Slammed (Slammed #1)(24)
He spins and walks back to his house. Guilt overcomes me as I think of what it's like for them to just have each other, and here I sit complaining about the only parent left between the four of us. I feel ashamed for bringing it up. I feel more ashamed having even been mad at my mother for what she did. It was my fault for not talking to her about it sooner. Will is right, as usual. I am lucky to have her.
***
The shower in my mother’s bedroom is running after lunch, so I heat up some leftovers and make her a glass of tea. I place them at her usual seat at the bar and wait for her. When she finally emerges from the hallway and sees the food, she gives me a slight smile and takes her seat.
“Is this a peace offering or did you poison my food?” she asks as she unfolds a napkin into her lap.
“I guess you’ll have to eat it first to find out.”
She eyes me cautiously and takes a bite of her food. She chews for a minute and takes another bite after she fails to keel over.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have talked to you about it sooner. I was just really upset.”
She looks at me with pity in her eyes so I turn away from her and busy my hands with the dishes.
“Lake, I know how much you like him, I do. I like him too. But like I said yesterday, this can’t happen. You have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“I swear, Mom. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I hope not,” she says as she continues to eat.
I finish up the dishes and return to the living room to continue my affair with Johnny.
6.
“Your heart says not again
What kind of mess have you got me in?
But when the feeling's there
It can lift you up and take you anywhere.”
-The Avett Brothers, Living of Love
Chapter Six
The next three weeks fly by as my homework gets more intense, along with the isolation in Will’s classroom. We haven’t spoken since the day the snowman was murdered. We haven’t had eye contact since then either. He avoids me like the plague.
I haven't been adjusting very well to Michigan. Maybe everything that happened with Will ended up making the move even harder. All I ever feel like doing is sleeping. I guess because it doesn't hurt as bad when you're asleep.
Eddie keeps bringing up possible fillers for the obvious hole in my boyfriend department, but I’ve rejected them all. She has finally resorted to switching places in Will’s class with Nick in the hopes that something will bloom there.
It won’t.
“Hey, Layken,” Nick smiles as he sits in his new spot nearest me. “Got another one for ya. Wanna hear it?”
In the past week alone, I’ve had to endure at least three Chuck Norris jokes a day from Nick. He incorrectly assumes that since I’m from Texas, I must be obsessed with "Walker, Texas Ranger."
“Sure.” I don’t try to deny him this privilege anymore, it doesn’t work.
“Chuck Norris got a g-mail account today. It’s [email protected]."
It takes me a second to process. I’m normally quick with jokes, but my mind has been sluggish lately, and for good reason.
“Funny,” I reply flatly in order to appease him.
“Chuck Norris counted to infinity. Twice.”
As much as I didn’t feel like laughing, I did. Nick did annoy me quite a bit, but his ignorance was endearing.
When Will walks into the classroom, his eyes dart to Nick. Although he still doesn’t look at me, I like to imagine a twinge of jealousy building up inside of him. I’ve been making it a point recently, once Will comes into the room, to become more attentive toward Nick. I hate this new desire that has overcome me; the desire to make Will jealous. I know I need to stop before Nick starts to get the wrong idea, but I can’t. I feel like this is the only aspect of this entire situation that I have any control over.
“Get out your notebooks, we’re making poetry today,” Will says as he takes a seat at his desk. Half the class groans. I hear Eddie clapping.
“Can we have partners?” Nick asks as he starts inching his desk toward mine.
Will glares at him. “No.”
Nick shrugs and scoots his desk back into place.
“Each of you needs to write a short poem which you will perform in front of the class tomorrow.”
I start taking notes on the assignment, not willing to watch him as he speaks. Remaining in his class was a very bad idea. I can't focus on anything he's saying. I'm constantly wondering what's going on inside his head, if he's thinking about us, what he does inside his house at night. Even at home he’s been the only thing I can think about. I find myself stealing glances across the street any chance I get. Honestly, if I would have just switched classes it probably wouldn't have made a difference. I would just rush home and beat him in the driveway so I could watch from the window when he pulls up to the house. This game I'm playing with myself is so exhausting. I wish I could find a way to let go of the hold he has on me. He seems to have done a pretty good job of moving on.
“You just need to start out with about ten sentences for tomorrow's presentation. We can expand over the next couple of weeks, giving you something to prepare for the slam,” Will says. “And don’t think I haven’t forgotten. So far no one in here has shown up at the slam. We made a deal.”