ADDIE
I GO HOME IMMEDIATELY after school because that’s what my mother told me to do.
I grab a ride on the school bus because I don’t have my bike, and it’s just a bit too far to walk, especially with my heavy backpack. Most of the kids on the school bus are younger, because a lot of the juniors and seniors drive to school. I turned sixteen over the summer, and I got my learner’s permit, but my mom made the executive decision that I wasn’t ready for driving lessons, no matter how much I begged. I did manage to convince her to take me out in our car a few times in a parking lot though. Better than nothing.
Hudson has a car now. He turned sixteen almost ten months ago, back when we were still speaking. He couldn’t wait to get his learner’s permit and pass the driving exam so that he could get a limited license. As usual, he included me in his plans. I’ll swing by and give you a ride to school every morning, Addie.
The car he bought looks like he scraped it together from pieces at the junkyard, and I’m sure he paid for it himself with money from his summer or after-school jobs. But his new girlfriend Kenzie didn’t seem to have any qualms about climbing into it.
When I get to the front door, my mother yanks it open before I can even dig my key out of my backpack. She was obviously watching the front of the house, waiting for me to return. She is wearing a pair of gray yoga pants, and her graying hair has come partially unraveled from her ponytail.
“How was school?” she asks me before I can even manage to step into the house.
“Great,” I say. “It was the best day of school ever.” “Don’t be a smart aleck.”
I dump my backpack on the floor by the front door, even though I should probably bring it up to my room since I have homework. Both Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Bennett managed to assign homework today. But at least I’m looking forward to the English assignment. He wants us to write about our summer, but in poem form.
Mom wrings her hands together, hovering over me even though she knows I hate it when she does that. “Did you make any friends?”
I groan. “No.”
“What about Hudson?” I just shake my head.
“I don’t understand what happened between the two of you.” She tugs at her yoga pants, which look too tight. “He’s such a nice boy. You used to be inseparable.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to call his mother?”
I groan again. I definitely do not want her calling Mrs. Jankowski, who at least speaks slightly better English than her husband but is no less strange. Besides, I know exactly why Hudson isn’t speaking to me. And my mom can never, ever find out.
“It’s fine,” I say. “He’s busy all the time with football anyway.”
Thankfully, she lets it go, which is a major achievement. A few years ago, my mom and I had an easy relationship, whereas my dad was a loose cannon—always angry when he’d been drinking and ready to explode over the tiniest thing. And now my dad is gone, and my mom has turned into this hovering worried mother. But at least I don’t think she’s drinking like he did.
No, I know she’s not. She would never.
Mom arches an eyebrow. “Was Mr. Tuttle there?”
“No.” I drop my eyes. “He got… I mean, he was fired or quit or something. But he’s gone.”
“Oh.”
I can tell my mother is relieved. Like a lot of people, she never quite believed me when I told her nothing happened between me and my math teacher. Maybe because my story kept changing just enough to make people wonder.
She looks like she wants to ask me about it again, and if she does, I swear to God, I’m going to start screaming. I don’t want to talk about it again. I told her the truth. I told the principal the truth. And I told the police everything there was to tell.
Well, not everything.
I mean, I’m not a complete idiot.
