Strings Attached

Chapter Three

"Oh, I'm not." My mom entered the kitchen and smiled. She was wearing a very beautiful, flowered dress. I never understood how an ugly potato as me could be the daughter of a beauty queen like her. "Now, who wants to taste my chicken parmesan?"

Theodore grinned. "I do," he said shyly.

"I'm glad because it's ready," said Mom as she clapped her hands and opened the oven. "Oh, shit!"

My eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

"I burned my fingers!" she exclaimed.

"And you also owe the 'swearing jar' a penny," I told her, amused.

Theodore quickly opened the fridge's door and grabbed a pack of ice. He placed it on my mother's hands and told her to hold it for a little bit. He said that it would help to minimize the burns, and my mother smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she said.

I knew her burns were not serious, but the fact that Theodore worried about her made me smile. At least there was someone who felt like taking care of my mom, even if that someone was not her own husband.

"Thanks for your help, Christina," said Mom sarcastically.

I chuckled. "Sorry. It's just... you cursed!"

"I'm glad you find my profanity so amusing," she said, rolling her eyes.

I winked. "You know I love you."

She sighed. "And I love you, too."

"We are here," I told Theodore as I parked in the library's parking lot.

"Thank you," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Do you want to join me? There are lots of new books. You can borrow some, if you'd like."

"I don't know...," I said.

"It's fine if you don't. I just thought we could save gas that way. If you leave, you will have to come back later, and I don't want to be a burden."

"It's fine," I said. "You're not a burden."

"Well, I do feel like one," he said. "Just stay, please. You can do your homework here, and there are a lot of nice books. I promise it'll be fun." He stared at me pleadingly.

At least his definition of fun was the same one as mine. He enjoyed reading books and doing his homework, which were two things that I also enjoyed. Normal teenagers hate doing their homework and reading, but I have never considered myself normal. At least I was not the only abnormal teenager out there.

"I don't know...," I said.

"Well, I won't insist you," he said, sighing. "I am really trying to make this work, but you make it really hard."

I frowned. "I don't."

"You do, but it's fine." He opened the car's door and got out. "Your mom really wants us to get along, but maybe we are just too different. I'm sorry if I am not the kid everybody expects me to be. I'm sorry if I am a strange mix of everything. Sorry if my hair is too crazy or my tastes are too boring, or whatever it is that bothers you about me. I have decided a long time ago that society is not worth pleasing. If you have a problem with me, then I won't bother you anymore. Begging for acceptance is like showing people that you do not value yourself, and I am totally done trying to be accepted by others."

I did not really know what to say. It was as though he had read my thoughts. He completely understood how I felt about him. He knew I was trying to find out why he was so full of contradictions and why, as he had said, he was "a mix of everything." He was a rebel, yet he was responsible. He did not really care, yet he cared a lot. He wanted to show others that he was indifferent to it all, but one could see the pain in his eyes. He looked as though he was always hurt, and I wanted to know why. What had gone so wrong in this boy's life?