Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(48)

I take a seat at the bar that has a glass of orange juice      and a plate. I assume the other place setting is for him. In between the plates      is a stack of buttered toast and sausage patties. “Is it turkey or tofu or      whatever you try to pass off as food?”

Everything in this house is healthy. I pick up the toast and      smell it. Hmm. White bread and it smells like butter. I stick out my tongue and      barely lick it to see if it is. Scott laughs. Embarrassed, I roll my tongue into      my mouth and close my eyes in ecstasy. Mmm. Real butter.

“No, it’s not turkey. It’s real. I’m tired of watching you      not eat.” He places a plate of bacon and eggs between us as he sits. “If you’d      try Allison’s cooking, you’d see it’s not half-bad.”

I bite into the toast and talk between bites. “That’s the      point. Food shouldn’t be half-bad. It should be all good.”

Scott assesses my outfit before spooning some scrambled eggs      onto his plate. “I like the stud. When did you pierce your nose?”

“When I turned fourteen.” I help myself to bacon and sausage      while staring at the eggs. Scott made great eggs when I was a kid. Too bad I      told him I hate them.

“Your mom wanted one. She talked about driving into      Louisville to get one several times.” Mom liked to talk to Scott while Scott      raised me. She moved into Grandpa’s trailer when Dad knocked her up and her mom      kicked her out. Scott was twelve when I was born.

My heart sinks. Mom never told me she wanted a nose ring.      She never even noticed when I pierced mine. Why it bothers me, I don’t know. Mom      doesn’t tell me a lot of things. I tap my fork against the counter. Screw it.      I’m eating the eggs. Who knows when I’ll get another decent meal. Scott flashes      a smug smile when I fork eggs on my plate.

“Is that a baseball thing?” I ask.

“What?”

“Ryan has that same I-know-everything smirk when he thinks      he’s one-upped me.”

Scott sips his orange juice. “Have you and Ryan been hanging      out at school?”

I shrug. Hanging out. Annoying the piss out of each other.      Same thing. “Kind of.”

“He’s a good kid, Elisabeth. It would do you good to make      more friends like him.”

Noah’s a good guy. Isaiah is the best, but Scott doesn’t      want to hear that. “I go by Beth.”

As if I hadn’t said anything, he asks another question.      “How’s school?”

“I’m gonna fail.”

He stops eating and I shove food into my mouth. I’m      beginning to hate these silences.

“Are you trying?” he asks.

I contemplate my answer while savoring a piece of bacon. On      my last bite, I decide to go with the truth. “Yes. But I don’t expect you to      believe me.”

He tosses his napkin onto his empty plate and stares at me      with sincere blue eyes. We both have Grandma’s eyes. Dad did too, except Dad’s      never looked kind. “I’m not smart. I can throw a ball, catch a ball, and hit a      ball. It made me a rich man, but it’s better to be smart.”

“Too bad for me, I can’t do any of that. Smart      included.”

“Allison’s smart,” he says and he holds up his hand when I      roll my eyes. “She’s real smart. Has a master’s in English. Let her help      you.”

“She hates me.”

Scott falls into one of his long silences again. “Let me      handle that. You focus on school.”

“Whatever.” I glance at the clock: six forty-five. We      managed to have a conversation without yelling for fifteen minutes. “Shouldn’t      you be heading to work?”

“I’m working from home today. We’re going to do this every      morning. I want you up at six and out here for breakfast by six-thirty.”

If he’s going to cook, I’m not going to argue. “Okay.”

Scott gathers his dishes and goes to the sink. “About last      night.”

And things were going so well.... “Let’s not discuss last      night.”

“You were shaking.”

I stand, feeling suddenly fidgety. “I should get my backpack      together.”

“Has someone hurt you? Physically?”

The dishes. The dishes should go in the dishwasher. I pick      them up. “I really need help with Calculus. I want to drop it.” Why am I telling      him this?