BIX:Initiation--YA Contemp WIP Feb 18, 2020 13:08:58 GMT -5
Post by margies on Feb 18, 2020 13:08:58 GMT -5
I should’ve known better than to open the door to strangers—even if they were men-in-black and brandishing golden shields. But, instinct kicks in. See a badge, obey the order.
“Bixby Darwin?” The senior officer asks. Grey hair flecks his military-issue crew cut brown hair. He raises his Ray-bans so steely blue eyes drill me.
I nod, wondering what I’d done to bring the law down on my door. Nothing comes to mind. I’m not that interesting.
He looks past me into the depths of our apartment—which isn’t that deep. “Is your mom home, son?”
So, it has nothing to do with me? Disappointment bounces in my gut. I was hoping that I’d inadvertently hacked into some super-secret government installation—Area 51 or something. “Yeah. She’s getting ready to go out.” We both are. But for me, that consists of changing my shoes and taking off the baseball cap—per Mom’s orders.
“The getting-to-know-my-son lunch?” Junior Agent winks at me as he quotes my words.
I don’t know which one’s more creepy—the wink or the fact that he’s been following my very recent Twitter feed.
Knowing they aren’t just going to go away if I make them stand in the entrance, I step aside and let them enter our humble abode. Maybe they’re here to confirm my suspicions about Mom’s current boyfriend, Rutger—the florist/terrorist. Seriously? A florist named Rutger?
“Mom,” I call down the hall. “You have company.” As in capital C—company.
Junior fidgets, glancing at his notes and back to me. “So, Bixbee—” He draws my name out.
“Yeah?” I glance down the hall. What is taking her so long? Doesn’t she know how awkward this is?
“You’re fifteen?” He squints at his notebook. I’m not sure if he’s trying to do the math or searching for confirmation.
I recognize the disbelief. Clocking in at five-foot nothing and less than a hundred pounds, I look closer to a ten-year-old than a teenager—even though I crested that particular milestone a couple of years ago.
“Daisy?” Senior Agent calls down the hallway. Why is he calling her by her first name? Shouldn’t he be all proper and asking about whether to call her Mrs. Darwin or Ms. Darwin? Of course, he’s government, so maybe he knows she isn’t married and that my particular sperm donor is long gone.
“Bix?” Mom literally dances into view. Backstepping down the hall, she pumps her arms in the air and sways her hips side to side. “Are you ready?” She swirls around, catches sight of Senior’s profile, and stumbles. She smacks one hand on the wall to steady herself, while the other hand yanks the ear buds out. “Jesus, Frank, you about gave me a heart-attack.”
There are three things wrong with that statement. My mom never swears. She knows the agent-in-charge well enough to first name him. And she KNOWS the agent!