Chapter 9
Rafe
Zzzzzzzzzzz
Rafe’s cell phone buzzed in his pants. He pulled his phone from hispocket.
Mom andDad.
Fuck.
Usually, he liked talking to his parents. But that was before they chewed him out for hisspending.
“Shit. I have to take this. I’m sorry.” It was for the best, since Rafe’s dick was on the verge of embarrassing him in front of his flatmate and the thought of being under him. Rafe had to get it together. Louisa said it as a joke. Her suggestion was not supposed to be takenseriously.
In the few seconds it took Rafe to take the call, his boner vanished, never to be heard fromagain.
“Hi,” he said into the phone as soon as he got outside. Students smoked by theentrance.
“Hi,” his mom said even louder. “Is everythingokay?”
“Yes. What’sup?”
“What are you up to tonight?” his dadasked.
“At a pub with somemates.”
“You sound so British!” his momsaid.
“Thanks.” Rafe regretted not letting it roll to voicemail. He could give them a full reporttomorrow.
“Rafe, we’re a little worried,” his dad said. “Something didn’t add up from our last call, and I went online and researched Stroude. There’s no mealplan.”
“We looked at the fee breakout for the study abroad program, and meals are not included,” his mom said. “We called up the Browerton study abroad office, and they confirmed that for your program at Stroude, students are living in suites withkitchens.”
“We are. But it’s fine,” Rafe tried to assurethem.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” his dad asked. “Why did you say that there was a dininghall?”
Rafe hung his head. His parents were looking out for him, and he felt bad for lying to them. But at the same time, he wanted to tell them it was none of theirbusiness.
“It’s okay. I got food at a grocery store. I’ll make mymeals.”
“Rafe…” his mom began, her voice full of doubt. It had the same tone as when he pleaded with his parents to let him watch an R-rated movie in junior high. “Do you even know how to cook? I don’t want you burningyourself.”
“I’m not going to burn myself.” He leaned against the brick wall and inhaled the smoke around him, which he promptly coughedout.
“What was that?” his momasked.
“Nothing. You guys, I can make my ownfood.”
“I can email him a list of healthy microwave dinners he can buy. Oh, and some vegetable steamers,” his momsaid.
“I just hope he isn’t going to order pizza and takeout every night,” his dad said toher.
“I didn’t send him with any plates orutensils.”
Rafe waited for his parents to finish their side conversationabouthim.
