Work In Progress by A. M. Bryker (if you liked this book TXT) 📕

  I bounce my fist on the side of my leg, trying to decide what to do. Should I give him an easy out or make him wait until tomorrow? If he had found it important enough earlier he would have asked then, right? What could have distracted him so much throughout the whole day that he didn't think about what my name was?

  "Well," I say, coming to a decision. "You had the whole day to ask but you didn't. I don't know why. But if you can wait until the end of a school day to ask a girl her name, I'm sure you can wait until your next opportunity."

  He tilts his head to one side and regards me for a few seconds. Then he grins and says, "Wow, you are something. I guess I deserve that. I'll keep an eye out for my next window."

  We reach my house--finally. I'm not sure how much more of Jack I could have taken. He's a nice guy and all, but he seems... too nice. Too cheerful, especially for a senior in high school.

  Stopping in front of my door, I turn to face Jack. "Well, I'll be going now."

  I begin taking off his jacket, but he stops me, saying, "I'll pick that up tomorrow on the way to school. I live just a few houses down the street."

  "Really?" I ask, surprised. 

  Nodding, a huge smile plasters to his face. "Yeah, then maybe I'll get my next opportunity to ask what your name is." He winks.

  I blink. He's actually serious. Taking a small breath, I tell him, "Fine. See you then."

  His eyes dancing, Jack replies, "Sounds good. Thanks for letting me follow you around today."

  With that, he starts walking further down the street to his house, and I can't help but stare at his retreating back. He turns a little to wave at me. I give him a small, half-hearted wave in return, just to be more polite.

  Shaking my head, I open my front door and step inside.

As usual, my mom is home. She sits on a sofa in the living room. Her blond hair is pulled back into a messy bun. A few strands had come loose and now they frame her perfectly sculpted features. In her lap is a book, and when I enter she lifts her gray eyes from the pages. 

  "Where is it?" She demands, direct and to the point. 

  I answer by giving her the package. 

  Taking the package from my outstretched hand, she inquires, "How was school?"

  "No comment." I know she doesn't care. Why bother pretending?

  "Hmm, sounds exciting," she says distractedly. Her eyes are back to the book. 

  I make my way into the kitchen and open the refrigerator to see if I can find something to eat. 

  "Where's Dan?" As much as I don't care about her many boyfriends, I ask anyway. Usually Dan stays all day. 

  "He finally got a job."

  I smirk sardonically. "Is that your way of saying you kicked him out?"

  Taking her cold silence as an affirmative, I boldly inquire, "What'd he do this time?"

  I don't know where this sudden daring attitude came from, but if I don't tread carefully it'll mean trouble for me. My mom has the worst temper of anyone I know, and she isn't shy about showing it. I wonder all the time how any man can stand her. 

  Even though I'm in the other room, I know that she's raising her chin up higher, like a true snob. 

  "He upset me," she says simply, as though that's a totally normal excuse and explains everything. 

  She is such a brat. That's why I'm one, I've concluded. She's probably also why I resort to violence when someone annoys me too much. 

  I've read enough to know how a mother should act and treat her children. My mom isn't even close to what she should be.

  It makes me wonder why I haven't run away already--that's what countless children have done after enduring too much abuse. I think the problem for me is the fact that I have no idea where I'd go. I thought about ending my life once, but I never felt committed and the idea of death actually terrifies me more than getting abused. 

  After claiming a snack consisting of chips and a soda, I climb up the stairs and shut my bedroom door behind me. I grab my iPod and headphones before plopping down on my bed with my homework. The most important thing in my life at this point is homework. If you think about it, that's pretty sad. 

  As I'm deciding what to work on first, I notice a piece of lined paper that had somehow gotten into my history book. On it is a name and number. 

  I stare at the name: Jack West. Jack had given me his phone number. 

  How on earth did he manage to get a piece of paper in my history book?

  Then I remember. He sat with me during lunch, and I always bring my bag with me. That must have been when he did it. The sneaky little...

  Looking at the number, I try to decide what to do. Should I call him? Tell him to leave me alone? I doubt that would bother him or change his opinion of me. Why has he taken an interest in me? Why not any of the other better looking and more happy girls? I'm not even sure if he's made any friends yet. Probably not, considering he was with me practically all day and that can't have been good for whatever reputation he has.

  I make a face. No. As much as I would love to tell him off, I would rather not give him any more chances to ask me questions or make me feel envious of his cheerful nature. 

  Besides, there is homework to be done and memories to be forgotten. 

  Plugging my ears with my headphones, I start listening to my favorite playlist and turn up the volume. My head bobs up and down to the beat while I lip sync to the words and complete one assignment after another. 

  Even though I hate the people there, I love going to school. It gives me an escape from the house and my mom. Because it's pretty much the only passion that I have outside the house, my grades are always high and I don't get pestered by the teachers. In fact, a few have actually admitted to liking me despite my unnerving choice of attire and attitude.

  By the time I finish my homework, it's seven o'clock. I stand up to stretch my legs and shake the cramps from my hands. I pull my headphones from my ears. 

  Just then, the doorbell rings. A few moments later, Mom calls my name. Frowning in confusion, I emerge from my room and head down the stairs. 

  Mom stands in the doorway, blocking my view of the person standing outside. She's nodding more enthusiastically than normal, and my heart sinks. What now? 

  "What's going on?" I ask, almost afraid to know the answer. Whatever it is, the answer is no.

  Turning, my mom explains, "He wants you to join his family for dinner." 

  Mom has moved enough for me to see him. 

  Jack sees me, too, and says, "It was my parents' idea. If you don't want to, I understand."

  I look at my mom, hoping she doesn't say yes. The shake of her head she gives is infinitesimal. I don't think Jack even saw it. Relief floods through me.

  My eyes return to Jack. "I'm sorry, but I promised a night with my mom. Maybe some other time?"

  His smile wavers a little, but immediately goes back to normal as he says, "That's fine, another night might be better anyway. We're still kind of unpacking."

  "Thanks for the invite though," I tell him kindly, for some reason wanting to make things better.

  "No problem. Feel free to stop by anytime, okay?" Giving us one last grin, he turns and makes his way back to his house.

  As soon as Mom closes the door, I ask out of curiosity, "Why didn't you want me to go?"

  "You didn't want to go," she explained simply. "And he didn't even seem to know your name. Obviously he's not on any list of yours."

  Oh, he's on a list all right, I think. Just not the one he seems to want to be on.

  "Since when do you care?" The words leave my mouth before I get a chance to consider the repercussions.

  Her mouth tightens. "Watch your tone."

  "Or what?" I retort, not caring anymore. "You'll hit me? Nothing new there."

  The narrowing of her eyes is the only warning I get before I feel the sting of a backhanded slap on the right side of my face.

  Covering it with my hand, I glare at her. It's almost impossible to keep tears from welling up in my eyes, but I manage. Barely.

  "Watch your tongue," she says in a low voice, then adds, "Go to your room."

  Gladly.

  I give her one last death glare as I make my way up the stairs to my bedroom. When I close the door, I lock it. Pressing my forehead against the cool wood, I finally allow the tears to fall. I cover my mouth to contain the sobs as I slowly walk toward my bed and attain the comfort of my soft pillow.

  My body shakes.

  My head starts to ache.

  A restless sleep envelops me.

  I wake up to the sound of yelling and banging doors. I shove my face into my pillow and make a sound of frustration. Mom is on another tirade--with Dan, probably. 

  Groaning, I check the time. It's six a.m. You've got to be kidding me. 

  My face is still sore from last night's incident and I didn't sleep well because of the neverending nightmares, so I'm a bit more grumpy as I throw off my covers and stomp out of my bedroom. The yelling is coming from downstairs, so I cautiously take one step at a time.  

  Upon entering the living room, I find my mom standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen and her victim is cowering behind the couch. I can tell that Dan is out of his element. He's uncomfortable being yelled at, and it seems foreign to him to be yelling back at my mom.  

  When he sees me standing at the bottom of the stairs, he puts up his hands in a 'What do I do?' gesture and asks me the question in his eyes. I shrug my shoulders and fold my arms. All anyone can really do is wait out the storm. I almost feel sorry for him. He's a good guy and doesn't deserve such treatment. I'll tell him later that it'll just be best if he leaves her permanently. If he's wise, he'll listen to me.  

  After a few minutes of listening to them fight, however, I'm sick of it.  

  "Enough!"  

  My exclamation cuts off what my mom was saying, and she glares at me. Dan is shocked.  

  I don't care if I die from this. It needs to stop. So I continue.  

  Looking at Dan, I say, "I think it's time for you to leave. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away." 

  Dan thinks for a moment before nodding. Glaring at my mom, he gathers his belongings. A few moments later, the