Nor (Wattpad Featured Story, WriteAffair finalist)

Chapter 52: Friend or Foe?

OK, who is this idiot who had to call me while I'm driving? And won't give up? Hello, if I'm not picking up, that means I can't talk.

I ease up on the gas as I see a red glow at the next traffic light. Once I'm fully stopped, I yank out my phone. Actually, it could be Wes, but I already told him I'm not coming over today. I'm going straight home from school, because I'm tired and I have homework to hand in tomorrow. French. Which he offered to help me with. To which, I answered, 'If I come by, you're not going to teach me French. You're going to teach me how to.'

I check the name. What do you know – it's Michael. I clear my throat before coming on. "Hello, Michael."

"I guess I should thank you."

"Yeah, this is a perfect time. No, I'm not doing anything important, just driving and trying to focus on the road and not crash because I'm talking on the phone."

"Great. So, like I said, thank you."

The light turns green. I press a little hard and jerk in my seat. "For what?"

"I found out about that kid getting arrested."

"Oh, yeah."

"Who is he, anyway?"

"He was the leak, you know, with Nate and the others."

"No kidding! You mean he's the guy that got everybody caught?"

"Yeah."

He whistles. "You are good, Nora Sullivan."

"Well, I had a lot of help from Pia and Brian."

"Great. I love it. You guys are good Watchers." He takes a pause, making a sucking sound like he's nursing a cigarette. "So, Brooke told me you really gave up with the money thing."

"I told you I can't do it anymore."

"So you're just going to leave everybody in the lurch?"

"No, I'll find some other way. Just as I did with you."

I can hear him chuckling to that.

"Besides, I don't think you're giving people enough credit. They can handle themselves pretty well without me, or anyone else. Look at the Watchers. They came out long before I ever tried to help."

"And I'll keep it up."

"Just … do me one favor, Michael."

"What?"

"Cut Brooke some slack, will you? Just because you don't like her doesn't mean she wouldn't be good on the Watch."

"Who said I don't like her?"

I raise my brows at this, but he takes another drag, not offering anything else. Well, what do I care? Whatever it is going on between him and Brooke, that's their story. I've got my own hands full with Wes. "OK. So are we done?"

"Yeah. But, hey, you know what? Call me if you ever need anything, Sullivan."

"Sure. You too."

I hang up, already on my street. I park, finding Maggie alone upstairs, half-heartedly reading a magazine. She puts it down the moment I step in, looking up at me. "Hey."

"Hey, Maggie."

"How was school?"

"Fine. How was your day?"

"Yeah … fine."

I start to pass her on the way to my bedroom, but she goes, "Nora."

"Yeah?"

She hesitates, and this gets my attention. I see that she's staring at the floor in a weird way, eyes dull from whatever's bothering her.

"You OK?"

"Yeah. It's just … this is kind of weird for me."

"What is?"

"I know I'm not your mom. But I do try to look out for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," I answer, growing puzzled.

"OK." She smiles at me, looking sincere. She knows I trust her. I just wonder why she cares so much that I trust her. I wonder why she takes such an interest.

"Well, I'm going to go take a shower."

She doesn't say anything, and I take off. That night, I bury myself in homework, not letting Wes talk to me for more than a few minutes each time he calls. As I write the date at the top of a new assignment, I suddenly realize something.

No more death-day this year. I'll be away at college.

I chew on a pencil, trying to imagine a compromise. I could do an early one. Tomorrow, which is Saturday. That should give me a lot of time to take things at my own pace. I wonder if Wes would want to come with me. But that would be so weird. 'Hey, Wes, want to come help me celebrate the day my mother's heart gave out?'

Brian never wanted to be a part of it. I sigh. Might as well go it alone. What were the steps again? I have the list somewhere. I roll across my bed, digging through my dresser drawers. Yup, here it is. My English paper, the one that got Mrs. Calhoun so freaked out. I can't help laughing at it now. I spread the paper out next to my alarm clock, flattening the creases, wiping out smudges.

Last year, October tenth sucked, but this is the third year of the anniversary. Three. Third time's the charm, right?