Messages on a Coffee Cup

Chapter 2

  I ran into the house screaming at the top of my lungs as I cradled the now empty coffee cup in my arms.

   "Holland, honey, why are you yelling," mom asked clearly annoyed with my shenanigans. "Did that famous Brian O'Dylan kid twitter you again?"

   "Oh my God. Mom, his name is freaking Dylan O'Brien!! And no he did not TWEET me again," I yelled back with copious amounts of sass as I made my way into the kitchen. 

   My mother and I had a very interesting relationship. With my father's abusive past, she took hits for me but for some reason, I still fought with her, mostly over the stupidest of things. But I loved her more than anyone, I just wished I could tell her that more now. 

   She glanced at my coffee cup and glared right at me. You see, mom believed that I had some sort of "addiction" to Starbucks. I got lectured every time I'd come home with a cup. It's like a caffeine intervention, you know, minus the whole therapist and rehab parts. 

   "You do know that if you drink too much coffee you will slow down your metabolism eventually causing-"

   "Mom, there are more important things going on right now! Like, I don't know, poverty or something!"

   I grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and walked upstairs to my room. The last person I wanted to talk to about love with was my mother. She would want to meet him and meeting him meant him coming over which also meant him meeting my father and my father is.. well.. a father. He'd mess up any guy who gets even remotely close to me. Let me explain. October of 2011, grade seven, Thomas Lynowski and I were put together for a group project and I invited him over so we could finish the project. The poor kid looked at me and smiled and dad threw a man tantrum resulting in Thomas' mom filing a restraining order against us. Needless to say I was eventually forced to switch schools. Why was I even thinking of him meeting my parents, I literally just met him.

   As soon as I got into my room, I did what any other teenager would do in such a situation, I called my best friend Kimberly. Kim and I only met in freshman year but it felt like I'd known her forever. She was the one I looked to for book recommendations and late night house escapes. She was the only who had ever been there for me no matter what. 

   "Holland! Hey how's it going," she asked sarcastically.

   "What's up your ass? No need for sarcasm," I responded bitterly.

   "I need to get out of this God forsaken house! Hold on a sec," she said. "Derek get off the damn phone. God you're such a perverted creep! Sorry about that Holland, I'll be there in ten."

   Before I could respond, she hung up.

Alright. Yeah, sure Kim you could come over. I'm not busy or anything. Then again when am I ever busy?