Band X

Chapter 13: Unexpected Hiccups

I'm home. I'm dressed. And I'm waiting. I'm pathetic, really, waiting right by the front door like some desperate teenager. Which I am. My makeup is done, thanks to Isabelle, and I'm already itching to rub my eyes and wipe it all off. I'd leave dark mascara tracks down my cheeks. My smoky eye would turn into a zombie kind of look and scare Thomas away.

Speaking of Thomas. He's not here yet. It's 5:55 and no sign of him. I know we said 6:00 but I'm wondering if the next five minutes will go by and then it will be 6:00 and then five more minutes will go by and then five more. Then he'll officially be late and will never show up.

I'm always on time. Early, even. Ridiculously early. Once, I had to go to this girls' house after school to work on a group project and I was an hour early. I waited in the car until some of the other group members showed up and then walked to the front door. I hoped I looked casual like I just got there but they probably saw me sitting in my car, doing some deep breathing exercises with my eyes closed. This is part my personality and part anxiety. What if I get lost and show up late somewhere? What if my car breaks down? What if, what if, what if. These are the words I live by.

So for Thomas to not be early says something to me. It says that he doesn't care enough to be here until the very last minute. It also says that he's not all that anxious to see me. What it really says, though, is that I'm nuts and that normal people usually show up on time and don't sit down the block in their cars waiting for the perfect moment to arrive.

My mother appears behind me in the front hallway. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

I jump and nearly fall back into her. "I'm waiting!"

She rolls her eyes. "Out here? Like, where he can see you through the windows in the door? You don't think that looks a little, you know, desperate?"

Once again she read my mind. But this time I don't find it spooky. I find it irritating and I roll my eyes back at her. "I just want to be ready when he gets here, mom."

She narrows her eyes at me and puts her hands on my shoulders. "Into the kitchen. Now."

She turns me around and marches me back down the hallway. I look over my shoulder back to the front door and hope to hear the chimes of the doorbell. I'm disappointed at the silence but I'm also telling myself that it's no big deal. So what if he doesn't show up? It's not like he really likes me.

My mother plops me in a chair and bends down to look me in the eyes. She looks irritated but I swear I see a smile behind it all. She thinks I'm amusing. I'm not amusing. I'm pathetic.

"Listen." I cringe. No good conversation ever begins with the word listen. "He's not late. If he were here by now, he would be early. You have five minutes until he gets here. Quit hanging out by the front door like a big weirdo and take a few deep breaths."

I lean back as far as I can in the chair and stare at the ceiling. It's not easy for me to take breaths, although my mother seems to think that's the solution to all my problems. It's like when you have a stomach ache and the first thing one of your parents asks you is if you've gone to the bathroom or if you need to.

I imagine myself breathing deeply while sitting on the toilet. It's a gross image but I can't get it out of my mind.

"Carter?" I focus my eyes to find my mother's face inches from mine.

I scoot my chair back a little. "What?"

"You went away there for a few minutes. What were you thinking about?"

I don't want her to know I was imagining myself doing some deep breathing exercises while in the bathroom. She'll think I'm crazy. Or crazier.

"I was just wondering where the hell he is..."