The Boy on the Bridge

Chapter Ten

“What the fuck?”

I fade in and out of consciousness as the world shifts beneath me. I’m groggy, struggling to separate myself from the dream I was just lost in. My sudden, jarring ascent back to reality has me momentarily disoriented.

What is happening?

My mom’s voice again, louder this time. “Get out of my house!”

“Shit.”

My mom screaming didn’t entirely make sense, but my blood runs cold at the sound of Hunter’s voice. Hunter and my mom in the same room. My bedroom.

Oh crap.

Oh my God, we fell asleep.

“Mom,” I slur, shaking my head as I sit up, trying to pull it together.

“You, not a word,” she says, pointing at me, her eyes flashing with anger. “You.” She points at Hunter, even as he stumbles over and grabs his clothing. “Get out of my house and don’t come back.”

“Mom, it’s not what it looks like.”

“He’s not wearing clothes!”

“Yes he is, he’s just not wearing a shirt…” I trail off, looking over at him. He is wearing clothes now. He got the T-shirt on in record time, but instead of looking at me, he’s looking at my mom, his expression guarded.

“Get out,” she says again, her eyes wide.

Hunter spares me a glance, but he doesn’t stick around to defend himself. He darts past my mom without a word.

I feel bad, but I know he probably has to get home, too. When I get in trouble, my mom says stern things to me. When he gets in trouble, it’s much worse.

Oh, no. How mad will his mom and stepdad be? Surely after what happened last night, Hunter should be safe today… right?

Oh God, what if he’s not? What if he gets in so much trouble for not coming home last night that something bad happens?

Not even taking into account the fact that my harmless mother is about to blow up, I grab my phone and quickly type out a text to Hunter asking him to let me know that everything is all right after he gets home.

“What are you thinking?” Mom demands, staring at me like I’m an unfathomable creature instead of the daughter she raised. “He stood you up last night, Riley. He couldn’t even be bothered to show up for a movie date and you jump into bed with—” She cuts herself off, running her fingers through her dark hair in aggravation. “Please, please tell me you were at least safe. I cannot believe I have to say this to my 14-year-old daughter. My God, I have failed. I have failed as a mother.”

“Mom, stop.” I’m so uncomfortable I want to flee the room, but I understand why she’s jumping to the wrong conclusions. “Nothing happened. I know how it looked, but trust me, it wasn’t—”

She holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t even try it, missy. I need coffee before I can deal with this. Come to the living room. We’re going to have a serious talk.”

“Mom, we don’t need to have a talk. Not about this. Please, I am literally begging you—”

“Nope. You are not getting pregnant. We are talking about this.”

I sigh heavily as my eyes roll back into my head. “I told you, nothing happened!”

“I told my mom that, too, and nine months later you were born. Living room. Couch. Now.”

I huff, flinging myself off the bed and stomping down the hall to the living room.

I can’t believe she won’t even let me talk, but I tell myself brewing a pot of coffee will give her time to cool down. It could just as easily go the other way, though. It could give her more time to stress out about something that didn’t even happen.

Mercifully, by the time she comes in she seems to have calmed herself down a little. She stands in front of the couch and looks down at me as she grips her mug of coffee.

“I was 15 the first time I had sex.”

I sigh, sinking back into the couch. “Oh. Okay, we’re going to have this conversation.”

“It was with a boy I had been making out with in a stairwell at a party. I had only met him a couple times before. That night was the first night we had even spoken to each other. It was extremely unspecial. That is not what I wanted for you,” she says, sitting down beside me and placing one hand over mine. “You deserve special, sweetie. You deserve for your first time to be with someone who loves and respects you.”

“Mom, we weren’t—I’m not—it wasn’t like that. Nothing happened.”

She stares at me hard, wordlessly expressing she doesn’t appreciate my sad attempt to lie to her. “Honey, he was half undressed. A boy you like, a boy who snuck into your bedroom in the middle of the night, was lying in your bed with his shirt off and you in his arms.”