Curvy Girls Can't Date Quarterbacks - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,75
jive with the life I’d lived in this house. “Mom wants me to be perfect.”
Dad shook his head. “She wants you to have the kind of life she didn’t have.”
My eyebrows came together. I’d seen photos of my mom at prom, all dolled up with her hair curled to the heavens and a silk dress falling off her defined shoulders. I doubt she’d lead the kind of life that resulted in being showered with cupcakes and plotting to get guys to like her.
“You didn’t know your grandma like she knew your grandma. But that’s not my story to tell.” He stood from the chair. “Your mom might not be perfect, but she loves you.”
Frustration rose in my chest. “She has a funny way of showing it.” Mom had no reason to treat me the way she had, and yet Dad was still defending her.
He lifted his eyebrows, staring at the floor. “Yeah, but then again, you love Beckett, and I have a feeling there are some things you wish you could have done differently. No one’s perfect, kid.”
My bedroom door closed behind him, and I collapsed onto my bed, held my pillow to my chest, and cried myself to sleep.
Forty-Four
My life existed in my room while I was suspended. I couldn’t paint. Couldn’t read. Couldn’t bring myself to open my computer or charge and check the dead phone Aiden had brought back from the school where I’d left it in the locker room.
What would be the point?
I was wallflower Rory all over again. The one who didn’t have friends messaging her or plans after school or anything to look forward to other than another day of a bland, vanilla life.
I missed Beckett like he was a limb. Knowing I wouldn’t see his name on my phone again left a hole in my chest. But that was nothing compared to what would happen when I had to face him at school.
His eyes. Those hazel eyes that held a world of understanding and emotion. How would it feel to have them slide over me, wishing he could forget me and what I’d done to him?
Not only had I broken his heart, Aiden told me Beckett had been injured early in the second half—tweaked his wrist again. He’d sat on the bench for the rest of the night, didn’t go out with the team after the game. Not that there was much celebrating to be done now that the Drafters wouldn’t be going to the playoffs or boasting a win over Brentwood Academy. And it was all my fault.
But I couldn’t hide in my room forever under the guise of suspension when what I really suffered from was a broken heart.
No, Thursday I had to go to school and face all my peers as a pariah. Mom drove Aiden and me to school that day, and not a word passed between the three of us, continuing the silent streak between Mom and me. I stared out the car window and watched people pass by. Watched the school parking lot—and Beckett’s Mercedes—come into view.
Just the sight ripped the pulsing wound in my chest right back open.
Aiden’s hand crossed the back seat and squeezed my own.
The corners of my lips lifted. I wished I could tell him how thankful I was to have him, but I couldn’t, not in front of Mom. I squeezed his hand back, then rested my hands in my lap.
Mom put the car in park and cleared her throat. “Rory, Birdie Bardot wants to see you before first period.”
My lips tugged down. “Do I have to?” I really didn’t have the energy for our guidance counselor’s peppy attitude and even perkier outfits.
“You’re lucky to be here at all,” she reminded me stiffly.
“Fine,” I said. One of the handful of words we’d exchanged since Friday night.
My legs still hurt, but I got out of the car and kept pace with Mom and Aiden into the school. There weren’t many people outside, but those who were stared at me. And not in a friendly way. The presence of a teacher at least fended off some rude comments. For now.
Since Mrs. Bardot’s office was near the entrance, I didn’t have to face everyone yet. Mom walked past me to her classroom, and I lifted my hand and knocked on the counselor’s door.
“Come in,” she tittered in a too-cheery voice.
I turned the tarnished silver handle and stepped inside, my eyes landing first on her sitting behind her desk and then on her white bird, Ralphie,