Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

What they don’t understand is that Frances Young is the epitome of everything I hate in life. Sweet, innocent, and full of hopes and dreams. I can’t even succeed at my own life. How can I even begin to be responsible for someone else’s?

Love and relationships don’t do anything but weigh you down. Having someone watch me while I fail doesn’t seem like a good time to me, and if I look at my own parents, it’s just another reason it’s better to be alone forever. No matter how many years of love and dedication you put in, everyone ends up disappointed in the end. I don’t need another judgmental witness to my failures.

Staying away from her won’t be hard for me, but I also know everyone, Mrs. Jacobson and my dad mostly, will be thrusting us at each other relentlessly all summer long. I’d like nothing more than for the girl to go home and just leave me to suffer my meager destiny alone.

As the house grows quiet, the TV turned off and my parents going to sleep as strangers in the same bed, I stare at the ceiling. I normally don’t waste my time worried about my station in life. It is what it is, and there isn’t much I can do about it. I don’t know what it is about that stupid girl that makes me hate the things I can’t control even more.

This summer may just end up being the longest three months of my entire life.Chapter 4Frankie

“I don’t know.”

I stare at the wall, waiting for Piper to continue. She hasn’t been exactly forthcoming about what happened the night of the accident.

“So you’re home, and he’s still in the hospital?” I ask when it’s clear she isn’t going to give me any more information than what I’m able to pull from her by force.

“Yes. My arm is in a soft cast, and I have a mild concussion, but he’s suffered a traumatic brain injury. I don’t know anything else.”

“Why did you even get in the car with him? He could’ve killed you both.”

“I have to go, Frankie. Being on the phone makes my head hurt. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The line goes dead, and I’m seething once again. Am I not worth at least a goodbye? I can admit that just hanging up is much better than the goodbye I got from that jerk Ezekiel. It’s been four long days since he left me standing with my jaw hanging open in the driveway.

He’s been around. Even though yesterday was Sunday, he was still on the property with his dad taking care of the cows. I avoided him of course, staying in my room and watching him from the window, hoping he would fall while working. He didn’t of course. His body is a machine. The boy doesn’t so much as wince when he lifts things that seem to weigh just as much as he does, and don’t even get me started on the way he lifts his shirt to swipe at the sweat on his face. We have athletes at Westover Prep, but I haven’t seen a set of abs like Ezekiel has ever before.

Groaning in frustration that my mind has once again wandered to him, I flop over on my bed. I’d planned on spending the day sleeping, but Piper only seems to call first thing in the morning, and the bright sun seems to infiltrate the room no matter how tight I pull the curtains.

I remind myself that I’m here to spend time with Nan, and that’s the only thing that gets me out of bed and into the shower. As I wash, I remind myself that I’m grateful it’s only been her and me at the supper table the last couple of nights. She’s only brought up my date to attend the county fair half a million times as if it’s next week rather than over a month away. I wanted to tell her that Ezekiel was a two-faced jerk, but I don’t think she’d believe me. If she’d seen him act any other way than he did the night he smiled in her face, I don’t think she’d try to set me up with him. That just goes to show how much of a master manipulator the boy is. It’s only three months. I’m certain I can keep my distance from him for that long. When the date arrives, I can pretend to have a stomach virus.

I don’t bother drying my hair, opting to put it up into a messy knot on the top of my head. I don’t have a single person to impress anyway.

“Hey, Nan.” I kiss my grandmother’s cheek as I enter the kitchen. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

“I’m trying to decide what to make for supper.”

I laugh thinking she’s joking as I look up at the clock. It’s not even lunchtime, but as she flips through a tattered cookbook, I realize she’s serious.