Happy (early) Thanksgiving to those who celebrate, Happy (early) Thursday to those who don't!

Also, thank you for helping me with this chapter since I have never been on either side of this situation ;)

Chapter Fourteen

"How was school?" Mom asks as I drop my backpack by the door.

I'm not really in the mood to tell her that the bullying has not gotten any easier, so I tell her, "It was fine."

"What did you learn?" She eyes me suspiciously, the way she always does when she suspects that I'm lying.

I shrug, but that's not convincing enough. If I want her to believe me, I have to take it farther, add detail to make it believable. But there honestly wasn't much I learned today. She just asks me this to prove I'm not falling asleep in class, which I am barely successful at. The only classes I'm not likely to fall asleep in are creative writing and PE, and since I didn't have either of those classes today...

"Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," I say. I mean it as a joke but she buys it. Everyone knows that fact. That's the only thing anyone ever remembers from school for some reason even though not many people benefit from it.

I walk into the kitchen and grab an apple and sit down on the couch, trying to avoid my mother's eye. She is very good at knowing when I lie. Sometimes I can fool her, but those occasions are rare. I've had to practice. Although, I'm a good kid, I don't sneak out to go drinking with my friends. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I get... okay grades. She should learn to trust me more.

Huh. Says me after she left me alone for a week with no supervision.

That's another thing, I don't throw wild parties. Mostly because I have like ten people I hang out with and I'm broke. So no wild parties for me.

"Any homework?" Mom asks.

It's not something I can't BS my way through ten minutes before class.

"No," I say, trying to mask my lie by biting into the apple. It will help if my voice inflection is off.

"How are your friends?" I shrug again.

"Fine." Mom walks from the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile floor, taking an abrupt halt when they touch the carpet, and takes a seat next to me on the couch.

"Anything new with them?" I shake my head, blinking a few times. "What about Beatrice?"

I half expect my dad to pop out of nowhere, peering around the corner going, "Beatrice? We're talking about Beatrice?" His obsessiveness with this is getting to be just as annoying as the champs.

"She's fine, too." Mom puts her hand on my shoulder and smiles.

"You'll make a good decision." Then she stands up and walks back into to the kitchen.

"What?" I say, looking over my shoulder. "What do you mean by that?" She smiles and takes out a pot from the cabinet above the stove.

What am-? What? What am I supposed to do? What am I going to do good on? Is that some reverse psychology or something? Is she trying to trick me into doing my homework because I can do it later, no big deal. It's second semester we should all worry about. My grades are always better first semester than second.

I try to refocus on my apple and the bird outside I see in the tree trying to find a dry branch to land on, to no avail, but I am interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and Dad shaking out his umbrella and Mom telling him to do that outside so as not to ruin the hardwood floors.

"You should lock the front door when you come in," Dad says.

"All right," I say, my words getting mumbled by the apple. Dad chuckles and hangs his jacket in the closet. He walks into the kitchen and gives Mom a quick kiss on the cheek, mutters something, and walks upstairs.

Should I? It's the only time with Mom not around to do it, and she would freak out if I did it in front of her, not necessarily a bad 'freak out' but I'm not risking it. Sighing, I stand and make a brief stop in the kitchen to dispose of the apple core before taking the stairs two at a time and finding myself in the hallway outside my parents' bedroom.

Should I really?

Before I can think further on the matter, Dad walks out in a dry shirt and jumps back at my sudden presence.

"You're so quiet," he says. I ignore his comment. By walking up here, I guess that means I will be doing this.

"Can I talk to you alone for a sec?" Dad's thick eyebrows pull together for a second before he relaxes completely and backtracks into the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the nicely made bed and pats the side on his left. I walk in and sit down, keeping my eyes on the ground.

"What's on your mind?" Dad says.

"I need your help." My voice is soft, I clear my throat, but I that doesn't do much. "I..." My voice trails off.

"Take your time."

I take a deep breath, focus my eyes on the freckle of green crayon on the wall, and let it go. "I want to ask Tris out on a date." I look up to see my dad's expression. His eyes are bright, his smile wide. He claps me on the back, a little too harshly, but not as hard as Mr. Eaton.

"I was wondering when this day would come." I raise an eyebrow. "I-" He stops suddenly. "That's great. Let me know if you need anything." I smile a bit. I see he's been talking to Mom about this. Maybe that's why she told me I'll make a good decision. It is regarding Tris, so...

"I don't know how," I say. "How did you ask out Mom?"

"Well, we met in college," he starts. "We had the same English Composition class. One day she came to class late and the only available seat was next to me."

I shake my head. "Cliche," I say. Dad laughs.

"So she sat down. We never really talked before then, because like you, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen-"

"You think I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" I tease. I touch my hand over my heart. "I'm flattered."

"You know what I mean, you think Beatrice is gorgeous. Now quit interrupting, wise ass," he jokes back, smiling. "Anyway... I was too nervous to talk to her. And, honestly, I knew nothing about her except her name. I took out a piece of paper, wrote it down, and slid it over to her. I'm surprised she could read that scribbled piece of garbage I dare call handwriting. Your mom still hates it." I smirk. She does. She complains about it all the time. That's why she makes out the checks.

"Then Professor I-Forget-His-Last-Name asked us to read it out loud." I bite my lip. I feel the secondhand embarrassment blush coming on. "I always hated that teacher. No matter, she didn't look nervous, probably because she was still trying to decipher what I wrote. I have the writing of a six year old boy. So I read it out to her and the whole class was silent. I told the teacher, 'That's all I wrote.' But everyone was waiting for her response.

"She looked at me, her eyes wide, and my heart was racing. Asking someone out takes a lot of guts, guts I didn't have in front of the whole class. I am also a terrible public speaker, unfortunately you got that from me." I take offense to that, even though it's true. "But she looked at me and said, 'Sure.'"

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

"That's it?"

"Yep."

I should've asked Will.

"I know that's not helpful," Dad says, taking out his phone. "Maybe... this will help..." After rapidly tapping on the screen, he taps on a website link. I try to catch what it is but he scrolls down so quickly I only catch half the title. I got, "Ask out a girl."

"All right," Dad says. "Let's see. Write it down. Oh, no. We just surmised how badly that can go. I do not recommend that for you. Write it on a shirt."

"Hell no," I say. Dad chuckles.

"Okay, moving on. Call her on the phone... no. Say it with music." Dad and I look at each other with raised eyebrows. He continues reading, "Try burning her a CD-but only do this if you know her well enough to know what kind of music she likes! Burn her a CD with some of her favorite songs that make you think of her. Then for a surprise: record yourself asking her out." I scoff.

"Get her a talking teddy bear." I shake my head. "Bake her a sweet treat." Ha ha. "Get her flowers, sing it-"

"Definitely not!"

"Write it in chalk, make a crossword puzzle, balloon bouquet, light some candles, treasure hunt, or a spy game." He clicks off his phone and looks at me.

"I'd rather sink and drown and die," I say.

"Don't worry. You will find the perfect way to ask her out. It takes times. I was a bit too hasty. Don't be like me." I don't know why, but that makes me laugh.

"I, uh..." The heat burns my face. I don't know if I should admit this or not. "I tried to get her to tell me how to ask her out."

He stares at me for a while, trying to understand what I'm saying. From downstairs, Mom calls us for dinner.

"What?" he says to me. I explain the whole Ryder/Penny thing. I thought I was being slick when I came up with that, but looking back, I am mortified.

"Well, that's one way." He laughs a bit nervously. "That's a story to tell the kids, huh?" I blush and look away, getting up to go downstairs.

"I'll figure something out. Thanks."

I can hear my dad laughing from the dining room.