Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

“Well I had a few free minutes and thought I’d try to catch you.”

I frown. Is that music in the background?

“Well, tell me, how is Lee Vines?”

“Good.” How much do I tell her? Do I mention school? Football games? The guys? Everything feels off limits. I flip the script. “How about you? Busy?” There’s a pause, like she’s not exactly with me. “Mom?”

“You know, Starlee, it’s really not a great time. I’m right in the middle of something. But yes, things are busy. Really busy, and I hate to cut this short but I kind of need to go.” Rustling in the background. Another pause. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah sure. That’s fine.”

I didn’t have anything to say anyway.

“I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart. Tell your grandmother hello.”

She hangs up.

I stare at the phone. My mother hung up. On me.

I take a moment to process this and what it means. Honestly, I’m not even sure. Am I upset? No, I don’t think so.

Confused? A little. Was she not alone? That would be weird.

Relieved? Possibly. She didn’t sound mad—just distracted?

I pick up the receiver and I dial Jake. He answers on the first ring.

“You ready to finish this thing?” I ask.

“Hell yes. I’ve written some of my essay too.”

If he were here, he’d see the relief on my face. Instead I just say, “Good. You can read that to me, too.”

I can hear him flip through the pages of his book. “I’ve got twenty-six pages left. That’s at least two kisses, plus I think at least one bonus kiss for finishing the book. How about I show you my essay when I come over to collect my reward.”

I wrap my finger around the coiled cord of the phone. “You know the rules.”

“What? Your grandmother can supervise.”

“Gross. And no, she can’t. She’s down playing ’cards’, or whatever that means, with Tom.” I stretch out on the bed. “And stop procrastinating and start reading.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbles but quickly falls into the story. When he’s finished, he asks, “Hey, can I call you back in a minute?”

“Sure.”

I take the break to walk down the hall and go into the bathroom. I change into my pajamas, yoga shorts and a tank. After, I put up my hair, brush my teeth, and wipe a smear of white zit cream on the pimple threatening to explode on my forehead.

Walking back into my room, I toss my clothes on the desk chair and pass the window. I freeze, sensing rather than seeing something outside. A loud rap on the glass makes me jump, and I’m not exactly surprised to see Jake’s face in the dark.

I open the window. Cold air rushes in and my body, only covered in a thin tank, reacts accordingly. I quickly cover my chest. Then remember my zit. Ugh. “What are you doing?”

Jake’s eyes linger below my neck before saying, “I wanted to show you my essay.”

“Dude, you’re going to get us in trouble.”

“They said no unsupervised time in the house. This,” he points to the ground, “is not inside.”

I stare at him for a minute before shaking my head. “You know that’s not going to fly if we get caught.”