"If obsession were a person, it'd be you."
A street racer by evening, and a high-school student by day, 17 year-old Ola Sainz is forced to move to Los Angeles with her mother, where she crosses path with a typical California teenage boy.
Theo Lauder...
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"Do I really have to sit here and do this?" I drew a lengthy breath and shifted my gaze to my mother sitting across the dining table.
She had to forcefully sit me down to have this conversation with my dad as we waited for the phone to pick up. He wanted to set up a call over FaceTime so he could see my face, but I knew deep inside, he wanted to see Mom.
My mind scrutinized the idea. If he wanted to see her, why couldn't he make the effort to see us in person? Was he ashamed to visit our neighborhood back in Chicago now that he's all classy and a successful man? Though my dad was a wealthy man living his best life with his new family, he wasn't anywhere near Elon Musk and Bill Gates kind of wealthy.
He could easily afford a flight to California to come to visit us because if he really wanted to, he could. There were no excuses.
Was this his way of making us feel his presence even when he was physically away? Don't get me wrong, I wasn't angry at him. I was angry at his idea of still wanting to become a part of our life. Just a little bit of his physical presence was all I needed, but even that, I have to compete for his time and attention.
His idea of giving us his time is through a screen.
"At least hear him out," Mom hissed at me. "You better sit your ass down on that chair before I tell Riccardo you won't be working on his car anymore."
I choked on my spit.
"How do you know about that? Did Grandma tell you-"
"Oh, please. Your grandmother has nothing to do with this," She muttered angrily, pausing to look me up and down with a displeased expression. "I am not stupid. Look at you! Your hair smells like oil and the dirt on your nails-"
I cringed at her words. I showered but I guess it wasn't enough to get rid of all the filth on my skin. "Oops, must have been the bath water," I chuckled nervously, scratching the back of my neck sheepishly.
"Speaking of, where's Grandma? I haven't seen her since forever. She's never here when I wake up or when I come home from school."
Mom shrugged her shoulders in dismissal. "Your grandmother is a busy woman," is her reason. "You should know that."
"Busy doing what?" I asked, darting a bite of my sliced fruit. "Does she still take those elderly ballerina classes to help with mobility?"
Grandma once told me about those classes she's been taking in her free time, saying it made her feel "young" and that she'd always dreamed of it ever since she was a little girl.
My only concern is that she isn't getting any younger and could get potentially hurt in the process of chasing a kind of thrill and satisfaction.
