front of him and his empty pasta bowl on the small table beside him. Her mom still hadn’t returned from whatever “work emergency” she was dealing with, so it had been just the two of them eating the spaghetti that Cassidy had grudgingly made. More because she couldn’t be bothered to decide what else to cook than because she thought her mom’s idea was a good one. However, at her father’s question, she immediately looked up.
“Why?” She put aside her own pasta bowl as she remembered the eerie sensations she’d been feeling lately, and the burning eyes that had been emblazoned in her mind. Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up, and she gave a little shiver. “H-have you noticed something?”
“Actually, I have. It’s my daughter, and she seems to be watching my every move,” her dad retorted in a dry voice. Cassidy let out a private groan. Talk about getting her wires crossed.
“I’m not watching your
every
move,” she protested before raising her hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. But I’m worried about you.”
“Cass, you can’t keep looking at me like I’m made of cotton,” he said, and she saw the hint of the temporary tattoo peeking out from under his shirtsleeve. It should’ve made her smile, but she couldn’t quite muster one.
“Yes, well, if I don’t do it, then who will?” Cassidy retorted as she pointedly glared at the empty chair where her mom normally sat and then over to where his crutches were lying on the floor.
“We’ve talked about this. I’m fine. The surgery is over, and in a few weeks I’ll be crashing your school disco and embarrassing you in front of your friends with all of my slick moves.”
“I’m pretty sure that discos haven’t existed since 1985,” Cassidy pointed out before letting out a sigh. “But fine, point made. I’ll stop being so overprotective.”
“And stop giving your mom such a hard time?”
Cassidy went to open her mouth in protest. Especially when she thought of the large stack of printouts on the kitchen bench that her mom had left for her. There were dozens of articles on college applications and why it was good to show diversity. However, then she remembered that stress was the last thing he needed, and she let out a reluctant sigh. “And I’ll stop giving Mom such a hard time,” she dutifully repeated.
“Thank you.” He nodded as he reached for his crutches. “Now, we should really do these dishes.”
“Don’t you dare!” Cassidy jumped to her feet and gathered up the bowls before he could even think about standing up. “You can sit there and reminisce about your glory days as king of the disco,” she commanded, before walking out to the kitchen and loading up the dishwasher.
It was almost eight o’clock, and despite what her dad said, she still thought that it was wrong of her mom to have not come home yet. Cassidy shook some detergent into the machine and tried to stay calm, but it was hard when she was so pissed off. After all, what was so important that her mom had to stay at work for so long? And if this was what it was going to be like from now on, then why didn’t her mom just stay in Boston? All she was doing here was bossing everyone around and giving orders.
She turned the machine on with a thump and was just about to walk out of the kitchen when she caught sight of a large handwritten note stuck to the refrigerator: CASSIDY—TAKE TRASH OUT.
For a moment Cassidy glared at it. Especially since over the last five years her mom probably hadn’t even known what day the trash was collected. Then she caught sight of the wedge of paper sitting on the bench. The printouts she was meant to be reading, complete with color-coded Post-it notes attached to them. Suddenly, she smiled.
Oh, she would take out the trash, all right.
She grabbed a plastic bag and gleefully scooped the offending articles into it, then hurried outside and down along the side of the house. The large tree in the
“Why?” She put aside her own pasta bowl as she remembered the eerie sensations she’d been feeling lately, and the burning eyes that had been emblazoned in her mind. Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up, and she gave a little shiver. “H-have you noticed something?”
“Actually, I have. It’s my daughter, and she seems to be watching my every move,” her dad retorted in a dry voice. Cassidy let out a private groan. Talk about getting her wires crossed.
“I’m not watching your
every
move,” she protested before raising her hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. But I’m worried about you.”
“Cass, you can’t keep looking at me like I’m made of cotton,” he said, and she saw the hint of the temporary tattoo peeking out from under his shirtsleeve. It should’ve made her smile, but she couldn’t quite muster one.
“Yes, well, if I don’t do it, then who will?” Cassidy retorted as she pointedly glared at the empty chair where her mom normally sat and then over to where his crutches were lying on the floor.
“We’ve talked about this. I’m fine. The surgery is over, and in a few weeks I’ll be crashing your school disco and embarrassing you in front of your friends with all of my slick moves.”
“I’m pretty sure that discos haven’t existed since 1985,” Cassidy pointed out before letting out a sigh. “But fine, point made. I’ll stop being so overprotective.”
“And stop giving your mom such a hard time?”
Cassidy went to open her mouth in protest. Especially when she thought of the large stack of printouts on the kitchen bench that her mom had left for her. There were dozens of articles on college applications and why it was good to show diversity. However, then she remembered that stress was the last thing he needed, and she let out a reluctant sigh. “And I’ll stop giving Mom such a hard time,” she dutifully repeated.
“Thank you.” He nodded as he reached for his crutches. “Now, we should really do these dishes.”
“Don’t you dare!” Cassidy jumped to her feet and gathered up the bowls before he could even think about standing up. “You can sit there and reminisce about your glory days as king of the disco,” she commanded, before walking out to the kitchen and loading up the dishwasher.
It was almost eight o’clock, and despite what her dad said, she still thought that it was wrong of her mom to have not come home yet. Cassidy shook some detergent into the machine and tried to stay calm, but it was hard when she was so pissed off. After all, what was so important that her mom had to stay at work for so long? And if this was what it was going to be like from now on, then why didn’t her mom just stay in Boston? All she was doing here was bossing everyone around and giving orders.
She turned the machine on with a thump and was just about to walk out of the kitchen when she caught sight of a large handwritten note stuck to the refrigerator: CASSIDY—TAKE TRASH OUT.
For a moment Cassidy glared at it. Especially since over the last five years her mom probably hadn’t even known what day the trash was collected. Then she caught sight of the wedge of paper sitting on the bench. The printouts she was meant to be reading, complete with color-coded Post-it notes attached to them. Suddenly, she smiled.
Oh, she would take out the trash, all right.
She grabbed a plastic bag and gleefully scooped the offending articles into it, then hurried outside and down along the side of the house. The large tree in the
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