Ocean's Storm

Chapter Twenty-Five

   Ocean's POV:

          So what if Francesca does not want to put a label on us? Fine by me. Spencer, on the other hand, has been popping his head into my room just to rub in my face that Francesca cannot even put a label on what we are. In his mind, Spencer still sees this as a glimmer of hope that he even stands a chance with Francesca. To him, I say, keep dreaming.

Well, not even that. I do not want him to dream that he is able to date Francesca. Or kiss her. Man, I am starting to feel like the older version of young Spencer.

Mum stayed up late last night, even though I specifically told her not to wait up for me, just to make sure I got home safely. Looking at her reasoning for going against what I told her does make sense- from a parental perspective. If I were in her position, I probably would stay up as late as what she had just to make sure my child got home safely- no matter if they are legally considered an adult.

                  "How was your date?" Mum had asked the second I had closed the front door.

                   "Not how I expected it to go, but not terrible," I replied without wanting to go into much detail.

                  It's not like I was ashamed to tell my mum that I had gone over to Francesca's house only to find out that she was not there- that she was at her favorite place to vandalize. That the date we had initially talked about turned into one that I had learned new information about Francesca's actual feelings. We could have still gone stargazing, but the lights illuminating the streets did not make the whole stargazing from the store ideal.

"First dates are always the hardest. Between that and the breakup date," Mum got up from her chair and turned the lamp beside her off. She told me 'good night' and left me alone in the dark. Funny, because I had felt in the dark for most of the afternoon with Francesca.

"Ocean Alexander Carpenter, open this door! I know you are home!" Bridget yells, pounding aggressively on my front door and pulling me back from the replay of the late night/early morning discussion with my mum.

"Spence, get the door!" I shout from my room. I had decided sometime around four in the morning to go through all of the contents of my closet. In particular, I had decided to finally open my box of Australia memorabilia that I had refused to acknowledge.

"Get the door yourself, Oce! Bridget is your problem, not mine!" Spencer shouts back from his own bedroom down the hall.

"Seriously, someone just open the door!" Bridget starts to pound even harder on the door. "It is extremely rude to leave a lady standing on the front porch for more than an hour!"

Is that how long she has been at our front door? An hour? I must have deeply zoned out, if I had missed that much of her aggressive pounding on the front door.

Spencer could have, at the very least, informed me that Bridget was here an hour ago. Mum had left for work four hours ago and will not be home for another five hours. Thankfully Mum is not here or else she would be already chewing both of us out.

                 I let out a defeated sigh and get up off my floor. What could Bridget possibly want from me that this cannot have just been a simple phone conversation?

                 "Good afternoon, Bridget! How may I help you?" I ask the moment I open the door. Bridget stands there with an aggravated look on her face.

"Who in their right mind takes over an hour to answer the door for a girl?!"

                  "Ask Spencer," I move to the side to let her in, but Bridget folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head.