Fate Book by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page B

Santiago said.
    I jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even heard the door creak. It always creaked. The entire house was built like a squeaky wheel. “Where did you come from?”
    His brows knitted together. “From downstairs. What are you up to?”
    “Huh?”
    “You look like you’re up to something.”
    “No. Just…calling my dad,” I said.
    He stepped inside the room, and I stepped back.
    He frowned, perhaps displeased by my aversion to him.
    “It won’t happen again,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
    “What won’t happen again?” I hoped he’d meant the scaring me part.
    “I won’t kiss you again. I’m sorry. It was just a reaction. And after last night—” He stopped whatever he was about to say. Now, while I unsuccessfully attempted to purge erotic images of him from my thoughts, I wondered what he’d been up to the previous evening. But, whatever. I couldn’t help my thoughts, and I didn’t care why he’d kissed me. Or that I was developing some strange, dark obsession with him.
    “Fine. Whatever,” I said. “Can I just have some space? I have a lot of catch-up homework to do.”
    He was about to say something else, but instead closed his mouth and bowed his head, granting me my wish. He closed the door behind him, and this time I heard the floor squeak as he went downstairs. How did he turn his stealth on and off like that?
    I sank onto my bed and tried not to let the situation overwhelm me. I slid open my nightstand drawer and grabbed my journal. I began to write,
    If only I could make him go away. But how? If I made him up, can’t I unmake him up? I want my life back. As horrible as it was, it was mine. I knew I wasn’t crazy. Now, my life feels over, and I never even got to live it . Maybe I’m not meant to be happy. Maybe it’s time to accept that there is no future for losers like me.
    I lay down and pulled the covers up. My head hurt from trying to make sense of everything. I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.
    ~ ~ ~
    When my mother’s voice woke me, it was already nighttime.
    I looked at my nightstand, again forgetting I had not yet purchased a replacement clock. “What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes.
    “Just after eleven,” she replied. “How’s the head? How are you feeling?” she asked, turning on the lamp.
    I winced. “Okay. I had a headache. I guess I fell asleep.”
    She ran her hand over my hair and inspected my eyes. “It will take a while for everything to heal. By the way, where’s Santiago?” she asked.
    “He’s not downstairs?”
    “Nope,” she replied. “Maybe he got tired and went home.”
    “If I’m lucky, he’ll stay there,” I blurted out.
    “Did you two fight?”
    Fight? Fight? If only it were that simple. I didn’t know if it was the grogginess or the pent-up desperation, but I suddenly decided that I had to tell her the truth. And if Santiago told her about my father’s cheating, then so be it. Sooner or later, someone would tell her—I’d see to that—but I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t hold on to this any longer.
    “Mom, I don’t know how to say this, but Santiago is not my boyfriend.”
    She cocked her head to the side. “You broke up?”
    “No. I mean, he was never my boyfriend. He just… showed up in my life. I don’t know who he is.”
    She stared at me, and I could tell her mind was working hard. Then her face turned a sick shade of red, and she swallowed before pasting on the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
    “How well do we truly know anyone?” she said stiffly. “Relationships are difficult that way. Oh. That’s my phone ringing. You should rest.”
    I hadn’t heard her phone.
    “Mom, but there’s more. He has been—”
    “We can finish this in the morning,” she said, marching from the room.
    So much for telling my mother. And that reaction? It was as if she didn’t want to hear one word of what I had to say. She thinks you’re insane, that’s why. What mother in her right mind wanted to confront