Chapter 3 #2
“Then you can get a head start on your assignments for tomorrow. Stanford doesn’t accept just anyone. You need to show them you’re serious.”
Mom gasps. “Stanford?”
Mrs. Park beams. “It’s been his dream since he was little.”
Caleb’s eyes drop to the floor.
“Since when?” I ask, my eyebrow popping up as I cross my arms.
“He talks about it all the time, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, eyes glued to his shoes.
“Right . . . he’s definitely not being forced into it,” I mumble.
Mom nudges me with her elbow. Her glare is fierce. “Rebecca,” she whispers through clenched teeth.
I shrug.
Mrs. Park chuckles, even though I know my comment bothered her. “We better get going. I have to help Jordy with his homework before I head to work.”
Mom gives her another hug and sends them off. I escape to my room without bothering to say goodbye.
I rub my eyes as I paw at my nightstand, searching for my phone. When my hand hits it, the screen lights up.
It’s been two hours since lying down to take a nap, and judging by the delicious smell filling my room, I woke up just in time for dinner.
I swing my legs out from under the covers, and my feet land on the cool wood floor. Then, I step out into the hallway.
“She needs to get out of the house,” Mom says. Her voice carries up the staircase.
I stop.
My brain is still groggy, but I immediately know that they’re talking about me.
“So what? It’s not like we can force her,” Dad says.
Mom gasps. “So what? You aren’t even a little bit concerned about her future?”
“Another year of school is not the end of the world.”
Wait . . . hold up. Another year?
“She won’t be able to go to college next year.”
My heart anchors to the floor. College is the only way I’ll ever be able to get out of this town and move on with my life. I have to go. If I don’t, I’ll be stuck in this nightmare . . . possibly forever.
I race down the hallway and stomp all the way down the stairs. I don’t care about how loud I am.
Dad is in the entryway. He hasn’t even had a chance to take his shoes off. Mom is standing in front of him with her hand on her hip, blocking his way into the living room.
Their heads both turn as I come down.
“What are you talking about? I’m a senior,” I say. My head starts to spin, and my chest is getting tight while I breathe in way too much air for my lungs to process.
Mom looks back over at Dad. “Are you still going to try and ignore this? You’ve been ignoring everything else.”
Her harsh words are directed at Dad, but they cut into me too.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t do this right now,” he says, pushing past Mom.
Dad may be sober right now, but it’s like he’s a shell of himself. He looks like the Dad I grew up with, but every time he speaks, I’m reminded that he’s becoming more and more of a stranger.
“Greg!” Mom shouts. “Come back here and talk to your daughter.”
Dad keeps walking. He doesn’t even flinch at her words. That stabs me inside. Doesn’t he care about me?
My nails dig into my palms. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Mom rocks her jaw as she looks at me. “The school called to let us know that you’re failing most of your classes. You told me you were keeping up with them!”
I grab the edges of my hair, pulling on it. “I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough,” Mom says. “They’re requiring you to finish the rest of the year in person. If you don’t, you’ll have to redo your senior year of high school.” Her face is red. I can see the disappointment in her eyes.
“Tell them I can’t go back!”
“No.” She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “I’m done making excuses for you.”
My chest is burning and my throat has gone dry. My gaze shifts from the wall to the ceiling—to anything but Mom. I stagger back. “No. No, I can’t do it.”
“Then, you’ll have to redo the year.”
Warm tears are brimming in my eyes. “That’s not fair!”
Mom scoffs. “Not fair? You’re the one that didn’t do your homework assignments. It’s completely fair.”
I bury my head in my arms as I let the true horror of the moment sweep over me. “How would I even get there?” I have a license, but I haven’t driven since the day of Ethan’s crash. Every time I’ve tried, my pulse skyrockets, and the car closes in on me. Tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe.
Mom half laughs. “Schools have buses, remember?”
The bus. That’s right. It’s been a few years since I had to use one, but they aren’t the end of the world.
The worst thing about them is that they take forever to get anywhere.
It drags our ten-minute drive into a forty-minute one.
Still, I can handle that as long as no one talks to me or, worse, sits next to me.
“Besides,” Mom says. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to drive, so I already asked about it. The closest stop is at the end of the street at 6:55.”
“In the morning?” My stomach twists into knots, and my palms begin to sweat. Inside, my thoughts thrash and scream in my mind. Every fiber of my being is on edge. My brain is playing tug-of-war, repeating my two options over and over.
“No one’s picking you up at dinner time.”
It was a silly question, but I shouldn’t be expected to formulate comprehensive sentences right now.
My eyes grow big. “What if I can’t wake up that early?”
“Then you can go to school again in the fall.” Her tone is flat.
“I hate . . .” I catch myself before the words slip out.
“You hate what?” Mom demands.
I shake my head as my stomach flips. I’m going to be sick, and I have to get out of here. Unable to hold back any longer, I flee up the stairs.
“What are you going to do?” Mom yells after me.
I don’t answer because I don’t know. I’ll find out tomorrow when my alarm clock goes off. I’m not going to lie, I’d rather stay home and become a full-time recluse. At the moment, that seems more appealing than a diploma. Why can’t that be an acceptable option?
Sadly, it’s not if I ever want to get out of here.