We decide to take a break from unloading boxes. We sit on the pillows we set out on the floor, because Ryder’s parents haven’t gotten their old furniture out of storage yet. It’s okay though because Ryder and I just talk about old times and what he’s gonna do with school and all of that kind of stuff.
The pizza arrives and we dig in right away. It’s about 12:30, so I’m really hungry. After eating at the same time for so long at school- 11:15- you just get really used to it.
I take just a few breadsticks, careful to not repeat our first date where I apparently acted like a pig. This time, I take two slices of pizza and only two breadsticks. Ryder has three slices of pizza and four breadsticks. I’m just glad I didn’t take more than he did, though I was still pretty hungry.
We started talking about school after we had finished the pizza. Ryder was going to start next monday. I asked him if he had his schedule yet, and to my surprise he said yes. I looked at his schedule, hoping we had a lot of classes together. We have Homeroom, SIA, Accelerated Reading, Spanish, English 2, Biology 2, and co-ed gym on even days together. It’s not really that much if you look at all of the classes, but it’s still a decent amount. I’m really psyched to have homeroom with Ryder. That’s the most social period of the day, besides lunch.
An hour had past but Ryder’s dad hasn't come back yet. Ryder’s phone went off and he read something. His eyes got wide and he about passed out. I immediately put my hand on his back to steady him.
“Ryder, what wrong?” I ask, comforting him.
“My… I just.. you should… you should go.” Ryder put his phone down.
I was curious, but sad at the same time. Was it me? No, it couldn’t be. I was here with him so it wasn’t like I could’ve done anything. Still I wondered if it was me. I was still so shocked at his immediate response, that it took me a while to realize what to say.
“Oh, okay. Are you sure you don’t need anymore help or anything?” I wanted to stay so badly.
“No,” He says loudly. “I mean, no thanks. You should go back home Bri.” He called me Bri. He has never called me Bri.
“What’s wrong?” I ask assertively.
“I thought you said you didn’t really like him.” Ryder’s tone is filled with anger.
“What?” I’m seriously confused.
“Jake,” how’d he know it was Jake? “You told me you didn’t really like him. That you just needed to get over me.”
“I didn’t like him! What are you even talking about?” I’m practically yelling.
“Then why are you giving him a lapdance in the theater with only a bra and thong on?” Ryder is enraged, and this is the first time I’ve seen him like this.
“I didn’t ever give anyone a freaking lapdance! Who told you that?” This is our first fight. I never knew it could get so bad so quickly.
“It doesn’t matter who told me. I have a picture to prove it.” Ryder shows me a picture of a blonde haired girl, whose face isn’t showing, grinding against a guy whose face is hidden as well.
“That picture is hardly proof! You can’t even see their faces, whoever they are god damnet!” I’m sure the neighbors can hear us.
“You, know, you’re just like Cass.” Ryder lets out a small chuckle which irritates me.
Cass. It’s Cass! Cass must’ve sceenshot the video of her giving a lapdance to Mr. Bettle and sent it to Ryder. I was furious! Cass has ruined so much for me. She ruined my relationship with Jake, she has made fun of my friends and me constantly, and now she ruined my relationship with only guy I’ve ever actually loved. That bitch. That whore. That freaking slut!
“You know what Ryder? You should do some research before you accuse me of things! That picture is of Cass giving a lap dance to Mr. Bettle for crying out loud!” I point to the pants the man is wearing, “Look! Khakis! No kid in our grade wears khakis, and a polo shirt with a tie around it!”
Ryder studies the picture. He’s always been smart, but now I see a hint of dullness across his face. Not that New York has made him stupid or anything, just that he seems so lost at this moment.
“I think you’re right, I should leave.” I say, picking up my phone and heading for the door.
“Wait! Bridgett, I’m sorry.” Ryder tries to call after me, but I’m already slamming the door and walking back to my house.
How could he just accuse me of something like that? Does he even know me? So many thoughts are racing through my head as I open and slam the door to my house. I see my mom laying on the couch, watching tv and playing Candy Crush on her phone. Typical. She must’ve gotten off early.
My mom is pretty much one of the most lazy people I’ve ever met. She’s always tired, or her back hurts, or she has a stomach ache. There’s always an excuse. She’s only 40, it’s not like she’s about to kick the bucket anytime soon. One time, she had used so many excuses that she was running out and she told me she couldn’t go to my Science Olympiad tournament because her thumb hurt. By now I’m pretty much used to her excuses. She doesn’t really care about me anyway.
“Home so early?” My mom doesn’t even look away from her phone screen. Any normal, caring mom, would know that an angry door slam would mean something is wrong. Not my mother.
“Yeah.” I say in short as I stomp off to my room.
For some reason, my mom’s idiocy especially irritates me right now. Probably because of the incident with Ryder, but regardless, I’m agitated. I think of something, anything, I could accuse my mom of just for the heck of it. I know it’s mean, but I have so much anger pent up that I don’t care.
I see an amazon box sitting on the counter so I tear it open. I see two women’s sweatshirts and a pair of yoga pants. Again, typical. My mom is constantly wasting our money on things she doesn’t need. My guess is $50 for each sweatshirt and $25 for the yoga pants.
“Mom! Did you seriously buy more clothes?” I hold up the clothes so she can see them, but she doesn't even look.
“I needed those.” My mom lies.
“For what? You wear scrubs to work anyway. Besides, you already have like fifty sweatshirts.” I rebuttal.
“I wanted them, so I bought them. It isn’t your business anyway Bridgett. Go take a shower or something.” My mom still doesn’t look up from her phone screen, like a rebellious teenager trying to boss around someone.
That’s what my mom reminds me of, a childish teenager. I just dismiss it, glad to get some anger out, and go to my room (not to take a shower). My room is quiet. I find myself daydreaming. I am holding someone’s hand, but I can’t see their face. Then they let go of my hand and run away. I try to run after them, but like a shadow, they disappear. Then I realize, the person is Ryder.