I take a quick shower and spend most of the remaining time trying to find something to wear. This would be so much easier if I were home. I could easily throw together an outfit in five minutes because I already know what I'm working with. Here it's harder. I keep rummaging in the closet and running back and forth between the mirror and the pile of dresses and shirts that ended up on the bed.

In the end, I settle on a red floral print mini dress. (It's nice out tonight, thank you very much). I pair it with my yellow Chucks that thankfully I'd remembered to pack. I also do my makeup because a look this put together deserves my best face. My hair, I cannot help. It's too late to do anything other than brush it out and put it in a high ponytail, while hoping for the best. So that's what I do.

I take a pic and send it to Sam and my mom before repacking my mess. I may be a brat, but I'm not completely without decorum.

My dad and Charlotte are waiting in the hideous living room when I walk in. I pull on my denim jacket and stuff my phone into the pocket just as Charlotte works up the nerve to say hello. I smile politely and wait.

"You look like your mom did at your age," my dad says with a hopeful smile. I get that he's trying to break the ice, and as much as I don't want to, I appreciate the compliment.

"We should go," Charlotte says when it's apparent that I'm not going to speak.

Just so we're clear, I'm not intentionally being silent. Well, maybe a small part of me is, but for the most part I just haven't worked out a way to talk to them without letting them in too much. My mom doesn't want me to be rude because that will be a bad reflection on her. So, I'll be civil, but not too civil. Yeah, I'll speak. But I'll have to keep them at arms length. Easy.

Just as I'd thought, the restaurant is fancy. It's not magazine worthy fancy, but since the only ones that my mom and I frequent still serve some variety of a kid's meal, it's definitely an upgrade.

The hostess guides us to our seats which are designed The Cheesecake Factory style, with booths on one side and tables on the other. I don't know if this was intentional, but we ended up seated in a booth. To my Dad's credit, he lets me have one side to myself while him and Charlotte occupy the other.

"I'll just leave these here and be back in a few," our server, Olive, says while passing out the menus. "Take your time."

And take my time I do. While I ponder my choices, my dad and Charlotte busy themselves with grown up talk. I don't pay them much attention until Olive comes back and takes our orders.

"So, Quinn," my dad says, and I bristle. "How's school?"

Ugh. Small talk is the worst. And that question is the most pointless one that he could've asked. The only obvious answer is 'good' maybe even 'great!' But I don't answer him just yet. I'm still working on my whole 'keeping them at arms length' bit.

I glance around me for a distraction and am not disappointed. At the table adjacent to our booth a boy about my age seems to be having as tough a time dining with his family as I do. Only it looks like he's being chewed out by his dad. Yikes.

He glances up and catches me staring. This is the moment that I'm supposed to be ashamed that I've been caught and look away, but I can't. Something about his face makes me want to keep my eyes on him. It's not just that he's good looking. Its something else, something that I can quite put my finger on. Maybe it's the piercing in his eyebrow that glints in the light whenever he frowns. Maybe it's the melanin. Maybe it's the earphones that are wrapped around his neck with one stuck in his right ear. I mean, if he's willing to collect an extra serving of whatever verbal licking his dad is sharing, then hell to the yes, he's interesting. And even though the lighting isn't exactly ideal, I can still tell that he's one of those guys that you just can't help but take notice of and I bet that he knows it too.

He raises his brow as if to say what the fuck are you looking at? So I raise mine back. You. Duh.

My dad clears his throat and I reluctantly break the eye contact with my distraction of the hour. "School is terrible," I reply. "My friends are the same. No, I'm not seeing Jessie anymore and yes, I'm okay. I still plan on going to college in the fall and no, I don't know what I'm going to major in as yet." I give him my best smile. "Did I miss anything?"

He exhales. "No. You've pretty much covered my conversation list for the entire dinner. Guess we'll just have to sit here in silence."

"Thank God!"

This makes him laugh and Charlotte giggle. I don't even crack a smile. Instead, I'm choosing to scowl, if for no other reason than to be difficult.

When silence overtakes our table once more, I glance over at my distraction and find that he's left. Just great. Now what the hell do I do until our food gets here?

"Are you in any clubs?" Dad tries again. I shake my head. You'd have to get along with enough people to be allowed in one of those, and by now you guys should know my track record with the kids at my school. For the lost ones, I'm not very well liked right now. Shocker. I know. "What about track? You still run, don't you?"

Oh, gosh. Not this conversation again. "For fun, Dad. I run for the hell of it. I'm still not interested in competing."

Back when life was good and my parents weren't divorced, my dad was my running partner. In fact, he was the one who got me into it in the first place. He'd wake me at the ass crack of dawn, and we'd run two miles each day before school. We never ran together after school because he was usually at work until way after I'd already gone to bed, but he always made sure we'd gotten our morning run in. It was the one thing that was ours, but after they separated, it was out of the question. Yeah, I still ran. I just left him out of it.

"So, no extra curricular activities whatsoever, then." He nods and for a moment it seems as though he's disappointed but that can't be right. He has no business being disappointed in me when he barely even knows me anymore.

"Well, I have no interests whatsoever, so that might be why." I smile. "Wait, no that's not true. Sometimes me and Sam will knock over the convenience store down the block and I don't know, I think a life of crime seems kind of interesting."

"Funny." He holds his wine glass between his fingers and levels me with his stare. "You've got to get serious about your senior year, Quinn. And before you tell me that it's none of my business, yes, it is. You're my kid. You'll always be my business."

I roll my eyes. "Dad, come on." My gaze meets Charlotte's and I don't know why I'm surprised to find that she's paying attention to our banter, but it unnerves me. It's none of her business either. "I'm plenty serious, okay? I just have no desire to be around my classmates any longer than I have to."

"Yeah? You're going to put that on your application?" He carefully places his wine down without drinking any. I'd have thought that he'd need the alcohol booster to have this conversation, but whatever. "Colleges want applicants who stand out. You're subpar at best right now." Now he looks disappointed. "You're not doing yourself any favors, Quinn. None whatsoever."

"Good." I sip my water and stare cooly at him as though his words didn't piss me off. I don't need anyone telling me what I'm not. Subpar or not, it's no thanks to him.

Olive returns with our meals and I'm tempted to ask her to join us, but the look of sympathy that she throws my way as she leaves tells me that she's seen what I have to offer, and she's not impressed.

My dad alternates his time between eating and lecturing me. What do you know, he's quite the multitasker. I mostly tune him out, but when he starts throwing around stuff like "wasted potential" I see red.

"You do know that you have no right to talk to me about this stuff, right?" I ask in between bites of my parmesan encrusted chicken that now tastes like sandpaper. Thanks, Dad.

"No?"

I put my fork down with more force than is needed and immediately feel foolish. I don't answer him. My head spins with all of the things that I want to yell, but now isn't the time or the place for yelling. I can't say that I don't know why I'm upset. I'm upset because he's been gone for three years and now he wants to be an invested parent. It's not fair. "When you left, you should've stayed gone," I say in a shaky voice. I'm so mad, I'm dangerously close to tears. "You don't get to come back after the storm has passed and you've already missed the cleanup crew. You don't get to act like something that you're not."

"You shut the door, Quinn," Dad says. He sounds hurt, but I don't look at him to check. "I've been trying for all that time, but your mind was made up from the moment that I left. It's not fair to blame me for this rift."

Because I'm so done with this conversation and this stupid dinner, I sulk and offer no response. I can picture us going back and forth about this for the next hour and it's not at all appealing. I'd rather gouge my own eyes out.

Charlotte clears her throat and I'm guessing that she's trying to not-so-subtly communicate with my father. "May I be excused?" I ask just to be polite. My mom would never forgive me if I threw a tantrum and stormed off like a child. Hell, I've had enough of my own tantrums and don't look forward to embarrassing myself again so soon.

"Fine," Dad says after some initial hesitation.

I use this time to hang out in the restroom and to my disappointment, realize that I can't even wash my face to cool down. Why? Because I'm wearing a full face of makeup, that's why. At first, I wanted to just do it anyway, but that shit is expensive. Also, I don't want to look like a raccoon until I get back to the house. No, thank you.

I sit on the toilet with the lid closed and text Sam for the next half an hour. I know that my dad will be pissed that I've kept them waiting, but I'm feeling extra brattish tonight and also, I'm trying to be more passive aggressive instead of just aggressive.

Charlotte is the only one at the table when I get back. She doesn't offer any smiles or say anything actually. She just nods in acknowledgement of my presence and then stands.

Welp, I guess dinner's over.

I'm up before the sun the next day. My dad and Charlotte are still getting their beauty sleep and I am extremely thankful that I won't have to see them just yet.

I'll have to face them at some point throughout the day and apologize for last night. My mom's orders. Bleh. I'm so not looking forward to doing that. In case you haven't already noticed, I suck at apologies. I'll either end up crying (I hope to God not) or I'll get irrationally angry all over again and blow it. Anyone's guess really.

I play ABBA's Waterloo while I stretch in preparation for my morning run. You might be wondering why on earth I spend so much of my free time running if I'm not even on the track team. Even if you weren't, I'm going to tell you anyway.

I run because it makes me happy. It's a natural high. Simply being outside clears my head faster than any drug can. When I'm in mode, it's music on, brain off. Simple as that. No worries. No Jessie drama. No daddy issues. Nothing. Just me and the open road.

Because this is an unfamiliar neighborhood, I stay within range of two streets. I don't feel as productive just running back and forth, but it does make me feel a little better.

When I get back to my dad's street for the final leg of my run, I slow it to a walk. The sun is long risen, and I can see a few of his neighbors here and there on their lawns. What there is to do this early, I have no idea.

For a minute I wonder if this is some kind of retirement community because there is hardly any kid stuff on any of the lawns. I saw one— literally one tricycle discarded in the yard two doors over but that's about it for the presence of little ones. It's just as well for me. I don't really like em. Not in an "I hate kids!" kind of way. I just don't mind them not being around. Less crying. Less yelling. More peace. Yay!

The houses are way nicer than in my neighborhood. For starters, this is a subdivision, and we're dealing with those fancy three-story colonial type houses. By comparison, my neighborhood would be deemed underwhelming by anyone who didn't grow up there. But I prefer mine over this one any day of the week. Even Monday.

There's a teenaged boy stretched out on the hood of a car in the yard next door to my dad's. He doesn't see me at first. Upon closer inspection (the edge of the yard) he looks as though he's asleep. But that can't be right cause it's almost 7 am and although it's not summer hot, it's still pretty humid for a Saturday this time of year.

I walk on and glance back at him before going into the house. He hasn't moved. I shake my head and move on. Idiot. He's going to get a pretty bad sunburn. What, is he new to this life thing or something?

I take a shower and get dressed in shorts and a t-shirt before going back downstairs. Thankfully, I'm still the only one up. I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to say to my dad and Charlotte, but my mom was insistent that I apologize for "whatever shit I did". My guess is that he called her and tattled. Normally I wouldn't even listen to her, but the way I see it is that I owe her big time for being a ginormous pain in the ass for the last year and obedience is one way that I can make up for it. Even if it kills my pride to do it. Ugh.

Charlotte is the first one to join me in their unsurprisingly huge kitchen. "Good morning, Quinn," she says. She's sporting an updo while wearing workout clothes. I'll tell you this, the two do not go together. "Slept well?"

I nod. I'm still unsure about what I should say to her. Do I owe her an apology directly or should I wait for my father to join us?

"I was hoping that you and I could hang out today. Maybe go shopping," she says this cautiously as though she already knows that I'm going to say no. "Or we could run together," she continues, completely oblivious to how much she's ruined whatever it is that she'd had going. I run alone. Period.

"I'll pass." I say it politely enough, but I still feel bad when her face falls.

She takes the stool next to mine at the counter and faces me. "You know, your dad's trying his best. It might not seem good enough right now, but if you gave him a chance you'll see." Her eyes crinkle when she smiles and it makes her look ten times younger, although she can't be more than thirty-five. "If you'd give me a chance, I wouldn't mind that either."

I stand and offer her the briefest of smiles. "We'll see."

I know. I know that I'm being beyond impossible, but it's not easy for me to be here. I've got way too many unresolved issues with my father— well, maybe just the one— and adding his fiancée into the mix is not the best idea. I should know. I'm the queen of bad ideas and I'm saying that letting her too close is not good. Maybe.

"Quinn," she calls out to me as I'm about to leave. I glance back and raise my brow. "Please, give him a chance."

I don't reply. Instead, I leave her there and head out of the house. I don't plan on going far. I'll just walk around the block again and hope to clear my head.

My mom calls while I'm on my stroll. "Hey, Mom!" I say way too cheerily. I'm hoping beyond all hope that she's not about to lecture me again about last night. I love the woman, but she has a tendency to linger over the small stuff.

"Hey, baby." She's not half as cheery as I am. "How'd the apology go?"

Um. "Well..."

"Well." Just that one word and I'm chastened.

"Dad's asleep and Charlotte is exercising." Well, she was dressed up in workout gear, so technically, I'm telling the truth. "I'll talk to them when I get back to the house."

She huffs and I know that she's far from impressed, but I hope that she drops it just this once. "I don't want to be on the receiving end of another complaint, okay?"

"And I don't want to be on the receiving end of another lecture," I tell her. "I've got you."

She laughs although she probably doesn't want to. "I encourage you too much, you know. Just try to be a bit nicer and get through today. You'll be home before you know it."

"I will." I might not.

"Okay. Carrie's here, baby. I've gotta go. Call me later."

Carrie is my mom's best friend and has been since they were in diapers. I honestly don't care for their history all that much. I don't really like her that much either since I'm being honest. She's the type of person who never wanted kids and has no patience for them and isn't afraid to let it show. I know what you're thinking. But Quinn, you don't like kids either. And, yes, I do. I just don't care to be around them if I don't have to. Also, I'm in my selfish years so I'm allowed. But this woman is well into her forties and still harbors resentment towards an innocent seventeen-year-old girl for reasons unbeknownst to anyone who cares to wonder.

"Love you," my mother says in response to my silence. She knows exactly how I feel about Carrie and vice versa. She also has the insane ability to thread so carefully that we've never actually had a fight about it.

"Uh huh."

After talking to my mom, I decide to head back to the house. My father should be up by now and Charlotte should be done with her imaginary workout.

I formulate my apology as I walk back. So far, I've got, I'm sorry about my behavior last night. My actions were reprehensible, and I vow to never behave so out of character again. I almost choke when I think about their reaction to that. Of course, my dad will know that I'm bluffing. I'm not that articulate when it matters the most. The next one that I've come up with is, Leaving you guys sitting there for an hour was rude and I'm sorry.

The last one seems like a clear winner. It's concise and to the point. But, it's also shallow. It makes me seem like I don't really care to say it. Ugh. This apology thing sucks ass.

"Hey," someone calls out to me. I walk on. The voice is male and sounds like it belongs to my age group, therefore I'm under no obligation to be nice. "Hey!" The guy says again, more insistent this time.

I turn around and yell, "what?!" If I wasn't already halfway through with the word before I looked at him, I might have been nicer. It's the guy from the restaurant with the eyebrow piercing. He's however, not the guy from this morning. Must be brothers or something. They don't have the same complexion, but who am I to say that they're not.

This one's even cuter in the daylight. His facial features are movie worthy, and I don't say that lightly. He's the epitome of clear skin. And I hate him a little for it. Now, it's already a known fact that boys just have it easier when it comes to skincare. All they have to do is wash their face and that's that. Meanwhile, I go through dozens of masks a week just to avoid blemishes, and pimples are another story. This guy doesn't have an ounce of imperfection. From his icy brown eyes to his well-built almond-colored chest that is on full display, he's perfection bottled up. He's even tall, to make matters worse and if not for the menacing look that he's throwing my way, I'd be more interested. "Yes?" I amend my greeting.

"You're stepping on the lawn," he says sounding annoyed. "Scoot a little over to the right and go be someone else problem."

"Well, shit," I reply with my best smile. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?"