Page 8 - My FlipBook

I tug the paper napkin out from beneath my

Coke, which spills over everything.
“MY PHONE!” Morgan’s friend cries out,
snatching it up as Mom shouts, “OH, JACK!” so
everybody in the restaurant can know I messed up.
My jeans and T-shirt are damp. I stare at the
embarrassing wet spot on my lap to avoid the dis-
appointed look I’ve come to know so well: The
crooked nose pointed down, nostrils flaring. The
tired slate-blue eyes looking right through me. The

subtle shake of the head as her fingers rub her tem-
ples and then run through her sandy hairstyle-of-
the-month, currently chin-length since she chopped
her ponytail off in the bathroom yesterday.
She throws her own phone into my hands as she
goes to the restroom to get some paper towels. Her
bag rattles as she walks away. Everyone in the restau-

rant is still looking at me.
Suddenly, “You’re so Vain” blasts through the air
as the screen on Mom’s Six lights up with the name
Jerk Face. I can’t believe it. It’s him.
“Jerk Face is calling,” Morgan’s friend snorts.
“You gonna get that?”
Breathlessly, I tap Answer, bring the phone to my
ear, and whisper, “Dad?”

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