Page 73 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Now, I’m beat. The guys and I found an old hiking trail, and it ended up being really rocky. It took a lot of stamina to pull myself up some of the rock faces. Especially when I was being careful not to bust any stitches. I could’ve let the guys beat me up the trail, but even without Jamie spurring me on, my competitive edge wouldn’t die.
I needed to beat them.
And now I’m wrecked.
As I flop on my bed, rubbing the raw scrapes I got on my arms today, I can’t help fixating on the fact my text message is last on the text chain. Tabitha hasn’t texted me back, and it’s driving me crazy. Ugh, I hate this feeling. I preferred it last night when she triple texted me. Man, just text me back.
I pick at a long scratch on the inside of my forearm, and hiss when it bleeds.
Dang it.
I get up, move into the bathroom, and wash my arm. When I was climbing up the side of a hill, I grabbed onto a branch to pull myself up, and there was a dull ache in my wrist. It happens now and then; a side effect of sprains, fractures, and dislocations from over the years. In reaction, I let go and stumbled off balance until I slid down the gravelly ground. The scratch isn’t deep enough to need a band-aid. It’s too long and awkward, anyway. It’ll heal if I just stop picking at it. And I’ll need to remember to wear long sleeves around my parents.
I drag my feet back into my bedroom and groan.
If only Tabitha would respond, then I could stop being so antsy.
I dive onto my bed and pick up my phone. Why can’t I get over these texts?
No longer able to bear it, I text her."So, did it work?"
Seriously, I hate myself.
I should be over the freaking moon she hasn’t texted me back. It’s done. She’s having it out with her mom, with no reason to send a message my way. Why do I want to know what happened? I shouldn’t want to know.
As I spiral into self-loathing, a reply pops in."What?"
That’s all I get from her? Awhat? I drop the phone onto my lap, and my hands ball into fists. She knows what. What else would I be asking about?
Another text comes in."You mean about my mom?"
I hold on to a breath and stare at the phone. I exhale with a whoosh and slump over. Okay, she’s not dumb. Maybe I took her off guard.
Probably.
Because she wasn’t expecting a text from me.
She doesn’t want a text from me.
Ah, man. Why do I keep texting her?
"Yeah. Did she get off your back?"
"I’m not home yet,"she replies."I doubt she’ll buy whatever I say."
Hmm. She’s not home. Do I stop texting her then?
I check the time. 10:18 p.m.
How long does a girl like Tabitha stay out on a Saturday night? Is it lame that I’m already home? I mean, I have early soccer practice tomorrow followed by a game. I can’t be out. If anything, I should be catching some zees.
"Let me guess. You’re at the mall, studying at the food court?"
"Lol, where are you living?"she texts."When have you ever known the food court to be open past 9 p.m.?"
I don’t want to ask what she’s doing. I don’t want her to know that I want to know.
Man, why do I want to know?
