Bad Boys Guide | How to Get a Good-Girl

Step Five: Get Yelled At By Her Dad

Angelica walked me over to her house to give me tutoring lessons today after school. I brush off the thoughts of dreams that I've had for the last 2 days, and become as confident looking as possible.

"So you're really no good at writing?" she asks me out of blue, as we come up on her block.

"Nope! I guess I just don't like it." I respond nonchalantly.

"Don't like writing?" she asks, astounded, but even her gasps could knock me off my feet.

I laugh, then shake my head. "Don't like writing." I approve.

"That's horrible!" she says, and shakes her head in disapproval.

"I am, aren't I?" I say, and do a little bow in exchange for a good laugh from Angelica. None comes.

"Don't say things like that!" Angelica says, and looks genuinely concerned. She stops moving, so I do, too. We're standing in front of a house's door. 4958, the number on the door reads.

"This is my house," she says, backing up and swinging her arm dramatically as if she wanted 1. show it off, or 2. make it seem like less than it was. I guess it's probably 2, since the shy look on her face tells me everything I already knew.

"Great! Should we just walk in, knock, or..."

"This is my house, silly. We don't need to knock."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Sorry about that." I say, and, without allowing it to happen, I turn flustered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

"It's alright!" She says, and opens up the door.

Her house is very neat, surprising me slightly. I don't know what I was expecting from the most put-together girl in all of Riverside High, but it wasn't... this.

She took off her shoes and I followed suit, then walked up her stairs all the way to what I thought to be her room. I was right.

I was in Angelica's room. If you ask me, I'd say it's pretty big to get into your crus-- target's room.

"You can set your books here," Angelica instructs, pointing to a desk with a spinny chair.

"Thanks," I say again. She's done so much for me, and will continue doing more without even knowing it. It's too easy.

But if it's so easy then why do I feel myself blushing whenever I'm around her? Why did I dream about her last night, so lucid I could smell her strawberry breath? Why do I suddenly have the urge to back out of the guys' game and just... be myself?

"Okay," she says, pulling over a chair for herself and leaving me sitting in the spinny one. I slowly turn a few inches, back and forth, back and forth. I repeat in my mind, for no reason in particular. It is only then I realize that Angelica has asked me a question.

"Uh... Shakespeare?" I say, thinking that since we're studying English, that must be what the question was about. Spoiler alert! It was not.

"Huh? I asked you if your parents where okay with you being here, and you respond with 'Shakespeare'?"

"Um... no?" I say, and Angie laughs. I see a piece of hair fall into her face, and we both glance at it, but Angelica doesn't move to push it out of the way.

Without knowing what I'm doing, I reach out, and tuck it behind her ear.

Then, her dad walks in.

"Hey Angie, I brought sna--" he starts, then sees me, and freaks.

"What is this boy doing here?!" He shouts, looking quickly from me to Angie, who acts quickly.

"Remember I said a friend was coming over to study?"

"Yes, but you never said it was a boy friend!" he retorts, and I mentally groan. So that's what this is about?

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!" he says, just as Angelica answers her own question with a loud, "No!"

"You," he points to me, a scowl across his face, and continues, now pointing to the door. "Get out of my house."

I do so quickly, and once I've left, I text Angelica.

Hey, sorry about that, I didn't realize he didn't know I start, then immediately delete most of the message. Hey, it now reads, and I groan. How do you even start a conversation with a girl anyways? I quickly ponder this question, then type, you good? without thinking too much into it. 

Sent. Read. Typing.

Then an alert pops up. It's from Angie. Yeah, are you though? My dad can be a little bit harsh when he misreads the situation. I think about that for a moment. So Angie's dad misreads situations frequently? How's her life at home then? It can't be too bad, he was offering her snacks, but...

Did he misread the situation, though? I text without thinking, and just as I'm about to delete the entire message, I step in a dip, and my finger hits send.

She doesn't respond.

That question is all I can think about the entire walk home, as I lay awake in bed, and the next morning on my way to school. Did he misread the situation? I desperately want Angie's answer, but since she never responded, I'm too afraid to ask again.