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about how I look. If I go shower and fix my hair and make-up, I’ll be
tempted to knock on his door. If I look like shit, then I won’t leave my car.
After I brush my teeth, I jog down the stairs and swing around the
bannister, heading into the kitchen.
“Morning,” my mom says.
I look up to see her and Carson sitting at the table, looking through a
magazine together. Probably some home renovation thing, because Mom
wants to expand the garage. I open the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of
water. “Morning,” I reply.
“The principal called last night,” my sister’s voice rings out.
I falter, slowly closing the fridge door and not looking at her. Shit.
That’s right.
Did she tell them about what I did to Masen’s truck? Or what I told her I
did?
Dammit!
But no. My mom would’ve reamed me last night when I got home. She
wouldn’t have waited until this morning.
Plus, I doubt the principal really believed me, but there was little she
could do.
“She said you’re going to prom with Trey,” my mom says, walking over
to me in her bathrobe and her hair up in a bun. She empties her coffee cup
into the sink. “She wanted to know your favorite color for the corsage. Why
didn’t you tell us he’d asked you?”
“I forgot.” I shrug, relaxing a little. “You were gone, and I’ve been
busy.”
Actually, I didn’t feel it was worth mentioning. Popular girl is going to
prom with popular guy. My place in the yearbook is secure.
But I care so little all of a sudden. I wonder how that happened.