Page 127 of The Plan

“You little shit.” I wipe the apple sauce off my face. This is the second time she did this.

“No, you a shit!” My jaw drops as I hear her curse for the first time ever. I lightly chuckle because I know Jackson will be pissed. I don’t know why she’s so cranky, but I don’t care, so I throw applesauce back at her.

She lets out a small gasp, but she shouldn’t be surprised because the last time she threw sauce on me, I threw it back. I’m not staying hit by a kid. Call me childish all you want.

“I’m telling Daddy!”

“Daddy’s not here, you little shit. But I’m calling him right now and telling him you’re saying bad words.”

She holds her heart and scrunches her little nose as she makes an angry face. “You wouldnottattle tale.”

“I. Will.” I press call and let the Facetime call ring. He answers a lot faster than I expected.

“Is everything okay? Where’s Belle?” He sounds worried, and I feel kinda bad for calling him for this stupid shit… Oh well.

“She’s right here, and she’s misbehaving.” I look over at Isa, and she’s scolding me with her arms crossed. I forgot how much of a brat she is. I turn the phone to her so her dad can see what I have to deal with.

“Daddy! Come get me. Uncle Sigh’s not my friend anymore.” I gasp and turn the phone back to me.

“Don’t come get her.” I look up at Isa. “We are still friends, don't say that.” I was only joking; I love watching her.

“Don’t tattle tale.” This manipulative little b—

“What did you do, Isabelle?”

She takes the phone from me and distracts her dad, talking about how she misses him and asks where he is. Wow, she is good at this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Belle. Go take a nap.”

She hangs up, and they say they love each other. She hands me my phone. She’s cranky because she needs a nap? Okay, maybe Jackson’s right, but she could be a “big girl” like she says she is and just go to sleep instead of throwing shit.

“Nighty time, Uncle Sigh.”

I smile at her words for nap and nighttime, then kiss her forehead and cover her with her blanket on the couch. I clean upthe apple sauce we threw at each other, and then when I notice it’s almost time to go, I go change into my baseball uniform. I change in my closet, not wanting to wake up Vid.

When I head back out, I pause in front of my bed and watch her for a second. She has to get up soon to come work at the game, and I think of waking her, but then I think of why she’s still sleeping at three fucking pm. I feel myself growing annoyed all over again and decide I’m not waking her up. She needs to deal with the consequences. She got drunk; she’s responsible for getting up for work.

As I walk back out of my room, I notice her starting to wake up. She must’ve heard my thoughts or something.Weirdo. Not sparing a glance at her, I walk out of the room and head to the kitchen. I hear her walk out behind me, but then the bathroom door closes, and the shower is running.

She walks into the kitchen as I’m filling up my water bottle, fully dressed in her navy blue scrubs and her hair in a high ponytail.

“Hey.”

I don’t respond verbally and instead just nod toward her, then go around the counter, taking a seat. She opens the fridge and cabinets and then turns to me.

“Wanna make breakfast again?” She sounds hopeful and has a beautiful smile on her face, but I look down at my phone, replying to a message.

“Nope.” It’s also three in the afternoon, so it wouldn’t be breakfast. She actually would've had breakfast with us if she wasn’t sleeping off her hangover.

“Oh… Okay.” She sounds discouraged, and I feel bad for being cold to her, but she deserves it. Maybe she doesn’t remember the part of my story where I said I became an alcoholic in college after everything happened, but I did, and she breached my sobriety last night. It was inconsiderate.

“Are you ready for today's game?”

“I’m suspended, remember?” I want to add that it’s thanks to her, but I don’t because no matter how mad I am at her, I’m not mad for not being able to play. It was my choice to do that for her.

I’m still going to the game, of course, because I need to prove to my coach that I still want to be on the team. Although I said I’d give it up for her, and I would if she asked again, I’m still a part of a team, and I still need to show up.

“Is that what's wrong with you? Because you—”

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