U IGNORING ME?
Apparently I’m taking too long to respond. I huff before my cheeks turn a reddish pink. Even when he’s being a jerk, I like him. I really need to talk to Holly about all this. The only problem with that is she’s attached to Dad’s hip, and he’s the absolute last person I want advice from. His answer is pretty much always, “He touches you, you kill him,” regardless of who the “him” is.
NO, I type back. I give it a few minutes to see if he’s going to respond or try to continue the conversation. Once my nails are dry, I know I’ve waited long enough, and I decide to give up. He’s so infuriating. My phone tells me his stupid ass read my text, but he chose not to respond to it.
Daniel responds to my texts.
HEY, I type out in a message and hit send. Daniel should respond any minute. He always does. The moment I set my phone down, it chimes.
HEY BEAUTIFUL, the text reads. A light blush covers my cheeks. For whatever reason, he’s not just trying with me—he’s trying hard. Holly’s opinion matters to me, even if her judgment is questionable—she is dating my dad after all—and I can’t wait to talk to her about Daniel and Jeremy and this whole being mixed-up thing.
WHAT R U DOING? I text and wait for him to respond. The little bubble pops up immediately, telling me that he’s typing a response.
JERKING OFF TO YOUR TEXTS, Daniel says. I freeze with my phone in my hands and stop breathing. I stay like that for a while until my phone chimes again with a follow-up text. SORRY. TOO HONEST?
My eyes bug out. I toss my phone to the side and do an epic face palm into my pillow, all the while being wholly incapable of breathing. He did not. He so did not just text me that.
A few minutes pass before I work up the courage to look at my phone again. The messages he’s sent still take my breath away. I just don’t know what to do with this. High school boys don’t send me texts like this. Jeremy certainly doesn’t send me texts like this. Hell, I’ve never even been to third base, let alone being the recipient of dirty text messages!
This is too much, but I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a baby.
SORRY. I’M A JERK, he says in another text.
CAN WE NOT USE THE WORD JERK, PLS? I ask.
DON’T WANT ME TO SAY I’M A JERK-OFF? he responds.
I peek at the message and decide I just can’t take any more. This entire conversation is making me feel like a child, which I don’t like. My heart is beating way fast, and even though my toes are curling, I’m not convinced that this is a good thing. With that, I shove my phone back under my pillow and head downstairs.
“We could go shopping or something?” I suggest. Holly’s getting better. It’s been a while since the attack happened. Still, she’s not leaving the house for things when she doesn’t have to if it’s not with Dad. It took her a few weeks to leave the house right after it happened. I get it and all. I just worry that she’s going to become a recluse if she keeps this up. Dad isn’t much of a shopper, and I swear he’s reaching his breaking point. Last time she dragged him into a clothing store, he was so bitchy that he scared the crap out of the poor sales clerk when she tried to upsell Holly on shoe inserts and Holly paused to think about it. Not only does Holly need to get better, but Dad needs his life back, and the entire town needs Sterling Grady to not go clothes shopping ever again.
“Where would we go shopping? There’s nothing here,” she says. We do have stores to shop in, but if I had to guess, I think she just doesn’t want to leave without Dad.
“We have places to shop.”
“I mean places that your dad hasn’t almost gotten us banned from,” she says with a bored expression on her face.
She has a point, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find an excuse to get out of the house. Besides, almost banned and banned aren’t the same thing. She might think I’m nuts, but I’m considering this a stage-four crisis. I just want her to get better, and better means getting back to her sassy self when she starts reminding Dad who’s boss again and doesn’t put up with his shit. His stunt with the beer last week is proof that he’s getting too big for his britches.
“I don’t know. There’s a bookstore downtown, and we can always go have lunch or something. There’s no reason we just have to sit here and stare at the TV.” Really, at this point I’m so desperate that I’m willing to hang out at a library.
“Your dad is going to be home soon. I don’t want to get out and leave before he gets home and then have him worrying about where we’re at.”
“He’s not going to worry! We’ll have Diesel with us. Sheesh.”
“Meh, I think I’ll pass. But thanks for trying to get me out of the house, kid.”