The Separation Situation: Sequel to The Renovation Complication

8. White Rabbit

Tori

I don't think I can ever forgive Kasey for dragging me through yet another pedicure. I hate them. I don't mind manicures, even the hair salons are fine, but people staring at your toes for an hour? It's weird. Mega weird. Super weird.

And what's weirder is that I didn't even fall asleep, when I really wanted to. Dammit, brain, why can't you learn the right time to pass out? Literature isn't at all the right time. Pedicure is.

I had to suffer through an hour of detention for that. I didn't even fall asleep then.

I'm out of whack today. I need to forget about any studying and go straight to bed. I'm sure I'll wake up when Mason calls me in half an hour. It's only five thirty, and Kasey made me shut off my phone during 'relaxation time'. I had to sit there and talk to (apparently Kasey's pedicure pal) Melanie about my cuticles and her cuticles and everyone's cuticles.

When I jump out of the red sports car, I'm plagued with the weight of my body. My head is about to fall off my shoulders and roll into the land of naut. When I reach the fifty six stones paving the drive, I do a double take. When did we get that mailbox?

What about the one that looked like a cute little bird house? I guess Ashley got tired of not checking the mail from it. That's my job. Which reminds me...

I trudge over to the now strategically designed box with angles that point in no sensible direction. Fighting the urge to roll my eyes at Ashley's 'modern' taste, I pull on the lever. At least... I thought it was the lever. The thing doesn't budge.

I narrow my eyes at the challenge.

With a lot of grunting and abuse toward an object I'm sure is insulting me under its breath, I realise that the latch may be on the back. Expecting it to be another struggle, I tug on the thing with a little more force than necessary. And snap it off.

"Crap." I mutter, inspecting the clearly unusable mailbox.

"Are you good there?"

My head snaps up at the voice, a little startled. A witness.

"Yeah," I wave the fragment of mailbox in my hand and straighten to face the spectator. And swallow my tongue. "What are you doing here?" Oops, I guess I didn't swallow hard enough.

The new kid from my Lit class stands on our neighbouring lawn, looking a little surprised. A tad frightened, he gestures back at Mason's house. "We moved in last week."

Oh. I guess it's not Mason's anymore. My heart sinks at the thought.

I nod absentmindedly, deciding that I may as well fetch the mail out of the shattered box. I try not to say anything insulting again. "It's Liam, isn't it?"

"Yeah. And you are?" There's nervousness in his voice that I almost laugh at. I was in his place two years ago; just moved in, not knowing anyone. I suppose it couldn't hurt to let him know his new neighbour. Even if I didn't want to know mine.

"Tori. Aspen." I add on, waving envelopes at the house while trying to make sense of the letters typed on the front.

Bills.

Bills.

Bank notices.

Survey.

"You're the one who didn't want to sit beside me in Lit, right?" At this I glance up to his grey eyes, not all that apologetic.

"It's not that I didn't want you to sit there, it's that Kat really wanted you to sit beside her." I explain, lies falling from my lips. Lies are like plaque that settle on your teeth and on your tongue. Some people have so many in their mouth that you can practically smell it on their breath.