Page 14 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Freddy gets up from the couch and stomps out of the room. “This is going nowhere.”
“Mrs. Field told me she gave your class a homework assignment. She wants me to sign it before you turn it in.”
I hold my hips and screw up my face as I stare at her. “Fine.”
“I am serious, Tabitha. Can it with the attitude.”
“It wouldn’t matter what I said. You’d be fighting with me no matter what.”
Mom clicks her tongue, turning away from me. “Just leave and do your homework.”
“What? You’re literally turning your back on me?” I screech, indignant.
She turns around and glares at me. “Stop arguing with me. Now go do something productive with yourself.”
I’m firing on all cylinders, badly wanting to shout every bad word forming in my mind. My knuckles crack, and every manicured fingertip stabs deeper into my palms. Biting down hard until my jaw inflames, I grunt through gritted teeth, “Fine,“ and march myself to my bedroom.
“You’re in trouble,” a sing-song voice comes out of my ten-year-old brother as he wanders the hall toward our bedrooms.
“Ugh.” I scowl at him. “Shut it, Corbin.”
Corbin points at me, still maintaining the song in his tone. “You made Mom mad. You’re in trouble.”
I stomp toward my bedroom. “What else is new?”
“Hey!” Freddy calls, jogging up the hall. “Was that really necessary?”
I roll my eyes, not facing him. “Can you not start with me?”
Freddy grabs my shoulder, forcing me to face him. “Why must you antagonize Mom?”
“Excuse me?” I wince. “You’re the one who brought me home so she could go mental at me.”
“I didn’t know you had a letter from the school.”
Corbin points at me again, sticking out his tongue. “You’re in trouble. You’re in trouble.”
Freddy’s palm lands on the top of Corbin’s head, and he turns him in the other direction. “Scram, Corby. We don’t need you butting in.”
Corbin groans, but does as he’s told and toddles off down the hall.
I frown. “He never buzzes off when I tell him to.”
“Maybe it’s your tone,” Freddy replies. “Sounds like that’s the reason you’re being moved in class. You can’t keep being mouthy with your teachers.”
I fold my arms. “I’m not.”
Freddy’s eyebrow cocks.
With a huff, I drop my arms and shrug it off. “I’m getting the blame for everything. But as if Mom wants to hear that. She never listens to me. I could read a book and she’d accuse me of being bad.”
Freddy frowns. “I highly doubt it.”
“I’m not you, Fred. I don’t get praised for existing.”
Hurt flashes across Freddy’s baby blue eyes, and it’s like a needle stinging my heart. “Don’t say that to me.”
I suck in a breath; the sting sharpens. “I’m sorry.”
