My Cliche Love Story | ✓

Chapter 5

I don't even have my whole body in the house when something--no, someone-- comes over and tackles me. By the tight embrace, I can tell that it's Molly. She must have come over while I was out. Her coming here was obviously meant to be a surprise. And it worked, as a strangled yelp escapes my lips.

"Oh, my god! Alex, you're going on a date?" My best friend's voice is full of excitement, and she pull away to look at me.

"What?"

"Oh, don't bother explaining, I heard the whole thing." She smirks.

Great.

"You don't understand," I begin, my hands out in front of me, "it's more complicated than that, I promise."

She brushes off my statement. "It's simple. Dylan Carter asks Alex Baker out, she says yes, making history by showing any other emotion besides sass--"

She's wrong. But I can't tell her that.

"--and now you two are basically dating." She clasps her hands together in a satisfied manner, closing her rant.

My eyes are wide. "Molly, you have to believe me, that's not--"

"I know, I know," she grins, wiggling her eyebrows, "I just wanted to fire you up."

I smack her playfully on the arm. "That was not funny."

She laughs. "Yeah, okay. But anyway, I'm going to the party, too. It'll be so much fun."

I scoff. "Not with Carter taking me there."

Her eyes glint, and I practically shove her out the house. "No, don't even go there. We are not walking down that road. Nope, never." I make a grotesque face. I sound like I'm trying to convince myself. Not where I wanted this to go.

She surrenders, grinning. "Oh, okay. Love you, Alex." Her hair whips around in the wind, and I wave goodbye to her.

"Love you, too, Molly."

"Don't you love me, Baker?" Carter calls down from his window, smirking. Creep.

My middle finger rises from my fist.

"Alex, don't be rude," Mom chastises, shaking her head.

"But, Mom," I complain, "he's being a--"

She glares at me, her finger pointing at my chest. "Don't you dare swear."

I drop my head, frustrated. No matter what, Mom always brings me back to being a responsible seventeen-year-old. Sometimes, I wish she wouldn't but I know very well that I--and Jake--wouldn't be where we are without her. Jeez, I don't even think that we deserve all this help. Yet she still gives up her dreams, all for her two trouble making children. I don't get it, but I guess I won't, until I become a mother like her.

Skipping every other step up to my room, I close the door to my bedroom, hoping for some peace and quiet. Luckily, Dylan's window is closed, so there'll be no shenanigans--thankfully--from that department. I can actually get some stuff done. The silence is welcoming, so I sit down, take out my phone, and just wallow in it. Yeah, I should probably do my homework, but, let's be honest, Instagram is calling--nope, definitely screaming--my name.

After hanging out and looking at all my friends' posts for about fifteen minutes, my battery is practically dead. I plug in my phone, and get to work on my homework. Not long after, my math is finished, and there's a knock on my door.

"What?" I call, hoping it's not Jake. I don't want him to tease me about going to a party with Dylan, as I'm sure he overheard. I really don't need that right now.