The Amanda Project: Book One

The Amanda Project: Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Don't tell me that, George. Do not tell me that."I was on the stairs, and my dad was in the living room, but still his voice boomed. My Scribble Book was under my arm, and I almost dropped it as I rushed to the kitchen, where Amanda was sitting.

 

"Let's go upstairs," I said.

 

"George, you've been my lawyer since Ursula and I got married. You know what this house means to us."

 

Amanda looked up at me. "Callie, it's okay." The cups of cocoa we'd been drinking were half-full, and I grabbed both of them, like they were the things that would lure Amanda away from my screaming father.

 

"Will you just . . . will you please come upstairs with me?" Why had I left her downstairs when I went to get the book? I knew my dad was on the phone. I knew how quickly things with him could get out of hand.

 

My eyes were stinging and I blinked hard.

 

"I am not losing this house, George. Not for twenty-five hundred dollars. This is our home."

 

Amanda slid her chair back from the table and walked around to where I was standing. She didn't say anything, just took my wrist and gently touched the tattoo I'd gotten earlier in the day. Then she followed me as I headed back up the stairs.

 

"No, that's where you're wrong. She is coming back. She is coming back, and when she does, she's not going to find out that I've defaulted on our mortgage. I'll get the money. You have to tell them that . . ." We were halfway up the stairs now. If he would just stop shouting, we'd be out of earshot.

 

But what came next was even worse than the shouting had been. "Please, George. I'm begging you. I can't lose this house." As I pushed shut the door to my room with my foot, I could hear his voice breaking.

 

"I'm really sorry," I said. My voice was shaky and so were my legs. I slid down the wall to the floor, placing the mugs next to me. Just the thought of drinking the thick, sweet liquid turned my stomach.

 

"You don't have to be sorry," said Amanda. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, and her big eyes, heavily outlined in black to match the rest of her Patti Smith punk-rocker look, bore into mine.

 

"I'm just . . . I'm so embarrassed. He's not usually like this." But even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. Sure, once upon a time he hadn't been like this. Once upon a time he'd been Funny Dad. Nice Dad. Even Handsome Dad. The first time Kelli met him, she'd said, "Your dad is soooo cute. He totally looks like George Clooney." Now, with his pale, unshaven face, sunken eyes, and thickening belly, he was almost scary looking.

"Really, Callie," said Amanda. "It's going to pass. He'll be okay."