I didn’t bother pointing out that I hadn’t hit Shelby, just shoved her. “What was I supposed to do? Let her hit me?”
Mom gave me a look of incredulity. “You should have walked away.”
She hadn’t been there. She didn’t know what it was like, didn’t understand that I couldn’t back down. Because if I had, Shelby would be all over Rochelle the next day and the next.
Softly sighing, I stared out the passenger window, and when we pulled into our driveway, Mom turned to me with a deep scowl. “You’re grounded until further notice.”
“But Mom—”
She cut me off with a raised hand. “Do not argue with me, Morgan. Do. Not.” Then she held her hand out. I knew what she wanted, and with my lips clamped shut, I placed my cell phone in her palm.
Without a word, I got out of the car, slung my backpack over my shoulder, then marched into the house.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. Not only the fight with Shelby, but Mom’s refusal to see my side of the story. It was so unfair.
My mind racing, when I started climbing the stairs to go to my room, I almost ran into Amy, my thirteen-year-old sister. “Watch it,” I muttered.
She rolled her eyes at me. “You watch it, Morgan.”
I gave her a murderous glare, then continued up. When I reached my bedroom I sank onto my bed, fuming. Stewing in my anger, I stared at the blank wall. Then, as I pondered how much my life sucked just then, I heard my younger brothers running around outside making their usual racket. I went to the window and looked into the backyard. As I watched them kick a ball back and forth, their breath coming out in frosty clouds in the November air, I frowned, jealous of their lack of worries.
“Zac. Brandon,” Mom called out to my brothers from downstairs. “Come inside and finish your homework.”
I watched as they walked toward the house before they disappeared from view. Even though I couldn’t see them, I could still hear them. They were always in motion—I guess most eight and ten year olds are—but it still irritated me.
I walked away from the window and slumped onto my bed, then stared at the wall.
“Morgan?” Mom called out as she knocked on my door a few minutes later.
The sound of her voice reminded me how unfair everything was. Gritting my teeth, I called out, “What?”
She walked in and glanced at me before looking at the clothes strewn around the room. She sighed, then met my defiant glare. “I want you to write a letter of apology to that girl you…” Her jaw clenched. “That you hurt today.”
What? No freaking way would I apologize to Shelby. She’d called me fat and she’d almost punched me. She should apologize to me.
Mom frowned before continuing. “And I expect this room to be picked up before you come down for dinner.”
Forcing myself to remain calm, I said, “You realize how unfair all of this is.”
She tilted her head as she frowned. “That’s the way the system works, Morgan. You break the rules, you face the consequences.”
Hoping I could still change her mind, I softened my tone. “I understand the school’s rule, but I don’t think I should be grounded.”
She pursed her lips. “What do you think I should have done?”
I threw my hands into the air. “Nothing. Because I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just standing up for Rochelle and Shelby overreacted.”
“Uh-huh.”
That didn’t sound like she’d changed her mind. “So, I’m not grounded?”
She laughed—actually laughed. “Good try, Morgan.” I must have looked annoyed that my ploy had failed, because she added, “When you’re on your own you can do things your way, but as long as you live here, you’ll follow our rules.”
The unfairness pressed down on me and I wanted to scream with frustration.
Mom pointed to the clothes on my floor. “Clean your room and write that note of apology. Don’t come downstairs until you do.” Then she turned and left.
I closed the door behind her, forcing myself not to slam it, fresh fury welling up inside me like a geyser before it erupts.
Her words rang in my head: When you’re on your own you can do things your way.
Maybe it was time for me to get on my own. Like, right now.
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About the Author
Christine has always loved to read, but enjoys writing suspenseful novels as well. She has her own eReader and is not embarrassed to admit that she is a book hoarder. One of Christine's favorite activities is to go camping with her family and read, read, read while enjoying the beauty of nature.
I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me in any of the following ways:
www.christinekersey.com
[email protected]
Pandemic (Book 4): Insurrection Page 15
