That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Eighteen:

There are dangerous vibes practically radiating from the house as I pull into the driveway, and I slump down in my seat. The fear that has bubbled in the depths of my mind suddenly swells, and engulfs me whole. A loud crashing sound tears through the air, startling me. It seems to be emanating from within the house, like she's throwing around the glass plates in our cabinets.

I turn the key in the ignition and my truck's low rumbling dies. "Great," I mumble to myself as I stare at the front door, "She knows." 

I can't help but shudder. 

It takes a while for me to muster up enough courage to open the door to the truck, and it takes even longer for me to gather the strength to unlatch my seat belt. I slide out of my seat and clutch my bag to my chest. I am prepared to use it as a shield if I need to. The gravel crunches as I make my way toward the door. The glass-shattering sound ceases, and the house becomes eerily quiet. I swallow thickly and stop in front of the door. I squeeze my eyes shut.

I really don't want to die today.

I mean, I can't die yet.  I still have to date Blue-Eyes. 

My lungs expand inside my chest as I inhale a great amount of oxygen, and I hold it there --a small habit I had developed when I was little, and in trouble. For some reason, my kid-mind believed that I wouldn't get into as much trouble if I held my breath. Stupid, I know. But I do it without thinking now, and I can't stop. I hastily open the door and step inside --and then slump against the door as I exhale in relief. I cast a cautious look around. 

My mother appears within seconds. She stands beneath the doorway that leads into the kitchen, and she wears her stained gardening apron --the yellow frilly one--, so I know that I'm in serious trouble. I gulp. 

She glares, and accuses, "You skipped school."

"I got sick," I try my best to prove it to her with the sickest, and most palest look I can manage. I clutch at my stomach and frown at the floor. 

She jabs a finger at me, "Stop that! I know when you're faking."

Busted. I let out a groan and bring my bag back to my chest, shielding myself. "Relax, it's not like I was doing anything bad! I didn't even miss any major classes, just electives. This kid and I decided to start our class project." 

"And what project was that? Baby Making 101?" 

"Mom!" 

"You were with that boy, weren't you? The pizza boy, the one that you like!" Mom's glare hardens, and she takes a step forward. I cringe and my back presses against the door. She places her hands on her hips, "I'm starting to really not like this kid. He's trouble if he skips class, Alice!" 

"He's not bad. We just wanted to get a head start on our project. It's for...psychology," I think of our little mission to break up Blue-Eyes and Bimbo. It's the perfect excuse...somewhat. "We are trying to study the process of breaking up a relationship, and the aftermath it causes. We needed to spend the time canvasing the school for some good test subjects." 

She doesn't seem to accept my excuse, and rolls her eyes, "Sure." 

"I'm serious!" I scowl in protest. 

"Are you even taking that class?" she shoots back with a mean looking scowl of her own. 

"Yes," my book bag drops to the floor with a deafening thump, and I squat down. I rip the zipper open and rummage through the bag until I can find my schedule. I pull it free of my binder and hold it up toward my mother, "See? Third period. Right there." Not that Blue-Eyes is actually in my third period class. Though, dear ol' mommy doesn't need to know that. 

Her hand snatches my schedule away and her sea-green colored orbs scan over it. She squints as she reads. Then she throws it back at my face, "Fine. But you're still dead meat. You should know better than to skip classes for a stupid project." 

"Hey," I point at her, "You always tell me that core class grades come first." 

She swats at my head and I duck with a horrified yelp, "That does not mean you can skip a class or two!" 

"I'll never do it again, I promise!" 

"No, I know you'll never do it again," she growls at me, "Because if you do, I blow up some naked baby pictures of you and tape them all over the walls of your school. Now go outside and start pulling some weeds. That will be the start of your punishment." 

Grumbling curses under my breath, I crawl toward the back door. Unlike the last house, Mom's precious garden is located in the back, and hugs the side of the wall. I grab a pair of thick gloves on my way out and wrench them onto my hands. "Stupid Blue-Eyes, with his stupid dazzling eyes and stupidly cute smile. Convincing me to skip class," I bend over the row of rose bushes and grab a handful of weeds. "What the hell was I thinking?" 

That continues for another few hours. 

When I come back inside, dripping in sweat and smeared with dirt, my mother sits at the kitchen table, skimming through an old album. I inch closer and glance over her shoulder. I almost choke on my spit, and she points at one of the pictures, "Which one do you like the best? I want to have some ready just in case." 

"Mom!" I try to snatch the album. 

"Don't touch your naked baby pictures!" she screams at me, and leans on top of the album so I can't yank it away.

I let out a growl worthy of a ferocious lion and tug on the corner of the album, "You can't be serious!" 

"If you don't let go of my album, Alice, I swear I'll smack you into next week." 

I release the corner of the album with an irritated harrumph. My mom continues to lean on it, protectively clutching it to her chest, and she glares daggers at me. I place my hands on my hips, "Mom. Please stop. I swear I'll never do it again." 

"How can I trust you? You skipped class, and then tried to lie to me about it." 

I groan and rub at my temples. She is seriously going to give me a headache with this crap. "I'm going to my room. You're being ridiculous." 

"At least I'm not skipping my class!" she shouts back. 

I roll my eyes as I reach the door to my bedroom, "That's not as offensive as you think it is."