Stop it.
I bore my eyes into the book in my hand. I’ll mope later, but for now, I need to focus.
After school, as I trudge towards the staff car park to meet Mum, my phone buzzes. It’s R.
Dear F,
No, you didn’t do anything wrong at all. I’m so sorry for making you think that and for being evasive. I really didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, but some things have happened that are overwhelming me at the moment. Would you be free to meet at lunchtime tomorrow? We can talk then. I really hope you’re not upset with me.
Love,
R.
I could be petty. I could not reply at all or tell him I’m busy. It’s not a good idea to allow my mood to be yanked around by him.
I remind myself of all this, but I still know it’s pointless. I want to see him again.
When Mum arrives, carrying a bag full of paperwork, she raises a brow at me. “What are you so happy about?” she asks as she unlocks the car.
“Nothing.” Fuck me. I’m smiling simply because because R wants to see me again. Get a grip.
I force my mouth into a neutral expression.
“You’ve been hot and cold all week,” she comments as we climb into the car.
“I’ve been stressed about school,” I lie. “But I got a test back today and did well.”
“Good,” she says, turning on the engine. “I’m so proud of how much you’re achieving, Jude. Remember that what you do reflects on me.”
“Yes, Mum,” I say. How could I forget?
“That reminds me.” She taps her fingers against the leather steering wheel. “I haven’t checked your phone in a while. I’ll have to do that tonight.”
In an instant, all the happiness I was beginning to feel vanishes. Hot and cold, Mum says? Now I feel about as icy as Antarctica.
“And what are you hoping to find?” I ask. “My phone will look exactly the same as last time you checked. And the time before that. And the time before that.”
That’s a lie, of course. Last time Mum checked, I wasn’t communicating with R, signing off emails with Love, F.
“What’s come over you?” Mum asks, tone surprised, but her eyes steady on the road. “You’ve never complained about this before.”
“I complained when you first started, and when you insisted I tell you all my passwords, and when you searched through my room for who-knows-what—”
“I’vetoldyou — ” Mum begins.
“Told me what? Told me Winona’s no longer living with us? Told me that I better not look up to her because she’s ruined her life and is a terrible daughter?”
Mum’s lips flatten. “I’m not having this argument.”
I look out the window. This deep in the winter, the days get dark earlier and earlier. Now the sky is beginning to purple, the streetlights flickering on.
“You can’t check my phone anyway,” I say after a minute. “I accidentally left it at school.”
I wait for Mum to call out the fib. But she doesn’t — not in the car, at home, or at dinner. I shower and change into my pyjamas, then sit at my desk, waiting for her to burst into the room. Should I erase my messages with R? No, that would be like throwing away valuables.
Hours tick by, but Mum doesn’t come.
On Thursday lunchtime, I sit on the storage closet floor, curling and uncurling my toes. I’m more nervous now than I was thefirst time we met here. What if he doesn’t show up? What if he backs out at the last minute? What if all of his kind, reassuring words in his letter were a lie?
