Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 27: Carter

My mom's voice is muffled on the other side of the door. My music is turned on low as I read through another chapter on world history. My classes, and corresponding homework, are insultingly easy, but like I've said a million times, I will never sink much effort into a school that hates me.

Besides, universities love an underdog story. If I write my essays to explain how the son of a single teen mom not only helped her go back to school, but then also helped himself, that's an essay worth reading. It's a story everyone wants to believe in. It's beating the odds. It's collegiate gold.

I throw my history book to the side of my bed and wonder who I'm kidding. Chances are colleges will see me the same way they see every other "thug" trying to change their life. Whatever. It's not like any of it matters, especially when I make as much as I do as a server.

My mom's voice arcs higher, slipping up an octave before crashing down into a whisper. I know that voice. It's when she wants to yell, but doesn't want anyone else to hear. Her voice tips into a scream for a mere second, right before she gathers control over herself.

I wonder what's gotten her riled up. I slip off my bed and inch closer to the door.

"No, I had no idea." Her voice dips low into an angry, controlled growl, followed by silence. "Oh sure, tell me this now!" Silence. "Well, it's not like he was doing something wrong, was he?" Silence. "You know, it's too late to be involved. Not now." Silence. "No." She pauses for a moment and breathes deeply. "Maybe."

I nudge my door open and peer out through the slit. Mom's pacing the living room, wearing a long tread into the carpet. She spins around as if on some crazy maternal six sense, and her eyes meet mine. She points to me and points to the couch, mouthing, "Out. Now."

Maybe it's my math teacher, though it's almost nine o'clock, which is a bit late for Ms. Everett to be calling. Though, I wouldn't put anything past that woman. She has it out for me, and maybe tonight she's finally spinning a story about how I tried to hurt her. How I'm violent, a menace, the epitome of societal ruination.

Mom would never believe any of that.

She lets out a sigh as I creep down the hall. "I don't know. You want to ask him yourself? He's almost an adult." She mutters something under her breath, not meant for me or the person on the other end of the line to hear. Her eyes are weary, tired and broken. I wish I could fix that about her. I wish she didn't have to worry as much as she does.

"He can make his own decisions." She sweeps a glare at me. "And does, clearly." She remains silent, giving me a look that could cut diamonds as she grips the phone with bleached fingers. Her arm trembles, and her lips turn down. The person on the other end comes to an abrupt halt in their frantic cadence of words.

"Fine. Okay. Sure. We can pretend, if you want."

The other person has a retort for that.

Her shoulders sag, her face turns sad instead of angry, and she leans against the wall. I sink onto the couch as her gaze locks on me once more. After a moment, she presses her eyes shut. "We can certainly try to make something work, but only because you told me you were impressed."

I tilt my head to the side, putting the pieces together. She's talking to her parents. I can't believe they called her this late on a school night. I haven't planned for this. In fact, I want to run back into my room and slam the door shut, because my mom will have an earful for me after this. And I would rather study history than be lambasted.

"Yeah, okay. We'll see, because we usually go to the Ortese's." My mom hums some confirmations. "I'll ask them. It's their house, not mine." Pause. "We'll talk later, I'm sure." She pulls the phone away from her ear and hangs up, giving me a level look. "I will ask this once and one time only." My mom tosses the phone to the opposite end of the couch, and it bounces twice before stilling. "Why?"