Two missed calls and four texts. Boston was worried about me. The first text had come in while I was at the hospital, and the others came a few hours later when he realized I'd read the text but not responded. I knew it was only a matter of time until he came looking for me, so I had to say something. If he saw me, I would shatter. I had to make sure he stayed away.
After contemplating for hours on what to say, I finally knew what it would have to be. I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and pulled up the texts from Boston I had disregarded. My fingers flew across the touch screen keypad, ready to send this message and be done with it.
I stared at the check mark beside my message until the word changed.
My throat tightened when I tried to swallow. I waited for his response in trepidation. Ten minutes passed before I realized he wasn't going to answer. Well, that figures. I slumped down into my bedding with a sigh. Maybe he got the message that he couldn't come see me anymore. Even if what I had said was a lie.
The call of my mother's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. Dinner was getting cold, she was saying. I wasn't hungry, not even in the least bit, but I hadn't come down when she called earlier. Honestly, it was shocking my dad hadn't already come up to my room to check on me. I didn't know how I would hold up after what happened with Mateo.
It was easier, I learned, to simply not think about it. I couldn't forget the feeling of being violated, of losing a part of myself that I couldn't get back, but it couldn't be undone. If I hadn't opened the door in the first place, it wouldn't have even happened. Better yet, if I had never kissed Boston, Mateo would have never been triggered.
Boston...I sighed. That was a nightmare I would put off as long as possible too. Running my fingers through my unkempt hair, I slid off the bed and moved out of my room. I made a mental note to shower again after dinner. Maybe it would help me feel better.
A worried look was directed my way as I padded into the kitchen. My mom leaned off the counter where she had been on her phone and set the device aside. I forced a smile to ease her concern.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's, uh, just Rachel," I lied. "I'm worried about her."
Her lips pursed in sadness. "I'm sorry, love. Want a hug?"
Nodding, I slipped into her arms. She nestled me against her chest, and the sound of her heartbeat comforted me. I felt like a little kid again, safe and innocent. If only it was still true.
"When's your next lesson with Boston?" she queried, brushing through my hair with my fingers.
I couldn't help but stiffen. "Um. I don't know...but he's been really busy with other students. And, well..." Shoot. This was such a lousy excuse. "Mom, I think I'm going to request more hours at work. I know you wanted me to cut back and enjoy summer, but it'll be good to save up money."
"But...honey." Her brows furrowed. "You have a lot going on with Rachel. You should take some time to yourself."
"That's why I want to work more. If I'm just sitting around at home, I won't be able to thinking about anything else."
"Well, if you want to try that and see if it doesn't overwhelm you, then you can. You're a big girl now."
A more authentic smile inched up part of my face as I replied, "Sometimes. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now," she ordered, "go fix yourself a plate of that spaghetti I made. You need some color in your cheeks."
I rolled my eyes but did as told. Mother always knows best.
YOU ARE READING
Meeting Mr. WhitakerTeen Fiction
Is it possible to fall in love with the wrong person? According to Hazel Barrett, yes, it absolutely is. Especially if that person happens to be your teacher.