Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

We hang up, and as much as I want to change my shirt again, I know in the long run it doesn’t even matter what I wear to school. A shirt won’t change the past and wasting time worrying about it is pointless. I did the whole change my hair and my style thing the beginning of sophomore year, and all it did was draw more attention to me. I didn’t blend in like I’d hoped. I stood out and made the bullies target me even more.

With another heavy sigh, something I find myself doing a lot of lately, I grab my backpack and head down the stairs. My parents are both home, an unusual occurrence for the first day of school, but what’s more bizarre is both of them sitting in the kitchen, seemingly waiting for me.

“Good morning,” I mumble, trying to hide the confusion in my voice.

They nod in greeting, but a heaviness fills the room that stops me in my tracks rather than allowing me to grab something quick for breakfast before heading to school.

“What’s going on?”

My heart bangs in my chest. My first thought is that something happened to Nan.

But that wouldn’t explain the scowl on Dad’s face.

“We’re going to have a houseguest,” Mom says as she brings her steaming cup of coffee to her lips.

Dad grunts, clearly not happy with whatever she’s talking about.

“A houseguest?” I tilt my head, waiting for clarification. We hardly have anyone over. They’re gone too often to entertain anyone regularly.

“Eden was my best friend growing up,” Mom begins, and I dig around in my memory, trying to figure out why that name sounds so familiar.

My eyes widen when realization hits me in the chest like a bulldozer.

“Benson? As in Zeke’s mom?”

“Did you meet her while you were visiting Nan?”

I shake my head, keeping my mouth closed about the only time I’d seen her in passing was when she was climbing into the ambulance the night Zeke’s dad was taken to the hospital.

“Well her husband, Daniel, passed away last week, and—”

I can’t hear what she’s saying over the blood rushing in my ears with the news. Zeke’s dad died? Emotion clogs my throat as my heart breaks for him. Was that why he was so upset that night in the barn? He didn’t say a word about it, but looking back, I realize he was hurting. The way he clung to me, the way he cried and refused to look me in the eye, all of it must’ve been due to his recent loss.

“—so he’s going to stay with us for a while until Eden settles things in Utah and finds a place to stay here in town.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, having missed her part of the conversation, but surely I didn’t just hear what I think I heard.

“Ezekiel will be staying with us until Eden finds a place to stay. He can’t miss the first couple of weeks of school.”

“Couple of weeks?”

Dad grunts again, and I look to him for help.

“He can’t stay here,” I argue.

“They don’t have the money to put him up in a hotel. Besides, Eden is like a sister to me and forcing family to live in a hotel is cruel when we have the room for him here. It’s the least we can do to lessen their burden.”

I don’t say a thing about Eden even though I’ve never heard my mother mention her once in my life. It’s a complete surprise that she’s opening up her home to Eden’s son when the woman has never come up in conversation before.

Like a sister.

What a joke. My mother doesn’t form connections to people. Not her own daughter or her husband. Work and traveling is all she really cares about until now, that is.

“No hanky-panky,” Dad says when Mom finally closes her mouth.

“Wh-what?” I look at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I don’t want you messing around with that boy while he’s here,” Dad says with a look of disgust on his face.

“I won’t,” I say.

And that’s the truth. I mean, I’m not going to explain that we’ve already slept together and that he left me alone in the middle of the night. I have no intention of getting close enough for the boy to touch me much less within a distance that allows—

I shake my head again and clear my throat. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“We can’t take off work to supervise you two,” Dad continues, like my assurance isn’t enough. “You’ll have to behave like mature adults. I need you to keep a responsible head. No parties, no skipping school, and no hanky-panky.”

“I think she gets the point, Paul,” my mother mutters before turning her attention back to me. “I think he’s driving in today, so he should be here by the time you get out of school. I expect you to make him feel welcome—”