I feel my cell vibrate and I don’t have to look at the screen to know it’s Mom. The only other person who ever called was Emily. I don't have many friends, or ones who call me, anyway. Emily and I were practically joined at the hip; she was the cool, outgoing one and I was the shy, awkward one.
She was the person everyone gravitated towards, drawing people in like moths to a flame. You couldn’t help but notice her light. Since she's been gone, Casey and Brie have made several attempts to get me to hang out but it just feels too weird without Emily being there as my buffer. They were always more her friends than mine. We have zero in common without Emily.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi, honey, I'm on my way home from the office now, dropping by the store. Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
She sounds entirely too freaking happy for my mood at the moment.
“No Mom, I'm good, I'm just studying, so I’ll see you when you get back.” My voice sounds all scratchy from crying and I know she’ll call me out on it, so I press end on the call before she gets a chance.
That leaves me about forty minutes to get my shit together before she’s home. I quickly fold the letter and put it in my desk drawer before heading to the bathroom to wash my face, and hopefully gain some perspective on what the hell I just read.
I can hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen as I step out of the shower, which means Mom must be making dinner. I’m starving and right on cue my stomach rumbles. I head to my room, dry off and pull on a pair of yoga pants and my bright green t-shirt that says ‘Mathletes’ across the chest. I study myself in the mirror; my long brown hair is a matted wet mess that’s soaking the back of my shirt so I quickly tie it in a messy bun on top of my head. I'm slim and relatively short. Five feet five inches actually, which isn't tiny, but considering my mom’s five eleven and my dad was six two, you’d think I’d be taller.
I used to think that maybe I was adopted, but then as I got older, I started to really look like my mom, minus the height. We are both ridiculously pale skinned, with dark brown hair and the same big almond-shaped green eyes, although mine are always hidden beneath my glasses. I have contacts but prefer to wear glasses; poking myself in the eye every day to put in and take out contacts is a pain in the ass.
Mom shouts up that dinner’s ready and I make my way downstairs to say hello. I walk into the kitchen and she's sitting at the island, two plates of mac and cheese and a half drunk bottle of wine in front of her. There was none open when I came down to get a drink earlier, and she's only been home about twenty minutes. Guess she’s on a mission to get wasted. Don't get me wrong—she’s a good mom, but since dad died about three years ago, there’s not many nights that she’s not half cut. I make a point of not talking about it, and she’s happy to ignore the fact that she’s not gonna find the answer to her problems at the bottom of a bottle. It’s a pretty messed-up situation. We can talk about almost anything else, just not that. Emily was the only person I ever used to talk to about it. Hell, I miss her.
“HERE, TRY THIS, it’ll help,” my mom says, passing me an ice pack for my jaw. When dad saw my report card and noticed I wasn't pulling straight A’s he was more than a little pissed at me.
“He’s under a lot of pressure at work, sweetheart; you know that. He has high expectations for you about college, Ethan.”
Yet again she's making excuses for him; it’s her forte. She can’t look me in the eye while she says it, though. I knew he’d be pissed at me for failing math, but I was still stupid enough to mutter under my breath that it was ‘my life’. He heard that and lost his shit real quick. He doesn't normally hit me in the face because it draws attention. I normally get beaten where the bruises can be hidden. I could fight back, I'm big enough to take him, but I don’t. I just stand there completely numb and take it. I’m pretty sure it would kill my mom to see us beating the shit out of each other. So, I suck it up and tell myself I’ll be out of here soon.
I pull my car into my usual spot in the school lot and check the rearview mirror to inspect the bruise that’s starting to form across my jaw. I notice Jackson and TJ making their way over to my Camaro. I sigh and grab my backpack from the passenger seat; I could really do without school today.
“Yo Ethan my man, where the hell have you been all weekend?” TJ hollers, coming to a standstill beside my car.