Days later my mom was still mad about the party. No damage was done to the house except some stains on the rug in the living room, yet she acted like her house was wrecked.

I avoided her as much as possible by staying in my room. My room that had been stripped of its tv, laptop, and gaming systems leaving...my bed, bookshelf, dresser and desk.

It was fine. It freed me up to do some thinking. Specifically, some thinking about Waverly and the conversation I overheard between her and mom the night of the party.

She promised her mom she'd stay away from me. I understood why she did it, unlike me she tried not to piss her mom off. Still, I wondered if she meant it. I hoped she didn't.

Waverly and her mom were at our house more than the house my mom rented for them. Everyday she was there and I wasn't allowed to say anything to her. Watching her made me feel like a creep, but it was hard to look away when she looked bored out of her mind as my mom went on and on about what the Boujee Brigade deemed on trend or not. At that point the wedding was starting to become less about her apparent love for Brad and more about pleasing her friends.

If I could've gotten away with it I would've pulled Waverly away from the wedding talk, brought her up to my room and let her read that book she always had on her. Not exactly what most guys would think about doing if they had a girl in their room. A couple weeks ago I was most guys.

That first time I saw Waverly alone in days she was standing over our dining table laying out squares of fabric in different colors and patterns. She was separating the fabrics into sets of three, making up different combinations and numbering them sticky notes. Her purple glasses matched the purple flowers on her dress.

She glanced up when I cut through the dining room to get to the kitchen. She didn't say anything and neither did I. Our moms were in the living room talking about food options and I didn't want to get Waverly in trouble. Again.

I was down there to grab something to eat. That was it.

After whipping up a sandwich and grabbing a soda I headed back the way I came, freezing when a bright pink sticky note caught my attention. It was stuck to the edge of the dining room table and definitely wasn't there when I walked by earlier.

I looked up at Waverly, her head was down as she scribbled something on the stack of pink sticky notes she held. Picking up the note I realized it was a phone number. Her phone number.

My gaze darted back up to Waverly. She met my eyes that time, a hint of a smile playing on her lips before she went back to her fabric squares.

I probably donned a grin myself as I went back up to my room. Waverly wanted to talk. I set my lunch on the desk and reached for my phone.

Shit. I didn't have my phone.

That whole punishment thing needed to end.

• • •

Mom was out by the pool later that evening. She finally let Waverly and her mom go home for dinner an hour ago. She seemed to be in a good mood, laughing as she talked on the phone.

I planned out my whole speech and was prepared to, at the very least, get my phone back. Then there was the back-up plan, a.k.a Brad. If it came to that I'd just promise her to do some bonding or whatever with her future husband. She'd do anything if it meant I'd be nicer to him.

But I wasn't gonna offer to spend time with him unless absolutely necessary.

"Speak of the devil," she said to whoever was on the line when she saw me stepping out through the backdoor. "I'll ask him and get back to you."

Ask me what? I thought as I sat in one of the deck chairs, grabbing the pillow from the chair next to me and hugging it to my chest. After sitting through an insanely long goodbye I got my answer.

"Stephen." Hearing her say my name without a hint of anger was borderline terrifying. "I know you've been getting restless being in the house all summer, so I have a proposal for you."

It was a trap. I knew it was a trap. But if it meant getting off of house arrest I'd take it. "Okay..." I said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Vanessa Lawrence, Kristen's daughter, needs a date to her cousin's wedding."

Trap. I knew it.

"I thought you'd be perfect," she continued. "Vanessa's starting school in the fall. She's going to be doctor."

I waited for the part where she'd tell me how that meant Vanessa was "perfect" for me. When it didn't come I realized what she meant was that Vanessa would be perfect for the image she was trying to create for me.

Whatever. It was a way out of the house. "If I go to the wedding or whatever, my punishment is over?"

"If there are no complaints I'll consider letting you enjoy the rest of the summer as you please." A smile was creeping onto my face and she quickly added, "Within reason. No more girls in my tree or in my office."

"So the rosebush is fair game?"

"Stephen." There was the venom I was used to. "I'm serious. You cannot mess this up. None of your usual tricks, okay? The Lawrence's are-"

Rich.

Influential.

A good family.

The way she talked about those people, like she worshiped them, was weird as hell. You'd think she was talking about Beyonce or the Obama's. And she wanted to be just like them for some reason.

Before the big house and Dad's rise to plastic surgery stardom we lived in a tiny two bedroom apartment. Mom wrote her books, Dad made sure he was home for dinner every night. Everything was perfect. At least I thought so.

My parents wanted more.

More money, more cars, more invites to D-List Hollywood parties full of people who would sell their first born just to get their picture in one of those trash magazines they had at the register in grocery stores.

But the problem with wanting more was that the wanting never ended. They had more money, more cars and more invites to stupid parties. Yet, Mom wanted a more picture perfect family and after a while Dad wanted more space from her.

They'd been together since their sophomore year of college. Almost half their lives. And three years into their dream life their marriage fell apart.

When Dad left last year the only surprising part was that it took three years for it to happen.

"Are you listening to me?"

I blinked, focusing back on her. She looked at me expectantly.

"Do you ever miss the old house?" I asked, playing with one of the tassels on the pillow I held.

She scoffed. "Miss the roaches and constant sirens? Absolutely not. Now did you hear what I said?" She was quick to brush it off. I probably should've seen that coming. But I knew deep down she had to miss it.

"No, yeah. Don't fuck it up. Got it."

Her eyes narrowed at my language, her mouth ready to go off. Thankfully her phone rang.

• • •

The first thing I did with my new found freedom was run. I hadn't done it in days and after opening the door to the memories of our old house, our old life, I need to clear my head.

Running around the neighborhood wasn't as good as my trail through the woods, but as soon as my foot hit the pavement the noise in my head dulled.

Some stuff remained, though. Like how better off we'd be if we were still in our tiny apartment. How my mom would rather force me into an idea she created instead of asking me what I wanted out of life. Not that I even knew the answer to that.

She might not have written a novel in three years, but that didn't stop her from trying to control everything and everyone around her like the entire world was a rough draft she needed to perfect.

Then there was Waverly. My mom gave my phone back before I left. I programmed Waverly's number into it and that was it. I hadn't thought about what to say to her or if I should say anything to her.

She made a promise to her mom and if all our past encounters were any indication, we weren't very good sneaking around. I didn't want to mess up her summer by getting her mom fired. I had to leave her alone, for her sake.

So what if her face was on my mind more than I ever thought possible. Or that I replayed that first day I met her, leaving out the whole getting caught part.

So what if I liked her.

I had to get over it.