Page 13 of We Shouldn't Be Together
I gulp, leaning in. “That’s all?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The way he says it irritates me. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, what do you think the text is about?”
“It’s obvious,” Freddy smirks. “You did something that ticked off Mom.”
Great. There’s a ticking time-bomb waiting for me at home.
For the rest of the drive home, I let Freddy’s loud car stereo excuse me from talking to my brother. Soon, he’s using the clicker to open our garage, and once he’s parked inside, I wait for him to exit first. No way am I facing Mom first.
Please, please, please.Be mad at Drew, not me.
Even with my fingers crossed, the silent prayer does nothing.
“Tabitha!” Mom shouts when I enter the house behind Freddy. Her eyes are round and crazed. “I can’t believe you! I’m so disappointed!”
“Crap,“ sizzles out of Freddy as he slinks away.
“Mom,“ I blurt as heat blotches my skin. “Why are you screaming at me? I just walked through the freaking door.”
Mom waves her tablet in my face. “I got a letter from your chemistry teacher.”
An ache twists in my stomach, and a response evaporates from my tongue.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Mom asks, throwing her hands up and almost losing grip of the tablet.
I fold my arms and turn to my brother for support, but he’s moved toward the couch. I then turn back to my mother with a huff. “I’m being picked on.”
“Picked on?” Mom taps on her tablet. “Mrs. Field’s email says, you’ve been acting out in class for weeks. You’ve been making her classroom gossip central.”
“Are you gonna believe her instead of your own daughter?” I accuse.
Irritated, Mom shakes her tablet at me. “It’s all right here in black and white.”
“Do you even want to hear my side of the story?”
“Do you want to recount the part where you and Camila argued with your teacher?”
I stomp my foot, and my volume rises. “Did you not want us to stand up for ourselves?”
“I’ve had it with the attitude, Tabitha,” Mom scolds. “I didn’t raise you to be such a brat.”
My chest heaves with indignation. “Abrat?“ I echo. “How could you call me a brat?”
“Pah,“ it comes out with a breathy scoff. “Easily! How can you treat me this way and expect anything less? If I’m being honest, you’re more like a…”
“Mom,“ Freddy cuts in. “Don’t.”
He hates it when we fight. Whenanyonefights.
Mom lifts a hand toward where Freddy sits on the couch. “Honey, please.” She takes another inhale, eyes laser focused on me. “Look, Tabitha, I need you to straighten up. Why can’t you be more like your brothers and take life seriously? Take school more seriously. Thisfamilymore seriously.”
My jaw is about to hit the floor. “Are you serious right now?” My fingers curl in anger and my manicure digs deep into the flesh of my palms. “You’re calling me not serious? Have you even looked at Drew lately?”
“Leave your brother out of it.”
I can’t fathom the words coming out of her mouth. “You’re the one who brought him into this.”
