Nor (Wattpad Featured Story, WriteAffair finalist)

Chapter 11: Visitor

I'm surprised to find my father in the apartment on Sunday morning. He's walking around the living room, talking on the phone. He paces, he nods, he makes occasional sounds of either calm attention or mild disagreement.

"So?" he goes to whoever he's talking to, the cord of the phone trailing behind him like a curlicue tail. "Enough is enough. It's been two months, we're racking up costs. She's not offering to pay the interest, is she? No."

I gaze at him, suddenly curious at that moment about Maggie. Is she really your girlfriend, Dad? Is she going to be coming here again? Do I have to learn to make nice with her?

I wait on a stool in the kitchen for a while, but am surprised by how long his phone conversation goes. Eventually, I give up, returning to my room, though when I pop the door backwards behind me, it doesn't close fully. I drop stomach-down on my bed, my eye drawing reluctantly to my bag and my file lying at the end. My French book is sticking out, staring at me with its stupid title.

"Really?" My father's voice. "When?"

I ignore him, taking out my French book and the worksheet we're supposed to finish. Ah, sentence structure. What the heck is velleite? I chew on my pen, listening as my father continues, "Oh, that's a pretty good deal. Yeah. No, Willman's are cheats – I learned that long ago."

That's when I hear something else. The doorbell. I stiffen a little. Maggie?

"Hey, sorry, Kurt, I've got to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye." My father hangs up, going to open the door. I listen, expecting a woman's voice to rise, and hearing a man's one instead.

Wes!

They murmur something between themselves for a minute, while I resist the urge to get up and run out of the room. But I don't have to. Because after that, my dad's cell rings, and he goes to pick it up, leaving Wes to wait. And with nothing better to do, and my door ajar, what do you think he does?

Knock, knock. "Nor? Are you in here?"

I shift on my elbows, turning my head over my shoulder, hair brushing my chin. I give him a nod before turning back to my homework. I have to admit that my face feels a little warm. Wes has seen my room before, but only from outside. He's never actually stepped past the threshold until now. Worse, I'm wearing my oldest shorts and a top where you can see the outline of my bra from in front. Mustn't sit up no matter what.

"What are you doing?" he asks me as he stands next to my bed. How casual he sounds. How causal this is not for him to be in here. Why do I feel nervous?

"Homework."

"First thing in the day?"

"I've got a mountain of stuff due tomorrow, and it's not like I have anything else to do."

He pauses, nodding as if he's really interested in this. He takes a step closer, peeking over me. His shadow feels monstrous over my bed, over my little body. "French?"

"Yep. You know any?"

"Oui, cherie. Why?"

"Really? Oh, thank God. What's this word?" I lean up to show him my book.

"Want. Noun form. Desire. Longing."

"Oh. OK."

"How about this?"

"That means being scared."

"And this?"

"Try."

"Ah. OK. Thanks. I didn't know you were such a proficient Frenchman."

"I did alright in it at school."