Page 42 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
But I quickly brought myself to reality.
Mitchell Finlayson was a complication,
a rebel without a heart,
someone who would break mine
in
a
flash.
Chapter 16
HARPER
DAD’S ANKLE ENDED UPnot being as bad as first thought, and he was back at work doing desk duties after a few days. Mom told him to rub arnica cream on the ankle, but darned if he or Mom could find the tub of it anywhere. Yeah, after Mitchell ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and hash browns I’d discreetly slipped him the cream, mumbling that he should rub it on his injury.
Whether he had or not, I didn’t know. I hadn’t seen Mitchell at school all week. The timetable changed before Thanksgiving, with the school band and choir putting on a concert. I didn’t like to ask anyone where he was, and Ebony was bemoaning that Titan had been busy with the pre-season basketball game and extra trainings, so I gathered that’s why I hadn’t seen him. I felt maybe I’d overstepped the line by giving Mitchell the arnica cream, and if he didn’t reach out to me there was little I could do about it.
I concluded the alcohol had caused him to say all those things, and admitting that I wanted them to be true made me do something uncharacteristic.
My oldest sister Ryann had come home for the holidays with her boyfriend, Tim. It was the first time for the family to meet him, so Mom made him the center of attention. That was good for me, I could fly under the radar.
And once the lunch meal had been eaten and football finished, I was able to tell Mom I was dropping off a pumpkin pie to Mitchell’s, and she barely battered an eyelash. Mom, Ryann and I had spent the morning doing food prep, which included baking apple pies and Mom’straditional pumpkin pie. I had a hunch he’d like it (because he had said how much he liked Maddie’s mother’s pumpkin spice muffins on the volleyball trip). It was fairly flimsy reasoning, but Mom said it was a good idea, especially because we had so much food. She always went overboard at holiday celebrations.
I didn’t actually know what number Mitchell’s house was but I figured if I drove down Simpson Avenue, I’d see his Mom’s car. As it was, it was parked in the driveway next to a white pickup truck. The house was like the others in the street, ranch-style, a little rundown and I got the feeling the front door was never used. A stack of wooden crates was piled up there.
All sorts of doubt entered my mind as I carried the pie dish around to the side of the house. What if the reason I hadn’t seen Mitchell around was that Wade had beaten him so badly that he hadn’t been at school? What if he was so embarrassed by what he’d said and was purposely avoiding me?
Wow, I was going to look like a fool. But here I was, walking up his driveway, pie in hand.
As I came to the back of the house I could see a deck with ranch slider doors opening into the living room and right in front of me, sitting on a leather sectional were Wade, a woman and Mitchell. They could all see me walking up the steps.
Mitchell was at the door before I had a chance to knock and his smile seemed genuine, if not shocked.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.” I wiped my shoes on the mat. “Mom and I have been baking.”
From inside I could hear a woman’s voice saying, “Don’t leave her out in the cold!” I slipped out of my sneakers, leaving them next to a pile of other shoes.
“Hey Ma,” Mitchell said as he ushered me in around the couch. “This is Harper, from school.”
I was taken aback by the sight of Mitchell’s mother, mainly because Mom had said she was young and in my mind I’d pictured someone...different. It’s not that she was unattractive, she had pale skin and long eyelashes, but her short fair hair was unbrushed and she looked kind of frumpy, wearing no makeup and sitting under a plaid blanket.
“Oh,” she said, and strangely she didn’t sound how she looked, she was all bubbly and giggly, “I’ve heard about you, Harper. I was wondering if I’d get to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs.-” I said, curious as to how much and in what context. Was I the girl who fainted on the Outdoor Ed trip, the girl who had been caught giving him strawberry tarts? Or the girl who needed plyometrics training?
“Rose,” she said, “None of this formal nonsense. Call me Rose.”
“Rose,” I said with a shy smile. “Mom and I did some baking and I thought that Mitchell might like some pie. Well, all of you. It’s Mom’s special pumpkin pie recipe.”
“It smells divine,” Rose said. “Thank you so much. Sit down, sit down.” She waved at the couch. “Mitch, get Harper a drink.” Mitchell took the pie dish from me and by this stage Wade had removed his arm from around Rose and was plumping up a pillow where he wanted me to sit. He called out to Mitchell, “Come and clean up this table.” That tone again, a directive, blunt and mean.
He reached for a beer can, one of many crowding the coffee table which had the remnants of a take out meal. That was slightly bewildering—burgers and fries were hardly Thanksgiving food. Why hadn’t his Mom cooked a turkey?
