Heartbeats

Chapter Four

I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. All I know is I woke up with my eyelashes wet in that annoying tears-of-joy way, cold and lingering. And I was tucked under Mason’s arm; I was close enough to his chest that I heard his heart beating evenly and his breathing play out relaxed and deep. Then I heard the key in the lock.

“Crud! Mason get up!” I shook his chest roughly. He mumbled under his breath (something about spaghettios and college). I smacked the middle of his chest, my hand flat and making a satisfying noise as it came into contact with his body.

“What?” he grumbled, grabbing my wrist so I couldn't hit him again.

“My mom is home,” I growled through clenched teeth.

“Seriously? Do I go out the window or something or would your mom be okay with a super sexy teen in your room?”

I glared at him. “She got mad at me for bringing Tesla home. I don’t think she’d be all too happy with you. No matter how sexy you think you are. And my windows don’t open,” I pointed out. My voice was so hushed and forced it sounded like hurricane winds.

Mason’s eyes went wide. “So where do I hide? The stereotypical closet?”

I thought about that, but there was no way Mason could fit in there. My decision was rushed as I heard my mom set her things on the table; hopefully, it wasn't the one Mason’s bag was on. “Er, under the bed. Go, go, go!” I shoved him off the bed. There was a small thud as he hit the floor. Then he rolled under the bed.

“Hey there’s something Hello Kitty under here!”

I fidgeted on the bed, bouncing a tad roughly and hoping I got my point through to Mason because my mom walked through the door then.

My mother (how unfitting that title can get at times…) was wearing a gray pants suit. I knew underneath she was hiding her gym outfit: pink sports bra and matching spandex shorts.

I do believe my mother had been pretty once. In an old album I found in the attic there was a black and white picture of her at a football game. Her legs were long out of the pleated skirt she wore. Her lean torso fit perfectly under the cropped top, and her hair was swept up into a tight ponytail. She looked very much like an angel, nothing altered or bleached. All was pure, natural, young beauty.

Now she was still pretty, but it wasn’t really her. The beauty was cruel. Her face was over-botoxed, her hair bleached to a point where it was almost white. Her chest was… well let’s just say many parts of her body aren’t really "of her body". She’s been to the plastic surgeon so many times they call each other by first names and have each other on speed dial.

“Was someone in here?” Her voice was soft due to her soft and formal upbringings.

“Nope. Why?” I could feel Mason shifting under me so I semi-hopped again.

“I heard voices. You and a guy,” she clarified to let her warning and purpose be known.

“Um…I was talking to the TV.”

“It’s off,” she observed.

“Yeah,” I laughed nervously. “You caught me the moment after I turned the TV off.” I couldn’t believe I was getting all this out with her believing me. I was trying hard now to keep my shocked expression from bursting out of my brain and soaking into the muscles of my face.

“Oh. Could you turn the TV on then?”

Darn it! I reached toward the foot of the bed slowly, trying to keep my attempts at shoving the comforter off my bed subtle. When I heard the soft rustle I snatched up the remote and hit the power button, hoping and praying something stupid like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles didn’t pop up.