Asshole: There is no need for a lawyer. We are not getting divorced.
Asshole: Please call me back.
I didn’t even realize my chest was heaving until I felt the throbbing muscles inside working overtime. I loosened the grip I had on my mom’s phone and placed it back down onto the counter as it was before. There was a manila folder pushed off to the side, and I knew that it was probably from the lawyer.
This was the first I was hearing about a divorce. I mean, it made sense. Why would she stay married to a man like my father? It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.
Divorce.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Was I relieved? Angry? Happy?
The entire time I showered, I kept trying to decipher my feelings, but I came up empty-handed. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling.
I hated my father.
I hated him for putting us in this fucked-up situation.
Fuck.
After throwing on my gray sweatpants, I leaned back in my computer chair and peered out the window.
The glow from Madeline’s window caught my attention—not that it was out of the ordinary; her light was always on. The chair moved up and down as my foot bounced on the floor below. Too many thoughts, too many questions, too many feelings.
There was way too much shit going on in my head to put up any of my usual walls when it came to Madeline tonight. Her face snuck in there, her pouty lips and high cheekbones. My earlier Internet search was like a neon sign flashing behind my eyes.
Why was she taking sleeping pills?
My leg stopped tapping up and down as I continued to stare at her window. There was no movement on the other side, no passing shadows behind the closed curtain, but her light was on, and it was like a beckoning call to me.
I sighed as I stood up and walked a little closer, peering down onto the ground below. Her mother’s car was gone. Madeline was the only one parked in the driveway. Her father wasn’t home either—no surprise there.
It was time I paid little miss Madeline a visit.
Was it a smart decision?
Probably not.
But it absolutely served as a decent distraction, and maybe it’d stop some of these nagging thoughts I couldn’t seem to escape from.
Chapter Nine
Madeline
A week from hell. That was what this week had been. A week from actual hell. Not necessarily at English Prep. I just meant in general. I’d gotten a few hours of sleep here and there—at least one hour in my World History class. Hayley Smith knocked a book off her desk seconds before the bell rang, and although she didn’t look back in my direction, I was pretty sure it was to wake me up. I couldn’t decide if she was trying to help me out or if she was being mean.
I deserved the latter, but knowing her, it was probably the former.
Headmaster Walton called me into his office a few hours after that, during lunch. Mrs. Boyd, the old, widowed secretary with her hair tied in a bun at the nape of her neck, gave me a strange look before I headed for his office. The plump man sat behind his expansive desk, and when the door latched behind me, I couldn’t help but jump in my spot. His brow furrowed, his deep wrinkles looking more like hidden caves on his face. “Madeline, have a seat, dear.”
“What is it this time?” I asked lazily, taking a seat in the leatherback chair while pretending I wasn’t bothered that I was called down in the first place. The last time I was called into his office was because someone let it slip that I had stolen Hayley’s uniform after gym one time. I had to buy her a new one. I liked to call that time in my life the I-hated-everyone phase.
I still hated everyone, but I hated me more. I supposed a rude awakening would do that to you. Trauma had a way of changing you from the inside out.
Headmaster Walton took his glasses off the bridge of his nose, resting them gently onto his desk. “I called you in here because a few of your teachers are concerned.”
I fought hard to keep my shoulders level and chin raised. Give him no reason to call your father, Madeline. “Oh? About what? My grades are superb.”