Page 69 of We Shouldn't Be Together
I wait it out, and sure enough, it comes.
"OMG, Kai, you really are a little nerd. Don’t tell me you stopped texting so you could read your chem book?"
I smirk at the emojis, which follow the text. She must be bored if she’s texting me.
I comb my fingers through my hair, remembering what she said about her friends. They target her. If that were my relationship with my friends, I’d find someone new to text with too.
"You wish,"I text."But no, I’m not doing the whole assignment for you. Like you said, it is Friday night. No, actually it’s Saturday, which really means I should call it."
I pull off my T-shirt and flop into bed, leaving my phone on the nightstand. I turn off the lamp and rub my dry eyes. I don’t really care if she texts back. I’m going to sleep.
I lift my head and glance at the nightstand. She didn’t text back, right?
I swallow the thought and roll over. The only reason I’m wondering about her replying is because I don’t want her to reply. That’s all it is. I mean, why would I want to talk to her? I hate her.
The words sink into a pit in my stomach, reminding me of her devastation when I told her that.
Man, I don’t hate her. But I really freaking hate what she does.
She’s a bully.
She’s bullied.
I look over my shoulder. Nothing’s illuminated on the nightstand.
But I might’ve missed it.
I reach across and lift my phone.
No reply.
I drop the phone and roll back over.
Why did I want a reply?
I shouldn’t want a reply.
14
“Camila,hasyourdadbrought you that red dress yet?” Cammy’s mom asks, leaning in her bedroom doorway on Saturday morning.
Cammy huffs as she stands behind Yvie, straightening her hair with a flat iron. “Umm, no. Don’t you think I’d be screaming about it if he did?”
Mrs. Garcia huffs, scooping Cammy’s toy poodle, Cinnamon, into her arms. “The nerve of him. He escapes to Mexico with that trailer trash woman, and he can’t even shell out a few bucks to buy you a new dress. You told him how much you wanted it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, mom,” Cammy drawls. “I texted him a bunch while he was away, including selfies of me in the dress. He’s aware. I bet that new wife put a stop to it.”
Cammy’s mom grunts, letting Cinnamon lick under her chin. “She better not. I’m the one who made that man into who he is today. If he doesn’t start putting you first, I’m going to move us out of this town.”
Yvie and I both look at Cammy. Instead of being surprised, she grins like she’s hatching a scheme. “You want him to chase after us, so he can still see me?”
“If that’s what it takes for him to take our family seriously,” Mrs. Gracia says, flicking her sleek, chestnut hair off her shoulders, “then that’s what we’ll do.”
Cammy’s mom marches down the hallway, Cinnamon whimpering in her grip, and I slump in my cross-legged position on the plush, white carpet.
“Whoa, Cammy,” I whisper. “That’s intense.”
“What do you expect?” Cammy says, gliding the iron against Yvie’s white blonde hair. “Dad’s left us no choice. We need to take drastic action for him to remember me and Mom are his number one priorities.”
