Breaking Walls (2 page)

I glanced at my watch. It didn’t even make sense that he was following me around. He was
supposed
to be asleep, because sleeping is what Dad did: every Saturday morning, he stayed in bed until the clock struck nine. It was a routine I wish I could’ve counted on. At least
then
I could’ve escaped the house without having to listen to the same, monotonous lecture I’d heard a hundred times since coming home from school on Wednesday afternoon. But since Dad resigned from his post as the town mayor last week, nothing about his schedule stayed the same—not even his sleep schedule! Now he just sat at home all day, every day, actively searching for work in the paper and on the computer. And having Dad home all the time only created about six billion opportunities for him to pester me to no end. It was getting old, fast.

Still ignoring him, I walked down the hall and into the kitchen, only to stop dead in my tracks as my gaze fell on Bailey. Seated on the counter in her white, cotton pajamas, my sister’s eyes were glued to her cell phone. I didn’t even have to see the screen to know what she was looking at; I could make out the distinctive sounds of the video just fine.
Gabe, I like you. And I know I’m leaving for California in four days—

“Are you
seriously
watching that again?” I snatched the phone from her hand and silenced it with the touch of a single button. She opened her mouth, eager to defend herself, but I pointed my finger in her face before she had the chance. “No! We’ve talked about this. Stop—watching—it!”

“And yet you’re still not mad at her,” Dad said, following me into the kitchen. “Even when she repeatedly ignores your request and watches your viral video—”

“It’s not
her
viral video, Dad,” Bailey said, and I reached around her, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket. “To be fair, it’s the creative property of the Desden Channel 2 news team, and it’s freakin’ hilarious.” She seized her phone from my hand and turned it on again—filling the air with the same, familiar sounds of my heart-wrenching admission to Gabe at the park last Monday.

It wasn’t hilarious. Nothing about that video was funny, but there was no convincing her of that. I’d reprimanded Bailey on several accounts for watching it, and every time she claimed that she couldn’t help it; it was
too good
to resist
. Apparently there were so many layers that I just couldn’t see! That was the argument.

So what? I don’t know if it was the way I rushed the stage, the way I spilled my guts, or the way Gabe rejected me right there in front of the crowd and camera crew, but something about that video compelled her to keep coming back for more—her, and every other man, woman, and child in the
tristate area. The clip had blown up, and I couldn’t even escape the humiliation under my own roof.

“Mandy,
come on
!” Dad begged. “Talk to me.”

“Do you two mind taking this argument off repeat for a while?” Bailey asked,
looking back down to the video. “It’s a real buzz kill. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“If she would just talk to me…”

“I guess not, then.” My sister jumped down from the counter and turned to our father. “Give it up, Dad. She’s never gonna crack.”

“Then
you
tell me what’s wrong with her so I can apologize for whatever it is that I did. Three days is long enough. It’s time we move past this.” He looked back at me. “Amanda, this is childish and stupid. You’re acting just like your— ”

“He better not compare me to Mom right now, or I swear to God I might actually scream,” I said, looking to my sister.

“Yikes.” Bailey patted our father on the back and shrugged. “You’re on your own, big guy.”

She turned out of the kitchen and
walked down the hallway, disappearing into her room before shutting the door.

That was typical for Bailey, especially these last few days. She was just doing whatever she could to mind her own business and keep her nose out of mine and Dad’s daily scuffles. It was the best possible solution for everyone involved. We didn’t need her taking sides; that would only add fuel to the fire.

Dad glared at me from the top of his eyes, waiting for the response I was never going to give him. With a small bite of the apple, I arched my brow and smirked.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he asked, pulling at the roots of his hair.

No. I wouldn’t say
funny,
but I couldn’t lie; I rather enjoyed the torture. He deserved every last bit.

“Okay, let’s walk through this.” When I didn’t say anything, or even give him an indication that I was willing to walk through anything, he continued, “I told you on Tuesday that we were staying in Sugar Creek, and you were still talking to me on Wednesday morning when you left for school. You said
thanks again, Dad
and headed out the door. Then you came home from school that afternoon and I was Public Enemy Number One.”

I nodded. Yep, that’s exactly how it happened.

“So fill in the blanks.” He dropped his hands to his sides, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “What did I miss?”

It wasn’t so much what he missed. It was the lie he told and thought he could get away with.

Mandy, there’s no catch to this. I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to change my mind. You’ve made it clear that your life is here. I can’t make you go back and face those demons, especially if you’re not ready.

Yeah, Dad turned down the acting job in California. For that much, I was grateful. It meant that my family could stay right where we belonged, right where we were always meant to be. It meant that, for the first time
in my recollection, Dad had chosen to be selfless. He’d looked beyond himself and thought about the other people involved in his life-changing decision. It was what
I
wanted that finally mattered!

Or so I thought. Because there was Gabe’s side of the story, too, and it was a side of the story that negated everything my father led me to believe.

I was talking to your dad before the ceremony on Monday. He told me that he turned down the job in California. I know you’re not moving.

So Dad told Gabe that we were staying in Sugar Creek long before I ever showed up at the park on Monday. No biggie, right? It wouldn’t have been. It wouldn’t have been such a problem had Dad not
specifically
told me that he’d turned down the acting job
because
of what happened during the ceremony. The two stories didn’t line up. Regardless of what Dad wanted me to believe, he’d lied. Plain and simple.

“Can we please be adults about this?” Dad asked. “I need you to talk to me.”

I turned down the hall, stopped by my sister’s door, knocked, and then stuck my head in.

“I’m opening at work today, and then I have the clothing drive at the gym until eight tonight,” I said. “Jones said you guys were coming by to help out, right?”

“We’ll be there. For a little bit, anyway.”

“Great
.” I shut the door. Dad was still standing behind me, his arms crossed at his chest, and a large scowl etched across his Hollywood-perfect face.

“Mandy
. . . ”

Nope.
Wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to waste my time trying to explain it to him. Dad was a smart guy. He’d figure it out sooner or later, but in the meantime, I was saving my precious breath.

If Dad wanted my time and attention again, he’d have to earn it.

“All right!”

Georgia shot into the Sugar High Bakery not thirty seconds after the clock struck eight.
Less than a minute after I turned the sign to open, she skipped her way through the door, and I’d just only made my way back around the counter by the time I turned to see her ginger ponytail bouncing off the top of her head.

Knowing Georgia
, the fastidious editor of our bi-weekly school newspaper, I imagined she stood outside in the parking lot, waiting until the moment she saw me flip the sign. If she had business to conduct inside the bakery, she’d be the type to show up the moment I unlocked the door.

Wearing
a smile from one ear to the next, Georgia practically pranced her way up to the counter before stopping just at the other side. She held an ink pen in one hand, and it hovered over the pad of paper she clutched in the other.

“I need to place an order.”

“And good morning to you, too,” I teased.

“Oh, right. Good morning,” she said, bopping herself on the head. “I need to place an order.”

“Cake?”

“Yep!”

“What’s the occasion?” I turned back to the counter to grab an order form. Placing the paperwork between us on the counter, I leaned on my forearms and hovered over the page, ready to write as she clued me in.

“My grandma’s birthday is next week, so we’re throwing her a little surprise party on Friday evening.”

“Ah, how sweet. So do you want to see the dessert portfolio, then?” I stood tall again and reached across the counter to retrieve Julia’s portfolio, a binder stockpiled with photographs of the bakery’s best. I flipped it open to the birthday section and turned the folder in Georgia’s direction. “It’s a little overwhelming at first, but don’t let the variety scare you. If you need any recommendations—”

“Nope.”
She held up a hand. “Save your breath.”

“Okay?”

“I want a quarter sheet white cake with a touch of almond in the batter. It needs a raspberry mousse filling and a traditional buttercream icing,” she said quickly. “No frills or thrills or eccentric flowery accents. Just a simple Happy 80th Birthday will suffice.”

“You’re never indecisive are you?” I smirked, checking off the boxes and filling in the necessary information on the order form. “You said you needed it by next Saturday?”

“Friday. Dad’s gonna pick it up at five, one week from yesterday.”

“Okay.”

“That’s six days from today, Mandy. You got it? Six days.”

“I got it, I got it,” I said, underlining the pick-up date three times for emphasis. I slid over to the cash register. I calculated the price for the quarter-sheet, filling, and tax and read her the total for the order. “Would you like to pay now or when you pick it up?”

“Now’s fine,” she said, pulling a signed, blank check from her notebook and sliding it across the counter. “Mom says to make it out for the total.”

I took the check and rang in her order, filling out the necessary lines
to complete the payment. I slipped the paper into the cash drawer, submitted the order through the bakery window to the kitchen, and turned back with a smile.

“That might be the easiest cake order I’ve ever taken.”

“Life’s all about knowing what you want,” she said, scrawling a line through one of her items on the notepad. She dropped both her pen and paper to the counter and lifted a brow. “Speaking of knowing what you want. Have you heard from— ”

“No.” My long ponytail brushed against the back of my neck as I shook my head with vigor. “Not once.”

I looked down to the ground and closed my eyes, hearing the last haunting words I’d said to Gabe.

You told me to keep fighting for what I want. You said that
.

Three days had passed since I left him standing in the hallway with nothing left to cling to but those words, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

So I stood up, and I fought, and you clobbered me
.

That’s exactly how it happened, too. I rushed the stage at the park amphitheater, hoping Gabe would appreciate how hard I was fighting for one last goodbye. I wanted to believe he hadn’t meant to hurt me with his reticence. But wanting, and hoping, and wishing didn’t change the fact of the matter: Gabe knocked me down.
Hard.

I should hate you for making me feel the way I feel, but I don’t, okay?

And I didn’t. I’d already tried too hard, and hatred just wasn’t a feeling I could force or harbor against him.

I’m here, Gabe. I’m standing right in front of you, and I’m not going anywhere.

And I wasn’t. Gabe knew where to find me if he wanted to.