The poor kid. Teenage angst is it’s own special type of hell.
Leaning forward, I place my hands on her shoulders and rotate her until she’s facing me. Her cheeks are flushed with her upset, and tears are caught in her eyelashes.
“I don’t know this Bianca girl, maybe she’s as gorgeous as you say. But you’re gorgeous too, okay? And if your relationship with Asher is threatened by something as simple as you not being there and another girl being nearby, then I have a question for you.”
“Okay.” Elliot draws out the word, her voice shaky.
“Is he really worth these tears? Is he worth all the time and energy you’re spending on him?” My face is solemn, serious. Elliot, without knowing it, has given me an important job. Being the person she ran to in her moment of crisis is a big responsibility. I wish, when I was Elliot’s age, I’d had someone to come to with my woes. Funny enough, the drama I had as a teen I’m still dealing with years later.Finn, Brady, Finn, Brady...
“He’s a nice person. And our moms are friends. And he flirts with me constantly.” Her hands move, gesturing as she talks. Suddenly, they fall into her lap. “He might be all I get,” she whispers.
I have to work to keep a smile from turning my lips. It’s hard, when you’re a teenager, to see past your own world, to know there is a whole life beyond the one you’re currently stuck in.
“Someone, whether it’s Asher or another person, is going to make you very happy one day.” I place a hand over my heart. “I promise.”
She nods and wipes her cheeks. I stand up and step away, sensing she’s ready for personal space. Grabbing my tea, I sip and ask, “How did you get here?”
“I don’t live that far from you. I came over here a bunch, when your mom was alive.” She glances around the house.
This makes me curious. “Why would you come over?”
“Your mom liked to have the youth group over. Cookie baking, game night. That kind of thing.”
I nod once, but inside I feel as if I’ve been stabbed. Who was my mother? I knew only a small portion of her. I knew her mean streak, her colorful past. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe she hated my knowledge. She was terrified I’d tell everyone. But if someone had dirt on me, I think I’d bend over backward to be as nice to them as possible.
“Do you miss her?”
I’m taking a sip of tea when she asks, so I keep the glass at my lips and take two, then three. Fake a little cough and offer a small smile to the brown-haired, gangly teenager across from me.
“Of course,” I hear myself say, the lie sliding neatly between my teeth. Desecrating my mother’s good name isn’t going to bring me closure. I want to close the chapter on my childhood, not wound other people.
“Speaking of mothers, does yours know where you are?”
Guilt rides across Elliot’s face. “No.”
I sigh and stand. “Come on. I’ll take you home. She’s probably worried.”
Turns out, I’m right. When we pull up, the front door opens and a middle-aged woman walks out, followed by an older one I recognize.Wilma.
“Elliot Renee, where have you been?” The woman I assume is Elliot’s mother rushes forward, her worried eyes trained on me. “Who are you?”
My mouth opens, but Wilma beats me to it. “This is Mrs. Blake’s daughter, Lennon. She came home to handle the affairs.” Wilma steps up beside her daughter. “Lennon, this is my daughter, Angela. Forgive her manners. She’s been beside herself.”
I don’t remind Angela that we’ve met before, back she would drop off Elliot in my classroom.
Angela extends a hand, probably out of habit, and I shake it quickly. Her eyes assess me. “Not to be rude, Lennon, but how did my daughter end up with you?”
I open my mouth to speak, and again I’m beat to it.
“I went to see her,” Elliot answers.
Angela squeezes her eyes closed, sighing. She opens them and levels her gaze on her daughter. “Ellie, you cannot just take off like that because you didn’t like the answer you were given. Go inside.” Angela tosses her head back and to the side, gesturing toward the house. “We’ll talk about this when I come inside.”
“Fine.” Elliot practically spits the word. She crosses her arms and stomps past the three of us, and when she gets inside, she slams the front door closed.
Wilma and Angela share a knowing look, and I imagine a whole conversation taking place in that one glance. Some comment about teenagers, and the soft reminder that Angela was like that once too.
I shift my weight, uncomfortable now that Elliot’s gone. Angela looks at me and says, “Thank you for keeping her safe and bringing her back here.”
