Eight Letters. Three Words.

Eight Letters. Three Words - Ch. 7

Chapter Seven

Truth be Told

He did. I was sitting in the kitchen, and still couldn’t believe how he’d gotten my phone number. My mom had finished sweeping the impeccable floor, when she looked up and met my eyes.

"This boy you're going out with..." she began.

"We're not going out mom; it's called not-being-able-to-walk-to-the-library-so-we-crash-at-his,"

"Ohh..." she mused, the broom tickling the bottom of my feet.

I knew she didn't believe me, and knew that after what she had witnessed this morning I would never be able to convince her.

Mom, the Lodger and I were sitting around the table having breakfast; I was trying in a futile attempt, to undo the ponytail I'd slept with, huffing and groaning, and earning myself bewilders looks from Tom (the Lodger) when the phone rang.

"Good morning," answered my mom, "Oh, off course one second... Chloe?"

I quirked an eyebrow, "Tell Leela I'll call her later."

"It's not Leela,"

Sighing, I took the phone from her and quietly gagged as she kissed the Lodger on the cheek.

"I reckon that's not a very appropriate sound to make,"

And that simple sentence turned my Saturday upside down.

"What are you doing calling my house?" I’d hissed at him.

My mom's eyes darted my way, probably thinking if I was dealing with some kind of pedophile.

"A gentleman always keeps his promises, which reminds me that I should thank Ethan for his help,"

My teeth grinded together in irritation, "You have one minute before I hang up,"

"I'm on my way to your house. In other words; get that little self of yours ready. We have a date,"

"No we don't,"

"We are Foster, it's not debatable,"

And that's how I found myself sitting on the kitchen stool, hair wet from the shower, purple converse untied, and my muffin lying cold in front of me, as I waited for Dylan to pick me up.

"He was a very mannered young man," My mom said.

"It's called acting mom, I do it as well,"

Her eyes narrowed in my direction, as resigned left the kitchen.

The door bell rang minutes later I heard the floor creaking as my mom pulled it open, stepping aside.

"Good afternoon Ms. Foster my name's Dylan Miller." greeted his voice. I stood up from the tool, grabbed the muffin, stuffed it in a bag and picked up the ink stained handbag I was taking with me.

"Nice to meet you Dylan, please call me Marianne,"

Dylan nodded, until finally his eyes rested on me.

"Chloe said you'd be studying at your house," ventured my mom.

He smiled as his eyes scanned my nearly dry hair, "That's right, we have to start a English project we were assigned to do together,"

"Very well, have a nice time." She managed a wave, before leaving us awkwardly standing in the hall.

"Shall we?"

I followed Dylan towards his car, and glanced at him now and then as we drove to his house. He lived in a detached house, past a narrow drive way. A green Welcome mat greeted me, as I scanned the area. A tiny bicycle was parked against the front gate. Soccer balls scattered around the small patch of green, were visible from where I stood.