Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
He’s either pissed off or turned on, and all I can think is, Good.
But I still want to vomit.
Weston
Yes.
Yes, I am a fucking idiot for letting her walk off. Are you satisfied?
As Molly walks away, her small sassy friend in tow, Stacy sighs beside me and crosses both arms over her flat chest. “Well, that was only slightly awkward.”
“Why are you still standing here?” I ask rudely, grabbing my books and slamming my locker shut. “If I were you, I would walk away before I do something we’re both going to regret.”
I start walking toward the math wing.
Undaunted and stepping in line with my brisk pace, Stacy is not taking the hint and lets out a short little laugh. “You’re not blaming me for your fuck-up back there, are you? Ugh, such a typical guy thing to do. That scene back there”—she gestures over her shoulder—“that was entirely your fault.”
I stop dead in my tracks and grab her by the arm. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? If you hadn’t pissed me off and pushed all my buttons, I wouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Her eyebrow shoots up. Slowly she says, “So…let me get this straight. I ask you if Molly’s your girlfriend….and because I’ve already pissed you off, you get mad and yell that she’ll never be your—oh wait, how exactly did you put it? She’ll never be your ‘damn girlfriend.’ Do I have it right?”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.” I can feel my temper rising again, and now we’re not alone in the hallway anymore. People are moving from one class to another for fourth period or heading to the cafeteria for their lunch.
“Don’t you get it? Like, it doesn’t matter if I’m the reason you were mad. Did you mean it? Do you really not care?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I stand, staring off down the long corridor.
“Answer me,” Stacy persists. “Because seriously? If you love her, that was a super shitty thing to do.”
This gets my attention. “Oh yeah? What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be her friend?” Sarcasm drips off my tongue.
Stacy shrugs. “Eh, not really. I just basically sit at her lunch table, listening to her and Jenna hold court like they own the place. But whatever.” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder and bumps me in the hip. “So, you better figure it out. “
An understatement if ever there was one.
CHAPTER 28
MOLLY
“Could you please not talk to me again? It’s for a school project.”
– Maddie to Brian Bossner after their first and only date
Normally, I am not one to dwell.
I don’t pout.
I don’t wallow in self-pity.
But there most certainly have been a few occasions when I have made exceptions:
1. The time Erica Pederson cheated off my math test in fifth grade and I got in trouble for it. To this day I still can’t walk by her in the hall without curling my lip.
2. The time my nanna made me a pig costume for Halloween and my parents forced me to wear it. I was TWELVE.
3. The time Jenna drew a mustache on my face with Sharpie during a sleepover and it wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I scrubbed. We had family pictures the next day, and I was grounded for a week.
4. Just for dramatic effect, I’m going to repeat the fact that my parents made me wear a pig costume out in public when I was twelve, which we all know is a pivotal point in a young girl’s life. I could easily have been traumatized by this.
The first thing I want to do, oddly enough, is call my brother. The girly, prideful part of me seriously wants Matthew to come home and kick Weston’s ass, maybe rough him up a bit.
Or at least threaten to.
I think that might make me feel better. Right? Ugh, who am I kidding? It would make me feel awful because I don’t hate the guy.
I love him.
All the way home, Jenna sits in the passenger seat of the Jeep, and she hasn’t said much, which we all know is so not like her, but I can definitely hear her muttering under her breath about all men are creeps, and how she should have seen this coming from a guy so hot he could melt ice cream with his hotness.
Yeah, riveting stuff.
I adjust my seat and shift gears, tuning her out and listening to the sound of my engine and the wind as we cruise down Maple Street, through town, then out onto the country road that leads to my house.
Finally, unable to stand it—because I know Jenna is just dying to unleash on me—I say, “So, spill. Tell me what you’re really thinking.” I take a sidelong look at her, and she’s twirling her blonde hair between her neon pink fingertips. The shiny silver thumb ring she’s wearing catches the sun, and at first she shakes her head like she’s got nothing to say.