head, hoping it would somehow wash away the pain I felt.
It didn’t.
Eventually I gave up and climbed out of the shower. After slipping on a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt, my usual outfit, I walked out of my room and made my way downstairs. The smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air.
“Thought you could use a good breakfast,” Sofia said as I entered into the kitchen. “Made your favorite.”
“Thanks, Sofia.”
I went straight for the coffee maker and filled a mug, then made a plate for myself and sat at the table across from her. I stared at the food and felt bad Sofia had gone through the trouble. Despite being hungry, I didn’t feel like eating.
I’d known Sofia for almost ten years. She came to America from Colombia as a foreign exchange student. After taking several English classes from my mom, a professor at the university (just like my dad), she ran into problems with the INS and dropped out of school. Instead of allowing her to be sent home, my parents took her in. She eventually became our housekeeper and nanny.
Sofia was now in her early thirties. She was pretty, something Mason liked to point out whenever he had the chance. Only pretty wasn’t a term he generally used. He preferred a combination of the words hot, Latina and spicy . To me however, Sofia was like an aunt or big sister. Part of the family.
“So, no more football?” she asked.
I sent a spray of coffee all over the table. “You . . . you know about that?”
A mischievous grin crossed her lips. “Really, Benjamin? Coming home late and freshly showered every night? All those cuts and bruises?”
After a while, I asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I guess . . . you just seemed so happy. I almost confronted you about it several times. But I always chickened out.”
“So, you know about Friday then?”
She nodded. “I got an email from your principal yesterday. I was going to talk to you about it . . . last night.”
I stared into my coffee mug for several minutes. Sofia did the same.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I shouldn’t have . . .”
She held up a hand. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, Benjamin. But we can discuss it another day. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
“Thanks,” I said, again glad she was in charge for the time being and not my parents. I had a feeling they weren’t going to be so lenient when they found out I played football for a month and half. And got smashed in the head.
“You going to school?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.
I stared at my now-cold plate of food, and muttered, “Don’t think so.”
“Look, Benjamin,” she said. “I’m not going to make you go, of course. But you might consider it. Sitting around all day thinking about Megan won’t make you feel better. Being around your friends and classmates, might.”
I glanced at the time on my phone. Nine-fifteen, halfway through second period.
When I didn’t answer right away, Sofia gently squeezed my forearm, and said, “I’ll let you decide.”
I nodded.
“I’m going to the store. Send me a text if I need to call your school.”
After she left the kitchen, I took several sips of coffee and then picked my phone up off the table. Without thinking if it was a good idea, I opened the camera roll and scrolled to the only picture I had of Megan. It had been taken just a few weeks before when, surprisingly, we ran into each other at the Starbucks near my school. It was the first time we met outside of CyberLife.
Before she left, we snapped a photo. I sat in a leather chair with her seated on the armrest next to me. Even in the picture, her smile and bright eyes lit up the room.
My tears returned.
You’re only making this harder .
I stood up, tossed my plate in the sink, then walked to the breakfast nook’s bay window. The previous night’s storm left a thin layer of snow on the grass and trees, which now sparkled in the
It didn’t.
Eventually I gave up and climbed out of the shower. After slipping on a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt, my usual outfit, I walked out of my room and made my way downstairs. The smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air.
“Thought you could use a good breakfast,” Sofia said as I entered into the kitchen. “Made your favorite.”
“Thanks, Sofia.”
I went straight for the coffee maker and filled a mug, then made a plate for myself and sat at the table across from her. I stared at the food and felt bad Sofia had gone through the trouble. Despite being hungry, I didn’t feel like eating.
I’d known Sofia for almost ten years. She came to America from Colombia as a foreign exchange student. After taking several English classes from my mom, a professor at the university (just like my dad), she ran into problems with the INS and dropped out of school. Instead of allowing her to be sent home, my parents took her in. She eventually became our housekeeper and nanny.
Sofia was now in her early thirties. She was pretty, something Mason liked to point out whenever he had the chance. Only pretty wasn’t a term he generally used. He preferred a combination of the words hot, Latina and spicy . To me however, Sofia was like an aunt or big sister. Part of the family.
“So, no more football?” she asked.
I sent a spray of coffee all over the table. “You . . . you know about that?”
A mischievous grin crossed her lips. “Really, Benjamin? Coming home late and freshly showered every night? All those cuts and bruises?”
After a while, I asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I guess . . . you just seemed so happy. I almost confronted you about it several times. But I always chickened out.”
“So, you know about Friday then?”
She nodded. “I got an email from your principal yesterday. I was going to talk to you about it . . . last night.”
I stared into my coffee mug for several minutes. Sofia did the same.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I shouldn’t have . . .”
She held up a hand. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, Benjamin. But we can discuss it another day. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
“Thanks,” I said, again glad she was in charge for the time being and not my parents. I had a feeling they weren’t going to be so lenient when they found out I played football for a month and half. And got smashed in the head.
“You going to school?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.
I stared at my now-cold plate of food, and muttered, “Don’t think so.”
“Look, Benjamin,” she said. “I’m not going to make you go, of course. But you might consider it. Sitting around all day thinking about Megan won’t make you feel better. Being around your friends and classmates, might.”
I glanced at the time on my phone. Nine-fifteen, halfway through second period.
When I didn’t answer right away, Sofia gently squeezed my forearm, and said, “I’ll let you decide.”
I nodded.
“I’m going to the store. Send me a text if I need to call your school.”
After she left the kitchen, I took several sips of coffee and then picked my phone up off the table. Without thinking if it was a good idea, I opened the camera roll and scrolled to the only picture I had of Megan. It had been taken just a few weeks before when, surprisingly, we ran into each other at the Starbucks near my school. It was the first time we met outside of CyberLife.
Before she left, we snapped a photo. I sat in a leather chair with her seated on the armrest next to me. Even in the picture, her smile and bright eyes lit up the room.
My tears returned.
You’re only making this harder .
I stood up, tossed my plate in the sink, then walked to the breakfast nook’s bay window. The previous night’s storm left a thin layer of snow on the grass and trees, which now sparkled in the
Similar Books
