Beth gasped. “A few months?!”
“And we love each other. I’m sorry I hurt you,” Finn said. He sounded like a complete jackass. And what the hell was he talking about? Love? We never said anything about loving each other.
Beth laughed derisively. “Wow. Love. Okay.” Her face streamed tears. I watched as one clung to her jaw before plopping to the floor.
“Beth, please,” I whispered.
“Get out of my house,” she said. “Now.”
I didn’t move.
“Now!”
Finn grabbed my hand and led me out. I thought Beth would lunge at me when I passed by her, but she stood stoic, staring at me as though I were a stranger. And then I heard the door slam, and my entire world shifted in an instant.
Three
My father stood in the middle of the bedroom looking nervous.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked. He glanced at me for a moment, then turned to the window.
“About what?” I replied.
“The room,” he said. “Is it all right?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I lied. It looked like a room that belonged to a 10-year-old girl in love with Justin Bieber and the color purple. I would change it immediately.
“That’s good,” Dad replied, relief evident in his voice.
I grinned. It was impossibly uncomfortable standing together in the bedroom, but neither one of us made a move to leave.
“You feel like pizza tonight?” he asked after a moment. “There’s a really good joint up the road. Family owned.”
“Sounds good,” I said. I plopped down on the bed.
“I usually cook,” he went on. “But I didn’t know what you like to eat.” He scratched the back of his neck.
“I eat anything,” I replied. I wasn’t going to make it too easy for him.
He sighed. “You do, huh?”
I grinned up at him, and he chuckled. And then he relaxed, and I did the same.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Where did you get these posters of Justin Bieber?”
“Wal-Mart,” he answered. “Why? You don’t like him? The lady at the store said—”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
He shuffled over to the curtains framing the one window in the room and tugged on them.
“You probably don’t like these either, do you?” he asked.
I smiled again, and he shook his head.
“I’m not listening to those women in the office anymore,” he said irritably, but there was humor running underneath the words.
“Well, we can fix anything with receipts,” I offered, and he nodded. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I know you didn’t really want this, and I’m sorry,” I said. I thought it was better to just be honest.
It was a weird situation for all of us. Mom was across the country by now. Dad was still living in the past in the same house that smelled of summers when I was nine years old and hosted the best sleepovers with Beth in the history of sleepovers. Everything looked the same, but it was the smell that made my heart ache. And I was in a new place, too. I knew he didn’t understand why I asked to live with him. I didn’t really understand it except that I felt compelled to attend Beth’s high school my senior year.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I want you here. I really do. I just haven’t been a full-time parent in a while, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry,” I said. “I’m pretty easy and independent. I just landed a job at that diner you used to take us to. You won’t have to worry about giving me money.” I shouldn’t have said that last part.
“Why would you think I’d have a problem giving you money?” Dad asked. He pulled out his wallet.
“No, I just meant that I don’t want you thinking you have to change your whole life now that I’m here. I can take care of myself. I won’t be in the way,” I said, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
“What life?” he asked quietly. I didn’t know what to say.
He stared out the window while I traced the cheetah print on my comforter. I had no idea Dad wanted me here. Living with him. I looked around the room then. Really looked, and I saw it. The time and detail he put into everything. The bright purple throw pillows on the bed that accented the comforter. The full-length mirror attached to my closet door that boasted a thick frame painted with purple and white flowers. The fuzzy-trimmed bedside table lamps. Purple as well. My old pom-poms attached to the top of the mirror over my dresser. He even found my old My Little Ponies and lined them on top of the dresser. I wanted to cry for how wrong it looked and how right it felt. I wouldn’t change a thing, I decided. Well, the posters would go.
“You have any interest in going with me to register for classes?” I asked. I knew I’d be the only senior there with a parent, but I didn’t care. I wanted to start over—look sweet and innocent—and I thought that Dad accompanying me would give that impression perfectly. God knows I needed a new identity.