Free October Breezes by Maria Rachel Hooley Page B

what he’d said.

Chapter Eight
    For my mom's benefit, I pretended Devin stil drove me to and from school. Actualy, I walked. Everyday as I strode past the living room window, I expected her to look out and see me hiking down the sidewalk, yet somehow at the very moment she might have glimpsed me walking away, she never peered out—or, if she did, she kept quiet. She knew Devin, and if he were that put off by Kelin, how could I explain why I wanted to date him? Besides, my mom was so caught up with the Mockingbird Man she failed to notice that Devin, who usualy caled every night, had stopped caling. Kelin and I ate lunch together, and he walked me to class. I often spied Becca conveniently perched at friend's locker close to Kelin and me, or she and her friends would sit at the lunch table closest to ours. I knew what she was waiting for.
    More than once, her gaze traveled over me, sizing me up.
    Each day her coordinated outfit changed only in which dress code she violated--short skirt, crop top, naval piercing--al of which she used to lure Kelin. Becca assumed Kelin dated me because I put out, but that only proved how little she knew. I’d never even been with a guy.
    Kelin must've realized my friendship with Devin had falen through because he kept giving me rides. He never asked questions even though he must have had them, and instead of focusing on Devin, I tried to enjoy Kelin, tried to think about laying my head on his chest, his arms around me, drawing me close. I also tried to think positively about my date with my dad, but we hadn’t seen each other in years. What would I say, "Hey, how's your life been?"
    I tried to talk to my mother as we prepared lasagna, but I didn't know how to start a conversation about my father. She didn’t have much to say as she washed the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers, her fingers caressing the vegetables’ skins, carefuly seeking bruised spots.
    “Don’t expect too much,” Mom warned, then pointed toward the cabinet. “Hand me a large bowl.”
    “That’s great advice, Mom.” I handed her the bowl.
    “Can’t you be more positive?”
    She took it and wiped it out with a paper towel. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Skye. Your father’s great about getting people excited only to disappoint them. If you don’t expect much, then you won’t be disappointed, now wil you? How’s that for positive?” She brushed the bangs from her eyes.
    “It’s not.” Shaking my head, I leaned against the counter and braced myself.
    She handed me the lettuce. “Break this up while I slice the tomatoes and cucumbers.” She glanced at her watch. “Dinner should be ready by the time Warren arrives.”
    “He’s coming?" I clutched the lettuce so hard my fingers sank through the first layer.
    “He’s not the Anti-Christ, Skye.” She grabbed a paring knife from the drawer. “I’ve dated much worse guys, and you know it. You could be nice.” Cutting her gaze to me, she picked up a tomato and quartered it.
    I ripped the lettuce into bite-sized pieces and tossed them into the bowl. “What do you see in him?” One of the fluorescent bulbs flickered before going out.
    “He’s a nice guy who likes me as I am, and he enjoys my teenage daughter. You're part of the package that I come with, Skye. The person in our lives has to want us both, not just me.”
    The oven timer beeped, and we glanced at the oven.
    “Don’t you mean speedbump teenage daughter?” I ripped the lettuce savagely. “Come on, Mom, nobody wants a step-daughter to rain on his parade. And what if I don't want him?”
    “I said what I meant. Don’t put words in my mouth because you want to.” She puled out the glass pan from the oven, and the scent of oregano and melted cheese filed the air. She set it on the table over a hot plate and resumed slicing the veggies.
    “You’re not giving him a fair shot. He hasn’t been mean.”
    “He wil. They al end up mean.” I finished tearing the lettuce and threw away