Chapter 5 – Nate
Mom’s words were still echoing in my ears when I slung my bag into the corner by my desk and fell face-first onto my bed. A deep thump echoed through the room as I buried my face in the covers, praying that bedtime would hurry up and arrive. Dinner didn’t matter, texting my friends and checking Snapchat didn’t matter. Hopefully, the bed would open up and swallow me whole so that I could just ignore my life for one night. After my time in the library, I already knew the rest of my day was going to be ruined, so there was no point in fighting it. Running into Frankie always put me in a crap mood, so many of my days at school were pretty crappy. Long-Moore is a relatively large high school, but not large enough to avoid the guy I wanted to see least out of all of the other human beings on Earth.
I could hear my mom’s voice echoing up the stairs, and the sound of her feet thumping on the stairs, even with my head pressed firmly into my pillow. Great. Not only was I going to have to continue living my life until the following morning, but I was also going to have to deal with her as well. Anytime she followed me upstairs after school, I knew that she was concerned about me and wanted to have a talk, or I was in trouble for something I did…or she imagined I did. Maybe I forgot to take out the trash. Nah. I’d done that before school. Maybe I had said something rude to my brother during breakfast. That was kind of likely. Brothers, am I right? I wasn’t failing any classes, so I knew I wasn’t going to get a talk about “applying myself” yet again.
Of course, I had no idea what I might have done—real or imagined—so all I could do was lay there like a wounded animal and wait for Mom to finish me off. Stick a fork in me, Mom. I’m done.
As my bedroom door creaked open—slowly, which is always a good sign that Mom’s not angry—I buried my head as far into my pillow as possible. It’s hard to scream at someone if you can’t see their face. It’s even harder to get mad at smart-alecky looks that way, too. My mom is one of those “don’t look at me in that tone of voice” type moms. Not that she doesn’t have her good points, but she definitely doesn’t tolerate sass for the sake of sass.
Mom’s feet sounded softly on the floorboards as she crossed my room from the doorway to my bed.
You didn’t even knock, Mom!
As the edge of my bed sunk slightly, I realized that this wasn’t going to be a fight. If Mom wants to fight, she likes to stay on her feet. Maybe it’s easier to throw hands if you’re up and prepared, I don’t know. Not that my mom has ever hit me, aside from spankings when I was younger, but I never want to underestimate the woman. I’ve seen enough of her looks to know that violence is not totally out of the question if I stepped too far out of line.
Laying there, my face buried in the pillow, waiting for her to indicate the purpose of her invasion of my privacy, I wasn’t sure if I didn’t prefer a fight. When Mom sits on the edge of my bed gently, especially when I’m face down on it, I know she’s going to be Kind and Gentle Mom. Mean Mom is easier to deal with because then I don’t feel like a wuss.
“Nate, honey,” She said, her hand coming to rest gently on the back of my head. “You didn’t say a single word when you came in from school.”
“Mumpha-murma-fum.”
“I see.”
“Humma-murfa-hum.”
“Okay,” She replied. “So…do you want to pry your face out of the pillow and say it in English? Or do you want me to guess at what’s bothering you?”
I turned my head to the side for a brief moment. “Nothing is bothering me.”
I shoved my face back into the pillow.
“You could’ve fooled me.” Her fingers raked through my hair. “Not saying ‘hi’ to your brother when you walk in is one thing, but ignoring me usually means you’re upset. Did you have a bad day at school?”
“No.” I turned my head to the side so I could speak.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not the boss of what you believe.”
“Woah-ho.” She chuckled. “You really are in a mood.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled and laid my head down, my ear against the pillow.
Mom’s fingers in my hair actually felt comforting, and I knew that she was just trying to be nice to me. Snapping at her and being a butthole didn’t really serve a purpose. It didn’t even make me feel better.
“Forgiven,” She said. “But watch it, buster.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“So?” She asked. “What is it then? Some girl you like start dating another guy?”
Not likely, Mom. It’s not always about girls.
“Did you fail a test?”
“I’ve never failed a test.”
“No. You haven’t.” She agreed. “Was a teacher mean to you? Some other student?”
“No and no.” I sighed. “I just—I guess I’m just in a bad mood.”
“Okay.”
Mom’s fingers continued to drag through my hair as I laid there like a beached seal. Whether I would ever grow old enough to admit it, I did enjoy it when Mom showed up to make me feel better on bad days. We all need our moms, right? They make the world a little less sucky, anyway. But I just couldn’t tell her that seeing Frankie put me in a bad mood. Mom kinda knew about Frankie, but she didn’t know everything. Today was not the day for that talk. So…just being in a bad mood was going to have to be my excuse for lying there like a dead body.
“Do you want to talk about what specifically put you in a bad mood?”
“Not really,” I said. “I just want to not exist for one night.”
“I can’t help you with that.” She chuckled, though I could see concern clouded her face. “Are you hangry?”
“No one says ‘hangry’ anymore, Mom.”
“I do.”
“Because you’re a mom.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, though her fingers never left my hair. “But I was just thinking that maybe a snack before dinner might help.”
“Nah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “Promise.”
“Okay.” Her fingers paused in my hair, then started up again. “Did someone turn you down for the dance?”
“Mooooom.”
“I’m sorry.” Her fingers pulled at my hair playfully. “I just thought maybe you’d asked someone by now. It’s kind of a big deal. I thought maybe you’d asked a girl and—”
Moms. They always think it’s about girls.
“—maybe you got turned down or something. Not that I would expect any girl to turn you down. You’re handsome, smart—”
“—kind, thoughtful.” I finished her sentence, having heard it a million times before. “Why, you’re just the best boy in all of Long-Moore High School, Nate.”
“Okay, smart-aleck.” She laughed. “So…no Quarter Century Dance, or…?”
I sighed.
“I mean, yeah.” I relented. “I’m going. I just…no. I haven’t asked anyone to go. Maybe I’ll just go with the guys or something. I don’t know.”