: “You’re such a tomboy. When are you going to act like a girl?”
I clock in a lot of time reading, dye my hair an array of colors—today it’s green stripes!—and doodle my own comics starring kickass female characters who aren’t afraid to be themselves, my attribute I try to live by. Sometimes it’s hard, though, trying to find people who ‘get me’ or whatever. I live in my own little shell as the outcast. Sometimes I feel like I can barely breathe, like the walls are closing in. My worst fear is that I’ll die in that damn shell, probably by asphyxiation.
“Why aren’t you breathing?” my mom asks me from across the lengthy dinner table.
I hold my breath another few seconds before releasing a deafening exhale. “I was just wondering how long it’d take to die from lack of air.” And if anyone would notice if I dropped dead at the kitchen table.
She stares at me, unimpressed, then shakes her head and looks over at my dad. “I really don’t get her sometimes.” She cuts into her chicken, sawing into the meat so violently the knife scrapes against the plate. “No, I take that back. I don’t understand her at all.”
Hannah snorts a laugh as her manicured nails tap buttons on her phone. “No one does. Just ask anyone at school.”
“Hey, some people get me,” I argue, stabbing my fork into my salad. “I swear they do.”
She glances up at me with her brows arched. “Name one person. And the janitor doesn’t count.”
“I’m not counting the janitor,” I say, chewing on a bite of salad. I’ve never understood why my sister seems to hate me so much, but ever since we were in grade school, she’s made it her mission to torment me as much as she can. “Although, Del’s pretty cool.”
“Oh, my God, you’re a freak,” she sneers. “And I know you don’t have friends, so don’t pretend like they exist.”
“Just because the people I hang out with aren’t cool enough for you, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” I’m calm. Perfectly cool. A lazy river on a hot summer day. Because if I’m not—if I lose my shit with Hannah—my ass will be sent to my room without dessert. And I love dessert almost as much as I love manga.
Hannah dramatically rolls her eyes. “You’re so lame. At least own that you’re a loner and spare yourself the embarrassment of pretending you’re not a loser.”
I bite my tongue to keep from firing off anything that’ll get me into trouble and chant a lovely sweet treat song inside my head.
Oreo cake. Cookie dough ice cream. Strawberry cheesecake.
“You know what?” Hannah sets the phone down on the table, and when she smiles at me maliciously, I know she’s about to say something that’s going to get me into trouble—that even my sweet treat chant won’t save me from. “I take that back. Maybe the janitor can count. I mean, you eat all your lunches in the janitor’s closet, right?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “And you know I don’t, since you pretend to ignore me every day during lunch.”
Her grin broadens at the sound of my clipped tone, because she knows she’s won—that I’m about to lose my cool. She mouths, Loser.
A slow breath eases from my lips, and then I stuff my mouth full of chicken.
Snickers. Chocolate chip cookies. Funnel cake—
“Oh wait!” Hannah exclaims with a laugh. “I do remember you hanging out once or twice with that freak who always wears mismatched shoes. But I think she’s into girls . . .” She taps her finger against her lip. “Wait, is she your girlfriend?”
I can’t control it any longer. I swallow the chicken and drop the fork. “Leave Lana out of this. She’s a nice person, unlike you.” I drop my voice and utter the nickname I know she hates, “Super Bitch.”
“Mom!” Hannah whines, slamming her palm onto the table and sending the salt and pepper shakers toppling over, along with my mother’s wine. “Isa called me a bitch.”
My father and mother stare at the mess on the crisp linen tablecloth then my mother glares at me.
“Isabella, you can go to your room now,” she says as she scoots back from the table.
“But I didn’t do anything.” I try not to sound whiney, because it’ll only piss her off more. “Well, not anything that she didn’t do.”
“And you don’t get any dessert,” she says, ignoring my protests as she strides to the kitchen door.
“I’m really sorry,” I tell her as calmly as I can, “but she did call me a loser.”
“You’re such a liar.” Hannah flips her blonde hair off her shoulder and flashes me a smirk when no one’s looking.
My mother looks at my father in that way that says you take care of her then she slams her palm against the door and whisks out of the room.
“Isabella, your mother said to go to your room, so go to your room.” He speaks robotically, as if he rehearsed the words. He avoids eye contact with me, staring at his plate. “And no dessert.”
He rarely looks at me, and I haven’t ever figured out why. I asked him about it once, but he pretended like he didn’t hear me and hurried out of the room, leaving me to draw my own conclusions. My very overactive imagination has conjured up quite a few borderline crazy ideas, ranging from him thinking I look like a hideous beast, to him fearing I secretly possess the superpower to change anyone who makes eye contact with me into a human corpse.
Knowing there’s no way my father’s going to cave on my punishment—since we’ve been in this same situation at least a hundred times—I stand up. “Okay.”
“And apologize to your sister,” he adds, still staring at his chicken like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
Only when I turn my back to Hannah do I mutter, “Sorry.” Otherwise, her smirk will drive me bat shit crazy.
As I’m walking out of the room, my mother returns with a towel to clean the mess up, along with a platter of red velvet cupcakes.
“Why are you still here?” she asks me as she sets the platter down at the end of the table. “I told you to go to your room.”
With a heavy sigh, I bid farewell to the cupcakes and leave the dining room, trying to convince myself they probably taste like burnt cardboard, even though my mother’s won ribbons for her fan-freakin’-tastic cupcakes.
An hour later, I’m sprawled across my bed surrounded by homework, my sketchbook, and a few of my favorite novels. My Chemical Romance is playing from the stereo, and my balcony doors are open, letting a warm May breeze blow inside. I’m still trying to convince myself that my parents don’t hate me. That all their anger and bitterness toward me is simply because they don’t understand me. That their partialness to my sister has nothing to do with me. But it’s hard when my dad won’t even look at me, and every time my mother speaks to me, it’s either to ground me or to tell me what a disappointment I am.
I lie in bed lost in my thoughts until my belly grumbles. God, I wish I could at least have just a taste of those red velvet cupcakes. But if I’m caught sneaking into the kitchen, my butt will be grounded. It might be worth it, because seriously, my body’s about to have a lack-of-sugar conniption fit.
Ugh!
I roll off my bed and do an awesome zombie impression as I crawl across my floor toward my dresser. “Must . . . get . . . sugar . . .”
When I reach the dresser, I hoist myself to my feet and raid the top drawer for some old Halloween candy I stashed there months ago. I find a half eaten bag of jellybeans and a half eaten chocolate bar that doesn’t have a wrapper, and I devour both of them.
Turns out the chocolate bar has the gross addition of almonds. I instantly dry heave, realizing why the candy bar was only half eaten to begin with.
“Gross!” I search for a trashcan to spit it out, but I have no clue where mine ended up, so I trip out onto the balcony and spit out the mouthful of candy over the edge.
It takes me about two seconds to realize what a stupid idea this was for three different reasons:
1. My sister is hanging out in the driveway, which is right below my window.
2. The chocolate I just spit out has landed on her head.
3. She’s talking to our neighbor, Kyler Meyers.
Kyler Meyers. What can I say about him other than he’s gorgeous, popular, the star quarterback, and smart. Like, he takes AP classes and has a 4.0 GPA kind of smart. I’m also in love with him, have been since I was eight years old and he stopped Hannah’s ring of minions from picking on me during recess.
“Hey, just leave her alone,” he said when he stumbled across us at the playground.
They had me trapped on the top of the slide and were threatening to push me down it. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except there was a giant mud puddle at the bottom. Somehow, Hannah had managed to scare all the rest of the kids away, so no one was around to witness what was about to go down. Even the recess monitor was MIA.
Hannah had crossed her arms and raised her brows at Kyler. “Why’re you sticking up for her, Kyler? She’s a loser.” She stepped toward him and batted her eyelashes. “How about you just go back to playing football with your friends and leave us alone.”
Kyler glanced at me then around the empty playground. For a moment, I thought he was going to bail, but then he stepped around Hannah and her friends and offered me his hand. “Come on, Isa.”
I took his hand and he helped me to my feet. When they’d chased me up here, I’d fallen down and scraped up my knees, but I hardly felt the pain as he held my hand and guided me off the playground.
He only let go of my hand when we were a safe distance away from them. “Are you okay?”
Unable to find my voice, I nodded.
“You should try to stay away from her,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Hannah and her crew, who had targeted a new victim.
“Okay.” I managed to get one word out and was super proud of that.
He offered me a smile before heading back to the field to play football with his friends, oblivious to how much his good deed meant to me. It was the first time someone had stuck up for me. Ever. And I’ve been in love with him ever since.
I know my crush won’t ever go anywhere, but I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. Deep down, I get that I’m not really in love with Kyler, especially since sometimes he does things that make me hate him. But in love sounds so much less porn star-ish than in lust.
The playground isn’t the only time he’s done something nice for me, though. There’s so much more to my in lust crush than that.
When I was in eighth grade, he gave me a rose on Valentine’s Day.
“Hey, Isa, I have something for you,” he said as he jogged across the middle school parking lot toward me.
I paused when he said my nickname and gaped at him spastically with half a brownie in my mouth. He was a year older than I was, and I couldn’t figure out why he was talking to me. Not only was I Hannah’s loser younger sister, but I was in middle school and he was in high school.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He stuck out his hand, and his fingers were wrapped around the stem of a red rose.
I cautiously glanced from the rose to him then gulped the brownie down. “Is this a trick?”
Chuckling, he brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. “Why would I ever want to trick you, Isabella? I have no reason to.”
My insides quivered at the sound of my name leaving his lips. The last time he had any social interaction with me was when I was in the third grade and he stopped some of his friends from picking on me, including Hannah.
My gaze darted around the mostly vacant parking lot as I searched for a blonde-haired girl hiding out somewhere, laughing her ass off. “Did my sister put you up to this?”
He swiftly shook his head. “I swear to God it’s not a trick. I just wanted to do something nice.”
I still didn’t take the rose, worried the moment I accepted his gift, my sister would show herself and laugh at me. Knowing her, she’d probably have her Super Bitchy Cheer Pod People with her, who’d be ready to take pictures of my mortification.
“Isa.” He dipped his head to make eye contact with me, not because I’m super short—I’m actually above average height—but he’s like one-step-away-from-not-making-the-parking-garage-clearance tall. “I swear to you this is just one neighbor giving another neighbor a gift with no tricks attached.”
A neighborly gift? I almost frowned. But it was a completely selfish, Hannah-like reaction, so I sucked it up, took the rose, and even managed a smile. “Thanks.”
He smiled, and my heart did an Irish tap dance. “You’re welcome.” He didn’t leave right away, and it seemed like he wanted to say more. “Hey, so I have to ask you for a favor.” He paused, hesitant. “And you can totally say no, but . . . I really need to work on my free shot for tryouts next season, and since you won that contest and were pretty badass, I thought you and I could practice together. Maybe you could teach me a few pointers.”
Is Kyler seriously asking me to help him improve his basketball skills? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On one hand, I was excited that I had an opportunity to spend time with him. On the other hand, it made me feel like he saw me as one of the guys.
“Sure,” I replied with a small smile.
“Thanks.” He looked relieved. “Wanna meet at my house tomorrow morning?”
I nodded and he threw me another smile before he turned around and headed toward the football field, located between the middle school and high school.
I stared down at the rose, wondering what the gesture meant—if it meant anything—and spent the next couple of weekends obsessing about every other gesture he did during our practices. Like when he brought me a doughnut or we spent a couple of hours after practice watching a movie. Part of me wonders if he was just being friendly, while another small part of me hoped it meant more.
He even opened up to me a time or two.
“Sometimes I feel like I have to be good all the time—because that’s how everyone expects me to be,” he muttered after his dad had come home and spent over a half an hour critiquing Kyler while he made basket after basket.
“I’m sure no one expects you to be that way,” I said as we sat on his porch steps, drinking lemonade, our clothes soaked with sweat. “No one can be good all the time.”
“Yeah, I know.” He scratched his arm, staring at the driveway. “But sometimes it feels like the whole school doesn’t see it that way. Like I have to be that guy who takes the team to the championships, who gets good grades, who’s happy all the damn time, even when things get shitty. My parents expect that too.” His hand fell to his lap and he caught my gaze from out of the corner of his eye. “My dad especially. Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to live his dreams through me. Sometimes I wish I could just stop.”
“Stop being that guy?”
“Stop being the guy who’s happy all the time and just be normal.”
“Normal is overrated,” I mumbled. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’ll never know, since I’ve never felt like anything about my life is normal.” He sighed tiredly then shook his head. “You probably think I’m a douchebag, sitting here complaining about my perfect life.”
“You’re fine. It’s okay to complain about life. Everyone gets tired of being who they are at some point.” I picked at my fingernails. “And it’s okay to change. You know, if you really want to.”
He only nodded with his brows furrowed, like the idea greatly confused him. Then he released a breath and leaned back on his elbows. “Thanks for being such a great listener.” Then he leaned over and did something amazing. He kissed me on the corner of my lips. “You’re so much different than anyone else I know. I feel like I can be myself when I’m around you.”
His words meant a lot to me, but the kiss damn near caused me to stop breathing. It was more than just magical. It was out-of-this-realm amazing. The problem was once he got better at free shots, we stopped practicing, and our movie/doughnut/heart-to-heart time ended too. Kyler went back to being the perfect popular guy everyone expected him to be. Yeah, he still smiled and waved to me whenever he saw me, and talked to me during school sometimes, but that was about as far as our friendship ever went. He still sometimes sticks up for me, though, when someone is harassing me at school.
“What the hell was that?” Hannah combs her fingers through her hair then her face pinches in disgust as she stares at the chocolate in her hand. “Oh, my God! Is that bird shit?!”
“Um,” Kyler hesitantly glances up at me, and then his gaze drops to her hand. “It could be,” he says, even though he witnessed me spit out the chocolate.
He glimpses up at me and we exchange a look. I know he won’t rat me out. He’s not like that. He’s still that nice guy, who wins championships and gets good grades—the guy who everyone loves and who I know secretly wishes he didn’t have to be. Although, I sometimes wonder if he still wants to be different. Over the years, he’s seemed to grow into his position as being the popular guy everyone loves.
“Isa!” Hannah screeches from the driveway, jerking me away from one of my favorite memories. “Are you listening to me?”
“I wasn’t, but now I am,” I say, blinking at her.
She grunts, stomping her foot again. “Did you just spit something in my hair?”
Call it payback for that stunt she pulled at the dinner table, but honestly, I don’t feel that bad.
“Sorry, but the candy had almonds in it and I panicked.” I shrug. “I really hate almonds.”
“Oh, my God! You’re such a freak!” She stomps her feet several more times, throwing one of her infamous Beauty Queen Tantrums.
I feel sickly satisfied when Kyler covers his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.
“I’m going to get you back for this,” she threatens, crossing her arms and giving me her notorious death glare. “Just wait. When I get done with you, even the janitor’s closet isn’t going to be safe.”
“Hey, calm down.” Kyler touches her arm. “It’s just candy. I’m sure it’ll wash out. And Isa didn’t mean to. I saw the whole thing. It was an accident.”
I kinda wish I really was a zombie, so I could have a legit excuse to shimmy down the railing and gnaw off her arm he’s touching.
Hannah takes a few breaths with her eyes narrowed on me, and then she spins toward Kyler, plastering on a plastic smile. “Wait for me while I go wash my hair. Then we can leave for the party.”
“Sure. I’ll just go shoot some hoops in my driveway or something.” He backs down the driveway toward the end of the fence.
Only when he turns his back to us does Hannah lock her glare back on me. You’re dead, she mouths.
Eventually she’ll make due on her threat, probably at school, when I least expect it. God, how I wish UW was farther than a ten minute drive and she had to go live at college. But nope, she’s staying here, at least for a while.
Le sigh. Story of my life.
I probably should be majorly concerned over what she’s going to do to me, but honestly, my reputation at school can’t get any worse. So, I focus on something better, something that’ll cheer me up.
My attention wanders to Kyler as he rounds the fence, but my smile plummets when I notice him checking out Hannah. It’s his one fault and something I don’t get. Yeah, I know she’s beautiful, curvy, has long blonde hair, and dresses like a girl, but back in grade school, he seemed disgusted with her. Sometimes he still does, like the time she tripped Jane Tribloton at a pep rally in front of the entire school. Kyler went and helped Jane up, and then I caught him chewing out Hannah in the hallway later on in the day. Those moments remind me of the Kyler I first fell for. But then there’s this other side, the one cracked out on guy hormones.
I frown as Kyler continues to check out Hannah. God, she’d swoon herself to death if she knew he was drooling over her ass like he is. She’s been trying to get him to ask her out for the last month, ever since her breakup with The Brad—a nickname he gave himself. While Kyler and Hannah aren’t officially a couple, they spend a lot of time together. If they do start dating, I’ll have to gouge my eyes out so I don’t have to witness them making out. Of course, if he actually starts dating my sister, I just might be able to finally get over this silly little crush I have on him.
“Isa, are you okay?” Kyler shouts as he bounces a basketball in his driveway while looking in the direction of my balcony.
I shrug. “Yeah. Sure.”
“She’s always so hard on you,” he says, jumping to make a shot. As he moves, his grey t-shirt rides up just enough to give me a sneak peek at those superhero abs I know he has hiding under there.
“Who, my sister?” I ask distractedly as I discreetly check him out.
Stop staring at him, for the love of God.
The ball swishes through the net, and he turns back to me, smiling adorably. “Yeah. I mean, I like her and everything, but she’s nice to me. With you, she always seems so . . .” He seems to be searching for the right word.
“Bitchy. Vile. Or how about plotting-my-death-off-the-rocker-Norman-Bates kind of crazy,” I offer, resting my arms on the railing.
“Well, I was going to say intense, but those work too.” He’s trying really hard not to smile.
“Can I ask you a question?” I dare ask, despite the inner voice screaming at me to keep my trap shut.
“Sure.” He offers me an easygoing grin.
“Why do you like her? I mean, she’s so mean . . . and you’re so . . .” I stop myself from saying nice, because I’m uncertain how he’ll react.
“I don’t know. I just . . .” He glances at the door to my house then rubs the back of his neck, looking really uncomfortable. “Isa, I don’t really feel comfortable talking to you about this.”
Give me a crown, people, because I just took the title for Most Super Awkward Girl Ever.
Thankfully, the side door of his two-story house swings open and out walks Kai, Kyler’s younger brother, who’s a junior in high school like me.
He’s not wearing a shirt—he usually isn’t—his boxers are sticking out of his black cargo shorts, and his light blond hair is smashed on one side, as if he just woke up. The whole sleepyhead, rebellious look he’s rocking is a recent change, as well as the people he’s started hanging out with, the stoner kids—labeled as such for wearing dark clothing, eating a lot of junk food, and their overall don’t-give-a-shit attitude. At least, that’s what everyone calls them, although I have yet to see any of them smoking pot. If that were the case, then I’d be a pothead, since the description fits me, too.
“Hey, what’s up?” Kai gives a chin nod to Kyler as he closes the door behind him.
“Not much,” Kyler says to his brother as he picks up the basketball. “I’m thinking about heading to a party.”
“Which one?” Kai asks, stuffing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
He shrugs, dribbling the ball against the concrete driveway. “I think one of Hannah’s friends is having one.”
He chokes on a laugh and spits out a mouthful of cereal. “Sounds like tons of fucking fun.” Sarcasm drips from his tone.
“It won’t be that bad.” Kyler lifts his arms up to shoot another basket.
“It’ll be a bunch of dumbass cheerleaders and jocks,” Kai says, setting his bowl down on the porch railing.
“I don’t know what your problem is.” Kyler walks backward toward the grass to collect the ball. “You used to be one of those,” he makes air quotes, “ ‘dumbass jocks’, too, before you decided you were too good for everyone.”
“That’s not what quitting the team was about,” Kai replies in a clipped tone. “So stop talking about shit you know nothing about.”
“Then what was it about?” Kyler challenges as he scoops up the ball and tucks it under his arm.
Kai shrugs, picking up his bowl, looking pissed off. “Who cares?”
“Whatever, man.” Kyler’s gaze bores into Kai, like he expects him to cave. “You know everyone thinks you’re into drugs now.”
Kai lifts his shoulders and shrugs again. “That’s their problem. Not mine.”
“I’m starting to wonder if they’re right.”
Kyler sounds more aggravated than I’ve ever heard him. And trust me, I’ve eavesdropped on his conversations a lot, so I would know.
They argue for a few minutes longer, acting completely like night and day. Kyler and Kai may be brothers, but they sure don’t act like it. Yeah, Kai is equally as gorgeous, in a dangerous, bad boy, let-me-stun-you-with-my-smoldering-eyes kind of way. Up until about six months ago, he used to be almost as good of a football as Kyler is, and nearly as popular. He even flirted and checked out Hannah sometimes. But then one day he did a complete one-eighty, quit the team, and started spending a lot of time ditching school. I always thought it was odd that Kai was the one who went the route Kyler once wanted—well, in terms of changing. I’m not really sure Kyler ever wanted to become a rebellious bad boy.
The one thing that remained Kai, though, is he’s really intense, to the point where looking him in the eye can actually be terrifying for some. And for some girls, exhilarating. For me, not so much, because unlike a lot of people, I know there’s a dorky side to Kai, who thinks he’s funny and who reads comics.
“Believe whatever you want.” Kai backs toward the porch, shrugging off Kyler. “Have fun at your lame-ass party.”
Kyler dribbles the bejesus out of the ball. “Whatever. Avoid the problem, like you always do.” Another slam of the ball. “Cause more problems between Mom and Dad.”
Kai seems oddly satisfied by the fact his brother is annoyed with him, and a smile touches his face as he spins for the door. Right before he walks inside, though, he looks over his shoulder at me.
I should probably duck for cover, since I’ve been caught eavesdropping red-handed. If it had been Kyler, I’d be so mortified that I’d probably bolt back to my room. But with Kai . . . well, he and I sorta have this thing going on, ever since seventh grade. Not a relationship type of thing or anything. It’s more like a ‘he teases me and annoys the crap out of me’ thing. I don’t know why he’s so persistent about doing it, other than maybe I’m the only person who doesn’t get all squirrely every time he looks at them.
I carry his gaze for a beat or two longer, and the smile on his face grows. I narrow my eyes at him and flip him the middle finger, just because I can. He laughs then winks at me before disappearing inside his house.
I check out Kyler one last time before I return to my bed to finish my drawing of Zombie Artist Girl, who looks great in a cape and can behead a zombie like a badass mofo.
But, the second I plant my butt down on the mattress, my bedroom door opens. I prepare myself for an argument with Hannah, figuring it’s her coming to chew my ass out for the chocolate incident, but instead, my mom and dad walk in.
I give them both a puzzled look, because they hardly ever step foot in my room, let alone together.
