After Hours (boyxboy) | ✓

Chapter Eight

My least favorite holiday was Easter. My grandparents always visited, I barely got any candy, and my dad made lamb for dinner. It was a terrible holiday. No easter egg hunts, no brunch, just annoying relatives and depressing meals. 

The Fourth of July was a close second. My parents always dragged me to barbeques and fireworks shows. It was by far, the loudest holiday. Between my drunk neighbors and the fireworks, I always felt as if I should be wearing earplugs. 

Today was the Fourth. I had off work. My mom and dad were currently discussing who had me today (the Fourth of July was a little ambiguous in their divorce settlement). But they’d soon find out that it was neither parents’ year, because I was a seventeen year old with no desire to run across town to attend a stupid neighborhood barbeque. Instead, I was hanging out with Brendon today. 

The other day on our almost-date, Brendon asked me on another almost-date. We were going to spend the afternoon shopping. I was obviously excited. He basically asked me out. But I still had some questions. Even more, I was scared of what my parents would say to me. So I did the only thing I could — I snuck out. But I wasn’t really sneaking out. I was just lying to my parents’ faces and hoping for the best.

I stood in my room, thinking of my master plan and formulating the perfect outfit. I couldn’t look too stupid, but I also couldn’t look too formal. I decided on a floral button-down (the short-sleeved kind) and khaki shorts. My messy black hair fell in all the wrong places. It never wanted to cooperate with me. 

After adjusting my hair upwards of five hundred times, I was finally ready to leave. As I walked across the room, something red caught my eye. Brendon’s sweatshirt. He’d probably want it back, but I was in no rush to return it. I grabbed my sunglasses and a string bag, then ran downstairs. 

“There’s my man!” my dad yelled as he spotted me walking towards the door. 

I smiled. “Hey, sorry gotta go! See you later!” Opening the door, I tried to slip out before either parent could protest.

“Where are you goi—”

I slammed the door and ran to the garage to get my bike. Brendon basically lived around the corner, so I was just going to catch a ride from him. As I rode down the driveway, I watched my parents stare out the window, bewildered. I wasn’t a child, and I wasn’t going to be treated like one.

My phone started to ring as I wade my way to the corner of my street and his. It was Mags. I picked up, holding the phone between my head and my shoulder. 

“Hi Mags,” I said, slightly irritated. I hadn’t told any of my friends about my plans. I knew they were all busy anyways.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I’m on my way to my friend’s house.”

“Which friend?”

“Um…” I thought for a moment before answering, “Rachel.”

“Ratchet? What does she want?” I coughed at the nickname. Lots of people in my school referred to Rachel as ‘Ratchet’ behind her back. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was just stupid.

“Rachel is going shopping with me.”

“Oh, okay. I just was calling to ask if you wanted to hang out tomorrow after work?”

“Sure, I’ll text you later.” I hung up as I pulled into Brendon’s driveway. There were two cars there. I recognized one as his, and I assumed the other was his Mom’s. I left my bike in front of the garage and ran to the front door, pushing the doorbell twice. Butterflies swarmed my stomach. Voices buzzed inside with lively conversation, footsteps getting closer until the door swung open.