If I Fall by Anna Cruise Page B

too long before finally sinking into the soft chair. I didn't want to do anything she asked me to do. She sat down on one side of me, my dad on the other.
    Dad picked up the wooden serving fork, loading Cheri's plate first. I swear she batted her eyelashes at him as she spooned shredded Parmesan over her salad.
    He turned to me. “How much?” he asked, waving the fork toward the bowl.
    “ I'll just have bread.”
    “ Why?”
    “ There's chicken in it. I'm a vegetarian, remember?”
    Cheri pursed her lips and looked down at her plate.
    My dad frowned at me. “Can't you eat around it?”
    “ No.”
    He put a pile on my plate, anyway. “Well, try.”
    I took a piece of bread and buttered it, taking a bite of it instead.
    The table was silent.
    Cheri cleared her throat. “So, Megan.” She paused. “How is school?”
    As if that was going to open me right up. “Fine.”
    She tried again. “Do you have a favorite class?”
    “ No.”
    “ Stop,” my dad said. I could tell he was pissed.
    “ What?”
    He glowered at me. “You're being an insolent brat. Grow up a little and show your stepmother some respect.”
    I bristled at the word. “She is not my mother.”
    “ Damn right she's not,” he responded and I knew exactly what he meant. That she was a thousand times better than my mother. “And she deserves your respect.”
    “ Greg, it's...” Cheri started to say but I cut her off.
    “ And if I don't?” I taunted, the anger and resentment building.
    “ Then you won't be welcome here.”
    I laughed. “That's fine with me.”
    I should have stood up and walked away. Retreated to the frilly, ridiculous bedroom that they'd provided me. Rode out the visit in there until I could head home the next morning.
    But I didn't. I was too angry. Too hurt.
    I turned to Cheri.
    “ You're a home-wrecking whore and I hate you.” I was surprised at the loathing in my voice, at the overwhelming animosity I felt toward her, even more surprised than the look of shock and hurt that crossed her face.
    My dad pushed away from the table, his expression livid. “You're done here.”
    I picked up my plate and smashed it hard against the table. It shattered into four almost even pieces, a mix of red and green splashed across the table, like one of the paintings from the living room walls spilling across the glass. After staring at it for one horrified moment, I turned and, without a word, opened the front door and stalked down the steps.
    And no one stopped me.
    My mind was black, a dark, suffocating black as I walked away from the development they lived in and toward Highway 1. The scene in the dining room replayed over and over again, grainy, black and white images of my dad's horrified expression and Cheri's shocked reaction. Like a YouTube video, I replayed the conversation—my hate-filled words and my dad's anger. He'd told me I was done there. I didn't know how he'd meant it but one thing was sure. He'd made his choice and it wasn't me.
    A horn honked and I startled away from the street. The traffic had lessened some but cars still raced past. I didn't see them but I heard the engines and the muffled sound of car radios. I imagined where the faceless, nameless people in those cars might be going: out to dinner, to parties, to homes that weren't as broken as mine.
    The sky darkened and I walked further, heading south, not really sure what I was doing or where I was heading. My buzz was fading and despair filled me as I realized that my dad would not be coming to look for me. No one would.
    I reached into my shorts pocket and pulled out my phone. Still no text from Aidan.
    I texted him again and called him twice. He didn't answer.
    I kicked at a rock. Who else was I going to call? How the hell was I going to get back home? Not to my dad's but to my house. I couldn't call Jada. She didn't have a license but it was more than that; we just weren't friends anymore. A few months ago, I could have called and she would have told her