Colleen Hoover - Losing Hope

Don’t piss off Pamela.

I broke the rule. I broke it hard.

He actually tried to ground me, and I might have laughed a tiny bit when he said it. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, because you know that, as much as he disappointed me throughout the years, I still wouldn’t do something to outright disrespect him. But the fact that he tried to ground me four days after I turned eighteen just really struck a funny chord and dammit . . . I laughed.

He didn’t find it amusing at all and he was pissed. He started yelling at me, calling me disrespectful and ungrateful, and it pissed me off because I mean shit, Les. I’m eighteen! I’m a guy! Guys do shit like have sex with girls in their parents’ houses when they’re eighteen. But Christ if he didn’t act like I’d murdered someone! So, yeah. He pissed me off and I might have lost my temper.

But that’s not the bad part. The bad part happened after I yelled at him in return and he bowed up to me. He actually had the balls to bow up to me. Not that he’s bigger than me, but still. I’m his son and he bowed up to me like he wanted to fight me.

So what did I do?

I hit him.

I didn’t hit him very hard, but it was hard enough that it hurt him in the most sensitive spot possible. His pride.

He didn’t hit me back. He didn’t even yell at me. He just pulled his hand up to his jaw and he looked at me like he was disappointed, then he turned around and walked away. I left an hour later and drove back home. We haven’t spoken since.

I know I should probably call him and apologize, but didn’t he start it by bowing up to me? Just a little bit? What kind of dad does that to his own son?

But then again, what kind of son hits his own dad?

God, Les. I feel like shit. I never should have done it. I know I need to call him, but . . . I don’t know. Shit.

To my knowledge, he never even told Mom what happened. because she hasn’t mentioned it at all. She was surprised to see me back when I walked through the front door a few days ago. Happy, but surprised. She didn’t ask what prompted my return, so I didn’t volunteer the information. She seems different now. I can still see the heartache in her eyes, but it’s not as prominent as it was when I left last year. She actually smiles now, which is good.

Her happiness will be short-lived, though. It’s Monday and school started today. The first day of senior year. She left for work before I woke up. I actually had my alarm set and everything ready. I made it to school and did my morning workout, but all I could think about while I was running the track was how much I didn’t want to be there.

I don’t want to be there without you. I don’t want to face everything I hate about that school and the majority of the people in it.

So what did I do when I finished my run? I walked back to the parking lot, got into my car, drove home, and went back to sleep. Now it’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon and Mom will be home in a couple of hours. I’m about to head to the grocery store for a few things because I’ll be cooking her dinner tonight. I plan to break the news to her about my dropping out of school. I know she won’t be happy about my testing out, rather than getting a traditional diploma, so I put cookies on the grocery list, too. Women love cookies, right?

I can’t believe I’m not going back to school. I just never thought it would come to that. I’m blaming you for that one, too.

H

“Will that be all for you today?” the cashier asks.

I mentally run through the items on my list, ending with cookies. “Yep,” I say as I pull my wallet from my pocket to pay the cashier. I’m just relieved I got in and out without seeing anyone I know.

“Hey, Holder.”

Spoke too soon.

I glance up to see the cashier operating the line next to me, staring me down. She’s practically offering herself up on a platter with the way she’s looking at me. Whoever this girl is, her expression is begging for attention. I feel sort of bad for her, especially with the way her voice climbed into that annoying, high-pitched, why-do-girls-think-baby-talk-is-sexy range. I glance down at her nametag, because I honestly can’t place her face for the life of me.

“Hey . . . Shayla .” I give her a quick nod, then look back at my cashier, hoping my guarded response is enough to let her know that I’m not in the mood to feed her ego.

“It’s Shayna ,” she snaps.

Oops .

I glance at her nametag again, disappointed that I’m giving her even more reason to keep talking. However, her nametag clearly reads Shayla . I want to laugh, but feel even more sympathy for her now. “Sorry. But you do realize your nametag says Shayla, right?”

She immediately flips the nametag up on her smock and frowns. I’m hoping this is embarrassing enough that she doesn’t look up at me again, but it doesn’t even faze her.

“When did you get back?” she asks.

I have no idea who this chick is, but she somehow knows me. Not only does she know me, but she knows I had to leave in order to come back . I sigh, disappointed that I still underestimate everyone’s penchant for gossip.

“Last week,” I say, offering up no further explanation.

“So are they gonna let you come back to school?” she asks.

What’s with the “ let you ” part of her question? Since when was I not allowed back at school? That has to be attached to some sort of rumor.

“Doesn’t matter. Not going back.”

I haven’t really decided whether or not I’ll be enrolling tomorrow, since I failed to do it today. It really all depends on my conversation with my mother tonight, but it seems easier just to give the people what they want, which is more fuel for their gossip. Besides, if I dispel every single thing everyone has said about me for the past year, I’ll be leaving everyone with no one to spread rumors about.

“You suck, man,” my cashier says quietly as he removes the debit card from my hand. “We had bets on how long it would take her to realize her nametag was misspelled. She’s been wearing it for two months now and I had dibs on three. You just lost me twenty bucks.”

I laugh. He hands me back the debit card and I place it in my wallet. “My bad,” I say. I pull out a twenty-dollar bill and hold it out to him. “Take this, because I’m pretty sure you would have won.”

He shakes his head, refusing to take the twenty.

I’m placing the money back into my wallet when I notice out of the corner of my eye someone in the next checkout line. The girl has completely turned around and is staring at me, more than likely trying to get my attention in the same way that Shayna/Shayla tried. I just hope this chick doesn’t start up with that same baby-talk voice.

I glance up at her to get a quick look. I really wanted to avoid glancing at her, but when people are staring you down it’s hard not to make eye contact, if even for a second. But the second I actually do make eye contact with her, I freeze.

I can’t look away now, even though I’m trying like hell to shake the image standing in front of me.

My heart stops.

Time stops.

The whole world stops.

My quick glance turns into a full-on, unintentional stare.

I recognize those eyes.

Those are Hope’s eyes.

It’s her nose, her mouth, her lips, her hair. Everything about this girl is Hope. Out of all the times in the past I thought I’d spotted her when glancing at girls my age, I’ve never been more sure than I am right now. I’m so sure about it that it completely inhibits my ability to speak. I don’t think I could say her name even if she begged me to.