Who: Violet, Tate. Yay, it's Violate times. <3 What: Hanging out at the beach with tacos. Aw yea! Where: Who knows where these crazy teens are gonna end up? Hopefully it's not on someone's lawn. When: Saturday Rating: PG13 for cutting and teen hormones and stuff. Thou hast been warned! Status: Complete!
Tate was convinced he was psychic. Either that, or he was simply used to the routine. Constance tried to corner him before he could make it to the front door. It helped being able to drop a bombshell while flipping her off, that he was going to hang out with a girl from school. It allowed him to have some money pushed into his hands as he diverted his way around his mom, AND get out the door while she acted all proud of him and oh-so-happy that he actually wasn't gay and she had some glimmer of hope for a grandbaby. Someday. After he became a doctor. Or a lawyer.
It would've been awesome if she hadn't said any of that, outloud. But she did. And that's why Tate kept right on flipping her off, until it reached the point that he either pulled his hand back, or it was going to get slammed in the front door. While the effect and shock value of doing that would've been epic win, it probably wouldn't be so great for him to have to ask Violet to take him to the emergency room for a busted wrist or fingers.
Even though he could all but feel his mother's eyes burning holes into his back from one of the windows, he remained turned away and never once looked over his shoulder to confirm that's what she was doing. He knew already. Both hands were shoved into his pockets and his shoulders were slumped as he stood at the end of the driveway, waiting for Violet to show up.