His eyebrows rise. “New tutor? For what?”
Here goes nothing.
“Mrs. Herman’s gonna fail me if I don’t do some extracurricular bullshit and pass the final.”
Five. Four. Three. Two…
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
One.
He throws his drumsticks on the floor like a toddler having a temper tantrum. “You told me you had that shit handled.”
I do.
“I’ll pass the fucking shit, man. Don’t worry.” That reminds me. “Can I bring her here after practice tomorrow night? Fuck knows I won’t be able to study with…you know.”
My drunk asshole father around.
Picking up his sticks and placing them on top of the drum, he nods. “Yeah.” His eyes narrow. “Swear to God, Phoenix, you better not let your dick get in the way.” He takes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it. “I don’t give a shit how hot she is. Do not fuck this girl until you graduate.”
“It’s Lennon Michael.”
Instantly, whatever concern he had fades, and he laughs. “Never mind then.”
Exactly. There’s no way I’d ever fuck that girl.
Not only is she not my type, I now know she’s going to be a pain in the balls to deal with.
I turn back to the mic. “Let’s go, asshole.”
CHAPTER 4
LENNON
I’m parking my bicycle in the garage when I hear it.
Meow.
“I don’t have any food for you, Mittens.”
Not that she needs it. My neighbor’s cat is very pleasantly plump. Mrs. Palma and her husband feed her plenty…along with the rest of the neighborhood, since the Persian feline scours the block, working her charm on all of us.
Not taking no for an answer, she swats the air with her paw and gives me a little purr.
I fold like a cheap lawn chair. Walking over to the bag of cat food I keep around for her, I pull a couple of pebbles out and place them on the floor.
The moment she devours them, I scoop her up. “Now that you got what you came here for, it’s time for you to go home.”
She meows as I start the walk to Mrs. Palma’s, still begging for food.
I hear you, sister.
Music might be my first love, but food is my best friend…always there to give me comfort.
Mrs. Palma stops her gardening when she sees me…and her cat.
“I’m so sorry.” Standing, she removes her gloves and takes Mittens from me. “I’ve put her on another diet, but she isn’t too happy about it and keeps trying to escape.”
Smiling, I give Mitten’s head a little scratch. “No need to apologize. I love when Mittens comes over to say hello.”
Her lips twist as she studies me. “Who’s the boy?”
I’m not sure how this woman knows these things, but I swear she must be part psychic.
And ever since I was eleven and came running over here crying because I had gotten my first period and didn’t know what to do…she’s also been a sort of mother figure to me.
“No one.” I wave a hand. “It’s nothing. Not a big deal.”
Except it is. Because Phoenix Walker is picking me up tomorrow night.
Despite looking unconvinced, she lets it slide. “If you say so.” She scratches Mittens behind the ears. “I have to go inside and start dinner, but I’ll be around later if you want to have some girl talk.”
Usually, I’d take her up on that, but she’s just going to tell me for the millionth time that I’m beautiful and that my size doesn’t define me.
She’ll tell me that guys like Phoenix Walker would be crazy not to date me.
While I always appreciate her kind words…I know they’re not true.
Guys like Phoenix won’t ever be into girls like me. It’s just a fact of life.
One I’ve learned to accept.
Giving her a small wave, I trek back to my house. My dad still isn’t home, so I raid the cupboards and grab a bag of chips and a candy bar. After stopping to take a soda out of the fridge, I head into my bedroom.
Music posters of my favorite bands line the walls, along with physical records of my favorite songs that I keep framed.
Dropping the bag of chips, candy, and soda onto my bed, I close my eyes…
Then I take off my clothes.
Walking over to the large full-size mirror on the opposite end of my bedroom, I inspect every inch of myself.
“Take a picture, fat ass. It will last longer.”
“Either your clothes shrunk or you’re getting fatter.”
“The bitch is so fat when she steps on the scale it says, to be continued.”
Today’s insults reverberate throughout my mind in a loop, forcing me to face the cold, hard truth.
And then I take out the marker.
“Where are you going?” my dad asks when I pass the living room on my way to the front door.
Phoenix didn’t say a word to me in school today, but I assume we’re still on since he didn’t tell me otherwise.
I glance at the clock on the wall above my father’s head. It’s 8:58. Which means he’ll be here in two minutes.
I think.
Although I have no idea how he knows where I live.
“I’m tutoring a friend.”
Friend sounds way better than hot guy from school I’m obsessed with.
My dad pivots on the couch, now looking at the same clock I am. “But it’s nine. On a school night.”
“Technically, it’s eight fifty-nine. And last I checked, I turned eighteen last month,” I remind him, much to his chagrin.
“Last I checked, you still live under my roof,” he reminds me.
Not wanting to lose this battle, I pull an Uno reverse. “Are you saying you want me to move out because—”
“No, Lennon. Don’t be ridiculous.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “What time will you be home?”
I have no idea. “Two—” I start to say, but then he scowls.
“Try again.”
“One thirty?”
Another scowl.
“Midnight,” he says. “Not a minute later.”
That’s so not fair. “Dad, that’s only three hours.”
I have no idea how long Phoenix will need me. Plus, I don’t want to come across like a loser with a curfew.
At least I can feign tiredness at one a.m. since we have school tomorrow.
“Come on. Let me stay out until one—”
“What could you possibly need to do in four hours that you can’t get done in three?” Horror crosses over his face. “This isn’t a boy you’re tutoring, is it?”
He spits the word boy out like he tastes something rancid.
“Uh—” I start to answer, but the sound of someone honking their horn cuts me off.
My dad practically leaps off the couch and walks over to the window. He pulls back the curtain, and sure enough, Phoenix’s Toyota is parked at the very end of our driveway.
Thankfully, it’s too dark, and he’s too far away to make out his face.
Not that it matters.
“Only an obnoxious teenage punk honks their horn like that.” My dad looks at me. “An obnoxious teenage boy punk.”