Page 33 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“Mmm, might be a bit late for that,” Dad chuckled, “can we put springs in your shoes?”
“Goodness, I didn’t realize how tall Mitchell had gotten,” Mom butted into the conversation. “He’s really shot up since I last saw him.”
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
“I don’t know, back in middle school probably,” Mom said. “His mom used to work at the bookshop. But I haven’t seen her in there for years.”
Mom had been on the middle school PTA from when my oldest sister Ryann started school, right until I left. Hence she knew all the families in town.
“Has he got a Dad?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Mom said, and after a few seconds, “Step-dad, I think. Uh, Rose, Rosie...Rosalie, that’s right. She was very young when she had him.”
“Very young?”
“Straight out of high school.” My brain was soaking up this information. That would put Mitchell’s mother at least ten years younger than my own parents. I visualized a hip and trendy Mom. “She helped out in the 6th grade play. She was in the costumes department.”
“Was that Jack and the Beanstalk?”
“Yes, don’t you remember? He was thegiant.”
“That seems a bit typecast,” I said.
“He was the tallest in the class,” Mom said.
“I was a sunflower, wasn’t I?” I said, preferring to forget my foray into performing arts where participation had been compulsory.
“Yes, a very pretty sunflower who poked her leaf in the eye of Jack’s mother, if I remember rightly.”
“Oh yeah,” I said dryly, “I was moved to the back row. Mmmm, no wonder I was never asked to sign up for any more productions.”
Mom laughed. “Does Mitchell still act?”
I shook my head with a frown. The thought of Mitchell Finlayson in drama class or a school play was laughable. “He’s too cool for that,” I scoffed.
“Is he? He seemed like he was very nice,” Mom said. “He was always quite quiet.” And she was utterly clueless.
“He thinks he’s a hotshot basketballer now,” I said, the words spouting from my mouth before I’d thought about it.But did Mitchell think he was a hotshot basketballer?Or was that howIperceived him? Had his height defined him his whole life?
The memory of Mitchell’s battered torso made me wonder if he’d been acting his whole life.
“So, is your coach able to put you on a strengthening program, or do you have to sign up at the gym?” Dad asked, returning the conversation back to its original topic.
“I’ll ask Miss Barber,” I said. I’d had an idea that I wanted to ask Mitchell to help me, but I’d chickened out. And it wasn’t because he obviously spent a lot of time in the weight room, it was that he made me want to work hard,he motivated me.
“I’ll need to ask your health care team what they think,” Mom said.
“Mom, you know I did okay today,” I said, “I don’t think I’ll need to get the insulin pump.”
Dad cut in. “Didn’t the doctor say that she’d still be able to do everything she wanted?”
Mom and Dad were staring at each other, some telepathic conversation happening between their eyes. I gave a disgruntledhmmphsound, knowing Mom would always have the last word.
“I still think it’s worth discussing it,” Mom said. “Yes, you did well today, but it’s only one day, Harper.”
“Maybe it’s time we take a new perspective on this,” Dad said. “Diabetes shouldn’t be ruling Harper’s life, and it certainly shouldn’t be restricting her activities. Grace? I think Harper deserves the chance to tackle this her way.”
Mom smiled tightly, but her eyes couldn’t hide her worry. “Oh, Harps...I know I stress a lot, maybe too much,” she said. “You’re handling everything beautifully sweetie, maybe I’ve been...a little overprotective.”
