"So how are things?" asked Mrs. Montez during dinner.
"Fine," said Gabriella, looking at her food. The two of them had been distant since that day. Mrs. Montez sat at one end of the table while her daughter was at the other.
"How's school?" asked Mrs. Montez, trying to start a conversation.
"Fine,"
"How's your friend Troy?"
"Great,"
"Do you like my pasta?"
"Dunno,"
"Did you eat at school during lunch just now?"
"Yes,"
"What did you eat?"
"Somethings,"
Mrs. Montez started to get annoyed. Her daughter seemed to answer in only word every time she asked a question.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," answered Gabriella.
"Tell me. Maybe I could help,"
"No,"
"No what?"
"You can't help," said Gabriella, her hands shaking with anger.
"Finally. More than one word comes out of you," said Mrs. Montez.
Gabriella was about to answer when the doorbell rang.
"Gabby, go get it,"
"No," said Gabriella, staying where she was.
"Why not?"
"Him," said Gabriella more to herself. She shook in fear.
"Who 'him'?"
"It could be him," said Gabriella looking up, her eyes wide.
