I wrote this when I was thirteen. I DON'T RECOMMEND READING

Chapter Eleven

The Next Week

          I hadn’t gone to school all week. My mum didn’t even bother to make me. I hadn’t even spoken to her. She had been too busy trying to get hold of Jasen to even deal with me. I just stayed in my room all day, every day. Jasen had called to let me know that he was staying in an inn in Dublin. Of course, I didn’t tell mum.

          Melinda has been in and out all week. She has decided to quit her job and move back home so she has been at job interviews all week.

          There was a knock on my door, “Ari? I just came to check on you. You haven’t come out all day.” Melinda said. She came in and set a glass of water on the table next to me. “Please talk to me.”

          “Do you know who it is?” I asked suddenly before I could stop myself.

          “Ari...”

          “Answer me.” I begged. “Please.”

          She took a deep breath and sat at the foot of my bed, “Yes.” She paused. “All I know is his name. I never met him.”

          “What is it?”

          “Robert Dalton.” She stood up. “Don’t tell your mother I told you. It’s eleven o’clock. You should eat and get some sleep.” She backed out of the room and closed the door.

          I took out my laptop and searched Robert Dalton. There are hundreds of Robert Daltons in the world. I clicked on The Republic Of Ireland. Two hundred forty five Robert Daltons. I clicked on my county. Twelve Robert Daltons. Only one was in the right age range. I clicked on the name.

          A profile popped up.

Robert Dalton

Forty-two Years Old

Married

Ireland

          So, he’s married. That’s just great. I wonder if was married when he my mum had an affair with him. I wonder if he knows about Jasen and I. I think as I look at his picture. He is definitely my father. Same eyes, hair, nose.

          I always wondered where Jasen got his height from. My mother and the man that I called ‘dad’ are both short. Now, I know. The man in the photo was standing next to a woman, who I assumed was his wife. He towered over her by at least two feet.

          I wrote down his number and address and stuffed the paper under my mattress. I grabbed my laptop and opened my door. I stormed into my mother’s room and saw her sitting at her dresser brushing her hair. I put the laptop down in front of her, “Is that him?” She put her brush down and looked at the screen without answering me. “God dammit, answer me! Is that him?”