Fourteen by C.M. Smith (short story to read .txt) 📕

that I was about to get one hell of a lecture, and plopped myself down on the middle of the couch. After taking off my shoes and propping my feet up on the coffee table, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for it to begin.

“You were right about some of the things you said last night, Anna, but that doesn’t mean that you had a right to say them.”

I narrowed my eyes at the silent television and hunched my shoulders.

“Your mom’s death was really hard on me . . .”

“It hasn’t been hard on me? It’s not like this didn’t affect me, too.”

“Would you let me finish?” I grunted. “I don’t know how to raise a teenage girl, Anna, and you’re a complete mystery to me. I don’t know what to do or what to say, so I just thought that it was better not to say anything at all. That was wrong.”

I snorted.

“But this is my house, and you have to respect my rules.”

“When have I ever not respected your rules, Dad? It’s not like we were having sex in the middle of the living room when you walked in or anything!”

“Close enough.”

“Right,” I looked over at the front door.

“I still don’t want you to be alone with him.”

I ground my teeth together and said, “Fine.”

“And if you’re really going to date him, I want you on birth control.”

He fidgeted, looking around the room like it was the first time he’d ever set foot in his own home, and I felt just as uncomfortable about where this conversation was going as he seemed to.

“I’m already on it, Dad.”

“What?”

“One of the things Mom did before she got sick was take me to get them. And I know all about the birds and the bees, so please, spare me that lecture.” I picked at my nails. “Was there anything else?”

“Have you been . . .”—he cleared his throat again—“have you been with him?”

“Oh, God.” I moaned and slapped my forehead.

“Have you?”

“No, I haven’t been with anyone.”

He was quiet for a few moments, and I just kept wondering if there was any way that this could possibly get more embarrassing and aggravating.

“Are you on drugs, Anna?”

Yes, apparently it could get more embarrassing and aggravating. I had no idea where that question came from because I didn’t think that I’d ever given him a reason to think that I was on drugs to begin with. If this question was because he’d seen me kiss Evan, I didn’t even want to think about the other questions that he might have had in store for me.

I blinked at him, my mouth moving without sound before I finally managed to say, “Excuse me?”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“You think that little of me?”

“Of course not! I just—”

“No, Dad, I’m not on drugs. I don’t smoke, I’ve never gone over the speed limit, I’ve never been suspended from school, and I’ve been accepted into my first choice college.”

“You were?”

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry, scream, or throw things to get out my frustration. I’d purposely left the acceptance letter from NYU that I received a few months ago on the kitchen table so that maybe he’d see it and say something or at least look at it and know that his daughter was moving away from this place when she graduated. I’d even foolishly hoped that he’d be proud of me.

“Yes, I was,” I said, folding my hands in my lap.

“Where’s that?”

“NYU.”

“You are not going to the city.”

“I’m not going to the community college.”

“Well you’re not going to New York, either.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too far away.”

“It’s three hours.”

“It’s too far away,” he said again.

“That’s the point!” I exclaimed.

“You want to get away from everyone here—including me—that badly?”

“Yes,” I said.

We sat in silence for what felt like forever, and I’d memorized every little groove of my fingernails before he cleared his throat.

“Well, I can’t stop you.”

“Do you even want to?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m invisible to you, Dad; we both know it.” I threw my hands in the air before letting them plop back on my thighs. “When I leave for college, what’s going to change for you?”

“Anna, you’re not invisible to me . . .”

“Sure I’m not, Dad.” I stood and smoothed my hands over my shirt. “Does my being grounded bar running as well?”

“An hour. If you’re not back within that time, I’m coming to look for you,” he said, his voice detached as he stared down at the coffee table.

“Because I definitely deserve to be treated like a prisoner, don’t I?”

I ran up the stairs without waiting for an answer, fighting off angry tears as I changed and threw my hair up into a ponytail. I slid my sneakers on and ran back down the stairs, grabbing my iPod from the table and walking onto the porch. As I stuck the ear buds into my ears, I let out a shaky breath and bolted down the porch steps.

It didn’t matter that I’d run five miles the day before and my legs had been protesting all day; I needed to get out and not be around anyone. I needed time to myself, and this was the only way I was going to get it with my dad being home.

I did my best not to think about anything but jogging my usual route and concentrating on the music flowing through the buds to my ears—nothing but the feel of the pavement underneath my feet. The wind hitting my face, and the relaxation I could only feel out here helped me to relax.

I came to the street before Steve Forrester’s house—like usual—and hesitated as I reached the corner. No one would be there yet; it was doubtful that even Steve would be there yet. After all, he had to drive into Albany to beg his brother to buy some beer from the liquor store he worked at so that everyone had something to drink. I pulled my iPod out from my pocket and