Messed Up Vita

Chapter Twenty

We finish our mochas, put on our jacket back on, and head out into the autumn expanse. I badly wish I would've brough a coat, but I'm going to have to endure the cold for my mistake. I wrap my cold, free arm around Mason's side in attempt to get warmth throughout the draining heat the coffee left. Mason wraps his around my shoulder for no reason except he just wants to.

    "We still haven't decided where we're going," I tell him as we stand in front of the cafe. 

   "Well, you're the expert around here. What's there to do?"

   "Hmm, without getting arrested for skipping school?" I say. I think, biting my thumb nail. I didn't do much around here, anyways. "How about we go to my house?"

    He raises his eyebrows. "Will your parents even allow that?"

   "What?"

   "A boy alone with you in your house?" Mason smiles.

   I roll my eyes and shove him playfully. "They'd allow it. Fine, if you want to escape any nearby warmth, be my guest."

   "Nevermind," he says. "To your house!"

    We walk about three blocks before reaching my beloved, warm house. I pull the keys out of my pocket-- thankfully they were even in there-- and unlock the door to a warm tush. I push open the door and we are greeted with the smell of brownies and the rush of warm, almost hot air. I suddenly have a feeling of dread, wondering if Linda was here.

    "Hello?" I call out, holding a hand out for Mason to stay back. "Linda? Dad?"

   No answer. I turn back to him. "No one's home, thank goodness. I would get into a huge ammount of trouble if they knew I skipped class, and brought home you."

    He smiles. "What am I, a dog?"

    "Of course," I say, shutting the door behind him.

   "Ha-ha," he fake laughs. He looks around. "This place is nice. A lot cozier than my house."

    I wrinkle my nose. "It's badly furnished, but I don't think my pare- I mean, my dad cares. Linda probably does, but I bet she doesn't have the guts to say it."

    "You talk about Linda like you don't like her," Mason observes. "She's your stepmom, right?"

   "And nothing more," I say, collasping onto the couch. "She's not my real mom, even though my dad married her."

   He sits down gently next to me, his leg pressed against mine. I am marveled how longer his femur is than mine. "What does she look like?"

   I glance up at him. "Why?"

   "I don't know. She sounds familiar. Maybe I had her for a teacher?" He flashes a look over at me, as if confirming she was a teacher. No way.

   "She's not," I tell him. "She kind of remodels people's houses for money. Paints. Gets better furniture."

    Mason scrunches up his eyes and looks straight ahead, as if thinking about it. "Hm. . .  is that her, right there?" He points to a picture on the wall. It was my dad and Linda on their wedding day, with her beaming her white smile at the camera and her colored blonde hair hanging in waves down her back. She has brown eyes which seem to say, "I will remodel your home, and you will like it. Sweetie." Sweet brown, but ordering in the same way. It showed in every picture she was in.

   "Yeah," I say. 

   His eyebrows shoot up quickly, I almost laugh. "I know her! She came to the school one day, and talked with the principle. I was alone in the hallway when she smiled at me, then walked out. I don't know that they were talking about, though."