Firefly

27: daisy with a petal out

Chapter 27: daisy with a petal out.

Elena

It's a psychological theory of human minds—we dislike what we're bad at doing. Hence, my hatred toward Math, Physics, football, painting, singing, socializing, flirting, and lying is justified. I'm bad at doing them so I don't like them. Or because I don't like them, I'm bad at them. It's more like the chicken and the egg prodigy. We never know who came first. 

I let my hair fall across my face as I hurry down to the kitchen with my bag on my shoulders. Even though my father spent the night performing surgery, he's awake, he does not look sleep deprived, and his eyes shadow me as he blends my morning fruit shake. 

"Good morning," he says. I clear my throat before I face him. Either he is quietly suspicious or I've successfully become paranoid. 

"Morning," I force a smile. 

Normally, I would sit on the kitchen counter and wait for him to hand me my glass. But sitting there would only mean I'd be right in front of his eyes. The one thing I'd planned to dodge. But the more I duck, the more I'll make him doubtful. So I hurl up the counter and pray that he doesn't interrogate me. 

His eyes challenge me. Immediately, I realize what a bad idea it was to sit right in front of a loaded gun. "The Maserati looked fancy." My heart feels a fabric of thorns covet it. 

I should've rephrased my prayers. "What?" I pretend to frown. "Oh, right, Justin left it here yesterday. Holden picked him up. Something about carpooling. He took his car right?" I try to get the window in view. 

The blender runs again and I shiver this time. I've maintained the same excuse Justin texted me to maintain. I'll be fine, my father loves me. He certainly will not murder me. 

"Hmm," Dad says once the blender is switched off. He pours it into my glass and hands me a pink-looking smoothie. I'm about to take it but my father yanks it back. "And what again was Mr. Castor doing here yesterday?" 

One second later, I'm completely blank. 

Genius didn't think the excuse through. I can't believe he made a mistake here of all places. He's definitely dying today, but my slate isn't looking so well either. 

I can't tell my dad about Cece Reglin. Not yet. I'd have to tell him why Justin did that and I'm guessing that telling my dad I was strangled and I know about the assault won't be the right time now. My eyes fall on the empty boxes of dinner in the trash bin. 

"I was tired after practice. Justin came to give me dinner. It would've been pointless cooking for one person, right? And he wanted to help." Good going, Elena. I'm so proud of you right now. 

Dad hands me the glass and he lets me take it this time. But he doesn't leave yet, so I don't take a sip. "Huh, it's a whole other thing I want to discuss—a boy getting you food every day but he could've ordered it to our house. He's done that before. So why did he decide to personally deliver yesterday?" 

Okay, crap. I would suck at Law. Good thing I removed it from my list because what was I thinking? 

I scratch my neck. "He was around the corner. Since Dylan and you were not there, he was just checking up." I shrug and I immediately begin to sip. 

My dad watched me gulp the entire shake in one stride. I was too scared to put it down. I'm sure he had a list of questions prepared inside his head that needed me to answer. I hop off the counter before I chug a glass of water and head to the door with my father's eyes tailing me. 

"Elena?" He calls as I wear my shoes. God, I won't be mad at you if you make me faint right about now. I raise my brows to him. "Anything I need to know?"