The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Sixteen

 Chapter Sixteen

       “Mom, I’m home!” I yelled, slamming the door roughly behind me.

       “In the kitchen,” she called back as expected. After jogging up the steps, I came into the kitchen to see a very typical sight: my mom was baking. What. A. Shocker.

       “Hey!” I greeted, headed straight over to the fridge to see what I could possibly indulge myself in as a form of an afternoon snack.

       “Hi, sweetie. How was school?” she questioned, stirring something around in a large, glass bowl.

       “Fine,” I shrugged, not wanting to go into details about the day’s events. “I’m going to hang with Dylan later, okay?”

       “Is he the boy who you met at the park who practically kidnapped you?”

       “That’s him,” I confirmed, taking out a tub of cookie dough that happened to be sitting in my fridge.

       “Liz! Don’t eat that!” my mom scolded upon seeing my snacking choice.

       “Why not?” I demanded, slowly taking the circular lid off of the container.

       “Because it’s unhealthy, and I’m more than sure that there are other ways to fulfill your hunger rather than eating sugar,” she explained.

       “Organic sugar,” I corrected her after reading the label.

       “I don’t care what type of sugar it is, please, put it away,” she requested.

        “Whatever,” I sighed, sadly putting back the bucket of uncooked cookies into the fridge. I looked around the stuffed cooling system, and settled on having raspberries. She couldn’t complain about fruit.

       “Are you going to be here for dinner, or are you and your friend getting it together?” she asked, as I plopped one of the small, brightly colored pieces of natural sweetness into my mouth.

       “I don’t know,” I replied, taking my bowl of raspberries, about ready to leave the room.

       “Then I’m getting takeout,” she proclaimed.

       “You do that, mom,” I said, exiting the kitchen and trudging down the corridor to my room. I needed to change; the pink cupcake and white pants combo wasn’t working for me.

       When I reached my room, I immediately put down my raspberries and then threw of my shoes, rubbing my aching feet. Heels were invented in hell. Once my feet were able to breath, I went over to my dresser, and pulled out a pair of charcoal sweats and a white T-shirt. I yanked the cupcake blouse off, and slipped on the more loose-fitting tee. Somehow, I then managed to wiggle out of the white jeans, and put on the cozy sweatpants. I felt like I could actually breathe.

       I went over to my desk, turned on my laptop, and opened up iTunes. When my library appeared, I pressed shuffle, and started tapping my finger to my knee as the overplayed, unfortunately mainstream sound of Drake and Lil Wayne’s “The Motto” filled my ears. I was then ready for the grueling task of beginning to attempt my homework.

After a good hour of starring blankly at my computer screen mixed with typing a few words for an essay due next Monday, I heard a loud honk, and jolted up. It was undeniably Dylan. He had texted me during the last period of the day telling me that he would pick me up at my house “Whenever”. I guess five o’clock was what Dylan considered “Whenever”.