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The following morning before school, Amelia raced around the house, rifling through the dirty clothes on her floor, in the laundry basket, and in the dryer. She knew she had it somewhere still. She wouldn’t have been careless enough to lose it. She just had to find where the hell it went to.
“Oh, come on. Where are you?” she muttered loudly, tossing more clothes haphazardly behind her in a desperate search. “I know you’re here.”
“Looking for something, Tomcat?”
She groaned at being caught red-handed. There was no use in lying. Straightening up, she glanced at her stepdad.
“I was looking for your hoodie,” she admitted. “I wanted to wear it to school today, but I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Oh?” He glanced at the dryer that had just finished a few minutes prior. “Which one are you looking for?”
“Your Dagger Squad one. I could’ve sworn Mom grabbed it to wash it a few days ago. It should have been in here, but I can’t find it.”
Her dad smiled sympathetically before he patted her shoulder gently. “How about this? I lend you another one for today, and we look for my other one when you get home later tonight. Sound good?”
“But I wanted to wear that one, Dad,” she groaned dramatically.
“I know, sweetheart, but short of us stumbling across it in the next minute, you’re going to be late to school otherwise.”
“Fine,” she huffed out loudly. It’d have to do for today. She grabbed the offered hooded sweatshirt that simply said Navy on its front and tossed it over her head quickly. “Thanks, Dad. Love you.” She gave him a rushed hug before she ran for the front door, snatching her book bag from the floor before flying out the door and down the steps.
She didn’t know why her dad had the best hoodies to wear, but he always did.
Though, she really wished she knew what happened to his other one. She loved that one the best.
Tragedy struck at lunch.
With a nasty smirk, Missy Thompson, the stuck-up cow in her second year of her senior year, tossed her overpriced smoothie directly at Amelia. The frothy liquid that stunk to high heaven smeared all down her dad’s hoodie, covering the Navy and dripping onto the floor and her shoes.
“Oops. Sorry,” Missy feigned. “Didn’t see you there.”
Amelia took a step towards the senior she was ready to throw hands with until there was nothing left of the horrible girl. Her path, however, was immediately blocked by a solid, muscular body when her boyfriend of the past year stepped directly in front of her.
“You could do so much better than her,” Missy commented, sharpening her smile.
“Nah, she could do so much better than me,” Ethan stated before he made a quick Move along motion to Missy and the other onlookers. He then turned to her as soon as they were alone again. “Here. Let’s get that crap off you.”
Amelia blinked away the tears at his kindness, following him a moment later to one of the restrooms off the cafeteria.
“You know you don’t have to do this.”
“I know, beautiful,” he replied, leaning against the wall as he waited for her to wash off the disgusting drink. “But I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I didn’t, wouldn’t I?”
Once she had most of it washed off, she considered throwing it back on before she sighed heavily and decided against it. The last thing she wanted was it to fall victim to another high school girl’s vindictiveness.
“Here. You can wear mine.” Ethan yanked up and over his head his knitted sweater he had used to cover his button-down shirt, handing it to her. “I know it’s not your dad’s, but . . . maybe it’s the next best thing?” he suggested with a flirty, shy smile.
She laughed, shaking her head but taking his offered sweater. The second she tugged it down over her, she caught the smell of his cologne and smiled. “Thanks.”
He shrugged, sticking his hands into his belt loops. “Looks good on you.”
She rolled her eyes hard. “I swear you’d say that if I was wearing a paper bag, Ethan.”
“Yeah, maybe, but you’d be rocking that paper bag, beautiful.”
Pointing at him, she deadpanned, “Keep it in your pants, Simpson.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” he replied, saluting her with a playful grin before he escorted her out of the bathroom and walked her to her next class. He gave her cheek a quick chaste kiss, murmuring in her ear, “You have to admit here. Boyfriend sweater trumps Dad’s hoodies.”
“Yeah. In your dreams, babe,” she retorted, patting his chest three times before she walked into her next class laughing at his adorable pout.
Oh, how she loved that ridiculous guy of hers. But, well, she supposed she could see the appeal of boyfriend sweaters.