Page 37 of Don't Love the Boy Next Door
“But I don’t really like it,” I tell him. “I want something deeper than that. Something real. Not a girl who’s only interested in me because of the band.”
“We all want that, but you’re still a kid. Have fun. There’s time to be serious later.”
But I want to be serious now. I want to meet someone who will understand me. Be there for me. Get me in a way no one has gotten me before, not even my twin brother. And I want to do thesame for her. Be supportive of her hopes and dreams, spend my days trying to make her happy. Just have that deep, emotional connection.
But maybe I am being a little silly. Maybe no one’s looking for that in high school.
A face pops before my eyes. A girl with beautiful dark brown hair and big, expressive green eyes. Eyes that hold so much sorrow and heartache, but hope, too.
Heat pools all around me. I shove her image out of my head and focus on Dad.
But someone calls to him off camera, and he nods before turning back to the screen. “Looks like it’s time for me to sign off, kiddo. Thanks for the chat. I miss you and your brother.”
“I miss you, too. And so does Ethan.”
He makes a face like he doubts that, but nods. “Say hello to your mom for me. Take care of her and your brother. I’ll try to reach out the next time I get the chance. Continue making great music, Eric. Never let go of your dreams.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He makes a peace sign and ends the call.
I’m left alone in my room, my quiet room. With nothing but my own thoughts and feelings. I was so happy to receive the call from Dad, but like always, I end up feeling disappointed and frustrated. Maybe I’m clinging to this hope that Dad will quit touring and come back home. Maybe he and Mom will try to work things out and we could be a family again. But that’s a little kid’s dream. I have to face reality.
My gaze creeps to the window, where Katie’s shade is slightly lifted. But she’s not in her room.
Chapter Thirteen
Katie
“Sometimes I think I’m defective or something,” I say as I play around with my fish sticks, which, like usual, looks so disgusting my stomach churns. “I mean, it’s art class. All you have to do is paint a picture, or draw something, or make a sculpture. Yet somehow, I’m failing that class. And I’m an artist, so that’s kind of ironic…”
Phoenix hmms as her eyes rove over her phone.
“Fine, maybe I’m notfailingthe class. But I’m definitely struggling with it. Ugh, it makes me so unmotivated.”
She continues studying her phone.
“Phoenix?” I ask.
My words fly past her ears.
“Phoenix, what are you so distracted with?”
No answer.
“Phoenix.” I snatch her phone out of her hand.
“Hey!” She leaps and grabs it back before I have a chance to look at the screen. Then she tucks it into her pocket.
I lift a brow. “What were you looking at?”
“Nothing. Just reading some of my comments.”
Why is her face red?
“What?” she asks with a shrug. “You know my channel is a full time job.” She stabs one of her fish sticks and takes a large bite. Then she spits it onto her plate. “Gross! What garbage are these people feeding us? Someone needs to do something about this cafeteria food. They’restarvingus.”
I laugh. “Sometimes the food’s okay.”
