Less Than Three

Chapter 9: Go Figure

5:56 PM Eh, mothers. Imagine this: I was putting my room back in order. It felt good. (Weird, I know.) So instead of quitting when I'd made things look okay, I left for the kitchen to grab the furniture polish.

Mom saw me head back down the hall with the spray can and a dust rag. She excused herself from a battle with the garden club over natural vs. chemical pesticides and called my name. I met her halfway. She pushed my hair behind my ears and said, "What's wrong?"

Huh? All week long she'd forced me to work like a slave and yet, when I took the initiative to actually clean something on my own, there she was -- worried. Go figure.

I reminded her, "Uh, you're the one who told me to clean my room."

"Since when do you follow my instructions so thoroughly?"

"Since..." Okay. She had me there.

"Boy trouble?" she asked.

"No." Like I would want to discuss it with my mom in front of the bloom brigade. That is, if there was trouble. Which there was definitely not.

"Are you and Madison fighting then?"

I shook my head.

"You and Craig?"

"Nope."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Dave Brown?"

I turned toward my room but she stopped me.

"Whatever it is, sulking won't help."

"What makes you think I'm sulking?"

She pointed to the furniture polish. 

Can't a girl dust her room without there being some deep, dark meaning behind it?

"Plus," she said, "it's almost six o'clock on a Saturday evening, and you're, well, you're here, which is amazing. But ..." There went the eyebrow. "If there's nothing wrong, and you really have nowhere else to go ..."

I knew something bad was coming.

"Why don't you show the club that website you've been working on? I'm sure they'd all be interested."

Yikes!

"S-s-six o'clock?" I stuttered. "Already? Sorry, Mom, I have to go. Have you seen my phone? Where's my skateboard?"

She pointed to the bookcase, and then to the hall. I made my way across the room, with all the squinty garden club eyes on me. It didn't help when Mom said, "Teenagers," all breathy-like, behind my back. I imagined her eyebrow going up, up, up.

I grabbed my phone and headed for the door, smiling at all the ladies and Mr. Pomeroy in his orange crew socks. He smiled back and winked.

"Ah," he said. "Those were the days."

Right.

***

Once outside, I hopped on my skateboard and pushed off. I had no plan beyond escaping my mother. I thought about going to the coffee shop. Kiersten and I were overdue for a serious session of girl talk. But then I might have to explain the whole 'hiding in the bathroom incident'. I considered checking in with Madison but, despite what my mother might think, there's only so much sulking I could stand. I decided on the library.