The (Im)Perfect Escape

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

June 18th – 6:49 P.M.

Hot, scolding water pours down on my arm, but I barely notice it. Instead, I’m too focused on the fact that the number scrawled on my arm has yet to fade away. No matter how hard I scrub or how many days go by, the numbers just won’t go away. Next time I see Logan, I’m totally inking him up—preferably putting a big black moustache right across his face.

At least the ink is somewhat fading now. It’s not as dark, as it was when I first got it, but if a person squints hard enough, he or she can most definitely make out the numbers. Awesome. Just awesome.

The phone starts ringing, causing me to scoff and turn off the water. I race down the few steps we have in this house to grab the phone. I know, I know. What one-story house has stairs, but I’m in this crazy Texas town full of people that have gnomes named Phil in their head that talk to them and a man that has a strange obsession with Google: it makes perfect sense.

I pick up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Lila? Is that you? Just the person I was looking to talk to!” An animated, husky voice comes from the other side of the phone.

I try to ignore the water dripping from my arm for a few seconds, but as soon as it starts flowing at a steady rate, I scoff and go in search of a towel. “Grandpa? Is that you?”

“Yes, my dear, it is. What are you doing?”

“Just looking for a towel. You?” I walk to the cabinet by the bathroom and open it up.

“A towel?” I can practically see his eyebrows furrowing together.

“Oh, Larry! Did we catch you when you were in the tub? Larry, I told you we should have called earlier, since we’re messing with her rubber ducky time.” My grandmother’s voice startles me, and I jump. When did she get on the line?

When I see there are no towels in this cabinet, I sigh and close it. I start on a new search for the towels. “No, no, I was just washing my hands and then heard the phone ringing. I wasn’t in the tub at all.”

There’s a brief pause, before Grandma’s voice rings loud and clear through the phone. “I’m sorry we didn’t call earlier, but we’ve been so busy this week. Your grandfather started playing golf, and we have oodles and oodles of doctor’s appointments this week. This is the first chance we had to call and see how you’re doing in Texas!”

I bite my lip, as I finally locate the closet with all the towels. I won’t say that I haven’t noticed the lack of phone calls from my grandparents, because trust me, I have. I tried to chalk it up to the fact that I’ve only been here for a few days, and they don’t need to call me every day to coddle my fragile ego—insert roll of eyes here—but now I’m starting to wonder if they really did just want to ship me off. They’re supposed to be living their wonder years, but instead they’ve been raising their whacked out granddaughter for the past three to four years.

Seriously, why did my grandmother have to sign me up for acting lessons? In my theatrical mind, I’m on a soap opera, but truthfully, I have a much better chance on being on one of those stupid half an hour comedies that aren’t even funny.

I take an uneasy gulp, as I grab a towel out the closet. “Um, Texas is nice. Very pretty.”

“Are the people treating you nice there?” Grandpa asks.

“Yeah, you know they say about that whole Southern hospitality thing. I guess it’s true.” It’s better to just make up something nice than try to explain all the messed up people here. I’m not so sure how my grandparents would take the fact that my only real friend here is a boy who claims to be stalking me.