Chapter 7: Sprained

I look down at my phone, annoyance radiating through my body as it rings with my sisters face on the screen.

Not only is she calling, but she's FaceTiming.

I groan to myself and reach over, swiping the bar to answer. I get out of bed, tripping on one of my shoes, and turn on the light. My face in the corner appears as I look down at my sister.

"Nathan, Mason told me you went on a motorcycle!" She screeches.

And she's not alone. Mom is behind her, and my Dad, and I can hear movement in the kitchen. I can tell she's in the kitchen by the color of the wall behind her.

That means Julian is in there.

I walk back to my bed and flop down.

"And?" I press.

"That's reckless!" Mom scolds. "How can you be so careless, Nathan! You could've been injured!"

Peyton sets the phone up so I can see everyone, and my suspicions where correct. Julian is there, shirtless, wearing basketball shorts.

"Who was driving?" Dad questions.

I sigh.

"it was-"

I cut off when I realize I don't know her name. I forgot it.

Again.

"Who?" Mom asks. "Who, Nathan? Answer!"

"I forgot." I say seriously.

"You forgot?" Julian snickers in the background.

"Hold on." I mutter. I set my phone up on my lamp so they can see me, and then I walk out of my room. "Mason!" I roar.

Brenda comes out of the bedroom, her hair a mess.

"What do you want?" She asks.

She's wrapped in a sheet. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"I need to know French Fry's name." I say.

"Odeletta." She snaps.

She goes back into the bedroom and slams the door.

Oh, right.

I walk into the bedroom and shut the door, grabbing my phone again.

"Her name is Odeletta." I say.

"Her?" Mom repeats. Her entire face lights up like I just informed her that her favorite celebrity is at the door. "Odeletta?" She asks. "What is she, Russian?"

"French." I correct.

"She's the girl that slapped you." Peyton frowns.

"She slapped you?" Dad asks. "Why?"

"I may or may not have called her a brat...told her she isn't a lady, and then told her that she probably doesn't even speak to her mother..." I cringe.

They all start yelling at me, even my seventeen year old brother.

I sit there, cringing.

After five minutes of their constant bitching, they fall silent.

"Nathan Benjamin Reed, how dare you speak to a women like that! You are a disgrace to this family!" Mom screams at me.

"Mom!" I exclaim.

"You used to be so kind!" She snarls. "You-"

"I apologized." I say. "Are you going to disown me?" My eyes widen and I start to get scared. "Mom?" I ask when she doesn't answer.

She slumps against the bar.

"No." She says. "No, you are my son." She huffs. "You apologized. What did she say? When did you apologize?"

"Today." I say. "I said it Monday and I hadn't seen her since."

She's not going to disown me only because I'm her son?

I dive into the story of me apologizing, the test, her standing up for me over Brenda and Mason, me going with her and me starting in on her for not helping me on the test, and then I cut off.

"Well she's right." Dad says with his arms over his chest. He looks disappointed. "You won't learn if she gives you all the answers. What does this girl look like?"

"She-"

I hear a loud, insistent knocking on the apartment door.

"Hold on, somebody is at the door."

I stand up.

"Take the phone with you." Mom snaps. "I want to make sure it's not your drug dealer."

I open my mouth to argue but I close it when I see the look on her face.

If I was there, she'd hit me upside the head for my actions.

Sighing in defeat, I pick my phone up and walk to the door. The person starts knocking again.

"I'm coming!" I snap, walking into the table in the hallway, stubbing my toe.

I wince, hobbling the rest of the way to the door.

Unlocking the deadbolt, I rip it open.

I raise my eyebrows.

She's wearing the same outfit she was in three hours ago. She looks annoyed.

"What are you doing here?" I ask coldly. I'm pissed at her.

She started calling me little.

After she said that, I pressed my lips together and stayed silent.

I held her shoulders on the way home.

She looks ready to cuss me out.

"Are you going to let me in?" She asks coldly.

I grit my teeth.

If my family wasn't on the phone, I'd leave her out in the cold.

I step aside to let her into my apartment, shutting the door behind her.

"What do you want, French Fry?" I ask, trying my best not to snap.

My family is silent, listening.

Her eyes land on my phone screen.

She looks around the apartment and then looks at me, folding her arms over her chest.

"Gaillard personally asked me to suggest I tutor you." She says, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "Something about pushing the France trip to three weeks from Friday, that you got the lowest score on the test." She rolls her eyes. "So if you don't want to fail, I will tutor you."

I narrow my eyes.

"I'll be fine." I say.

"Nathan!" Mom hisses. I suck air in through my teeth, gritting my teeth as I let it out through my nose.

"Fine." I say. "For the record, I failed because you decided to fuck me over."

Mason emerges from his bedroom, dressed, Brenda right behind him.

They probably heard a female and came out of the room.

French Fry snorts.

"You did not fail because I 'fucked you over,'" she starts, putting quotations around the words with her fingers. "You failed because you neglected to study."

"I would've studied before class." I snap.

"You would have walked in and glanced at your study guide, or you would have copied off of Madison."

"Who's Madison?" Brenda chirps.

She gestures to Mason with her right hand, shooting Brenda an annoyed look.

"No, I'd have studied." I say, even though I know I'm lying.

"Whatever you say, little. Either you want me to tutor you or not."

She heads for the door, opening it.

I reach over and slam it shut, narrowing my eyes at her. We're just a mere few inches apart, maybe a foot.

"Don't you dare call me little." I snap.

"Open the door, Natalie." She says.

"And don't call me Natalie, brat."

Her eyes darken.

"Don't call me brat." She hisses, her dark eyes piercing into mine like swords.

Instead of flinching away like I always do, I hold my ground.

"Don't call me little." I retort.

"Let me leave, I don't want to look at you anymore, little."

My jaw ticks as I glare at her.

She reaches for the door, but I don't remove my arm.

Beep, beep, beep.

I look down at my phone to see my parents hung up. Fuck.

"Connard." She mutters under her breath.

"What does that mean?" I demand.

"I bet you would know if you studied for your French test." She snaps. "Tutor or not?"

I don't want to retake that class. I clench my jaw a couple times.

"Fine." I hiss.

"We work les mardis et jeudis at huit heure du matin." She says.

"What the hell does that mean?" I snap.

"Look it up." She snarls. She brings up her right hand and karate chops my wrist.

I wasn't expecting it to hurt, but fuck, it hurt. I yank my hand off the door, clutching it to my chest. She grabs the door knob.

"Wait." I say. She glances at me, the door now open. "I don't know how to spell it."

"It means Tuesday's and Thursday's at eight in the morning."

She walks out, slamming the door with force.

I try to move my wrist.

"I think she fucking sprained it." I groan, wincing.

A moment later, the door opens again, and Motorcycle Girl opens it, tossing my backpack carelessly on in the apartment. It nicks the lamp by the door and it falls, shattering.

She gives me a satisfied smirk.

"De rien."

I open my mouth to ask her what the hell she's talking about when she walks out, slamming the front door violently.