Blackout

Chapter 16

“You have a tennis game tomorrow?” asked Niall over the phone that night. I had always found him the easiest to talk to.

“Yeah, except it’s called a match.”

“Why don’t you match yourself with shut up.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Anyway, do you know who you’re playing against?” Niall asked. I could hear the sound of a refrigerator being opened in the background.

“Another school in the area, some girl named Maggie McEwen.”

“Irish?”

                “How would I know, leprechaun?” I scolded him.

                “You probably have more regional knowledge. You’re a strong, independent black haired woman who don’t need no man.”

                Hearing Niall speak in a sassy black accent just about broke my soul. “That was the best thing you’ve ever said to me. But speaking of which…”

                “You and Harry? More like Narry?”

                “Is that supposed to be a mash-up of Harry’s name and the word no? Also, you do know that Narry is the name of yours and Harry’s ship?”

“Oh, well I suppose that would make sense. But he told us about what happened, what you said. We talked about how proud we were of you, once Harry went to his room and stopped sulking around us.”

“Why were you proud?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. I was slightly confused.

“Because that was strong of you. You decided what was best for you and what you needed. Harry understood, even though he wasn’t so happy.” I heard Niall open a bag of crisps.

“So you agree? That I should wait until I’m ready?” I asked, sitting back onto the pillows on my bed.

“I can’t tell you how to react, but I agree that you should wait a little bit to sort your feelings out. You need time, Harry gets that. He saw what the last wanker you trusted did to you.” Niall’s voice went up a little towards the end of his dialogue, his anger at Jonathan evident. It touched me how much they all cared.

“Thanks, Niall. I should probably go. I need to get some rest for my MATCH tomorrow.”

“What time is it? We’ll be there.” He asked.

“It’s around three, the same time as my normal practice.” I said.

“We’ll see you then, have a good sleep.”

“Bye, Nialler.” I hit the end button. I plugged my phone into my charger, and squirmed down underneath my covers. I heard the downstairs door open and close, and the sound of heavy stumbling boots walking down the hall. Shit. My father was home. I got up, and locked the door to my room. Even though, if I was “asleep”, he never woke me up, with my life, you could never be too careful.

***

I woke up to the sound of heavy snoring coming from the downstairs living room. The hangover slumber. I got up, and walked to my bathroom. The bruise on my jaw was now mottled with yellow, which meant that it was healing. That was good. I brushed some foundation over it, and soon it was hidden from view. I still kept my hair down to cover it though. During tennis I had just pushed my hair away from my face with a headband, and I was fine.

I went over to my closet, and got out my favorite Bon Iver concert t-shirt. The bruise I had gotten on my arm from my dad on Thursday was almost completely faded, and it was safe to start wearing tank tops and short sleeves again. I pulled on a pair of jeans, my black toms, and an olive green army jacket. I picked up my bags and headed down the stairs. My dad was still asleep, so I wouldn’t have to deal with him right now.

I crept past the living room, and went into the kitchen to fill my thermos with coffee. My mom was in there, wearing her scrubs and reading a newspaper, leaning against the counter. She gave me a derisive look. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked, taking the coffee pot out of the maker.

“Hun, no one knows what Bon Iver is. You look like the French mafia.”

“A British seventeen year old girl who’s failing French is part of the French mafia. That’s likely.” I snorted.

“Don’t talk to me like that, young lady.” she said, taking an angry sip of her tea.

“Yes, ma’am.” I said sarcastically, and left. A part of me enjoyed fighting with my mother. I didn’t care what she thought of me, so I wasn’t afraid to stand up for myself. Nothing she could say could hurt me. I checked my watch. It was 7:29. Morgan would be here any minute. I milled around my driveway for a couple minutes, until I heard the sound of her car rolling up on the gravel. I bounded over, and slid in the passenger seat. I tossed my bags in the backseat.

“Sorry I’m so late.” She apologized.

“Morgan, it’s literally two minutes after you said you would pick me up. It’s not like you kept me waiting forever.”

“I like being prompt.” She said, turning out of my driveway.

My phone vibrated. I picked it up and flipped it over. I had a new text from Harry. My heart sped up. He hadn’t talked since Monday night, after our… was it an argument? I opened it. I was a little disappointed.

Hey, love. Have a good day at school; I’ll see you at your game later

I didn’t really know what I had been expecting. Another declaration of love? A declaration of no love? A declaration of “Let me just get my shotgun and get rid of Jonathan once and for all”?

It’s called a match

“Who’s that?” asked Morgan, glancing over at my phone.

“Eyes on the road.” I scolded, avoiding the question.

She shrugged.

Sorry, I’ll see you at your *match*

I powered my phone off as we approached the school, tucking it away in the outside pocket of my bag. As Morgan pulled into the parking lot, I saw Samantha and a couple girls from the tennis team sitting at our table, talking and waiting for me, and I saw a gaggle of Morgan’s friends standing by the oak tree beside the front door of the school, laughing and chatting amiably.

I paused, not really knowing if I should join Morgan with her friends. Probably not, because I barely knew any of them. I think that I had precalc with the blonde, Maggie, but I never really talked to her.

Luckily, the sound of the bell saved me from having to make any awkward decisions. Morgan and I walked into the school together. She had English, with Samantha, leaving me to walk down the rest of the hall alone.

When I was about halfway to the French room, I heard my name being called. “Hey! Lana!” It sounded like Carlee. I quickened my pace. “Lana!” she called again. I sped up even more. “Lana! C’mon!” I was almost to the French room, “LANA!” I ducked inside the classroom, pulling the door shut behind me. Out in the hall, I heard Carlee’s heels click as she angrily turned around and started back the other way. I found my seat and opened up my book. Why the fuck was Carlee so keen to talk to me all of a sudden?