Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,46
summer, Walsh invited me, and I didn’t want to let him down. Not with everything going on with him lately.
“I’m sorry.” Dad’s voice was totally unapologetic. “You don’t get to be disrespectful without consequences.” He looked down at his wristwatch. “I need to get going if I’m going to be out by a decent hour. You know how much I hate working on a Saturday.”
“We’re done.” Mom drew in a breath, pressing her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry about this, Sophia. You know we hate taking away your freedom.”
When had they ever taken away my freedom? And they decided to be actual parents now? When I actually have a life?
I wanted to say something snarky in response, but I didn’t want to risk adding to my sentencing.
“I’m trusting that you’ll stay home today while we’re gone,” she added, raising her eyebrows at me while Dad disappeared down the stairs.
“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go anyways.”
I’d opened the door wide open for her. What about Scott? she could ask. Edith? She wouldn’t know to ask about my newfound relationship with Walsh, but I just wanted her to say something.
Mom just looked relieved, adjusting her workout top and moving toward the stairs. “Oh, I left some pizza for you in the fridge in case you get hungry.” And she disappeared from view.
Shiba sat by my windowsill with me, keeping me company as the day passed into the next. Saturday rolled into Sunday, and then Sunday into Monday, and all the while, I sat at home. Doing nothing. I had to be the perfect child for my wishy-washy parents, displaying my best behavior so that maybe tomorrow, the Fourth of July, when I asked to go out, they would say yes.
Sure, it was a long shot, but it was my only shot. And I just needed to patiently wait to shoot it.
I sat cross-legged on my bed in the afternoon, a book propped between my knees. It was the one Walsh and I had sat in his car reading, and I took my time reading through the parts he’d commented on, trying to recall his exact words. It’d been two days since I left the house last, and two days since I’d heard from him.
The doorbell chimed, pulling me out of my Walsh-themed rabbit hole. I threw my legs over the side of my bed, tossing the book to the side. Shiba hopped down from the sill, following me out into the hall. She tried to weave in between my legs, nearly making me stumble down the stairs.
When I opened the door, Edith stood on the other side.
Her dark hair was twisted into a side braid, tight and professional, her green eyes wide and looking up to mine. “Your door was locked,” she said, sounding confused. “If you’re going to be locking your door, you’ve got to give me a key. You’re lucky it wasn’t raining.”
Seeing her in front of me, hearing her voice—albeit, a little snarky—took a heavy weight from my shoulders. “How did you know I was needing company?”
“When I’m not practicing volleyball, I’m practicing the art of reading minds.” She winked theatrically.
“Where have you been?” I demanded, shutting the door behind her. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, tipping her head. “I’ve been… around.”
“With Zach?”
She didn’t even have to answer—her small grin told it all. “Not all the time.”
“Boyfriends outdo girlfriends now?”
“Not my boyfriend.” She started toward the staircase, leaving me to shut the door and follow after her. I thought she’d say more, but she reached her hand out to me. “Come on, let me curl your hair to make up for my disappearance. It could use some TLC, no offense.”
We walked back into my bedroom while running my fingers over my head, feeling for any knots. “I haven’t been out of the house in a few days.”
Edith went over to my vanity and pulled out the curling iron, plugging it into the wall. She turned it to the middle setting before facing me. “Boys are a distraction,” she told me, voice calm and nonchalant.
“Oh, please. It’s summer. Prime time for distractions.”
“No, summer is for volleyball training. For volleyball dedication. Nothing but volleyball.”
In a way, I understood her dedication. How she felt about volleyball was exactly how I felt about my article.
I sat down at the chair and turned to face my reflection. Edith was right; my hair was crazy, a downright rat’s nest. I thought