Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
What? My eyes widen. “You have a date?” I ask Kinney, shocked. She never mentioned anything to me, and a deep frown replaces my surprise.
Kinney shoots Tom a look like he’s spilled something.
He’s laughing under his breath and springs up from the booth. Leaving for the rack of bowling balls. He does that: throw out drama-laden statements and then exits to watch everything burn.
His mom calls him a shit-stirrer.
Oscar narrows his eyes at Kinney. “This is news to me. We could bring a date to this thing?” He lifts up his pint glass.
Jack trains his camera on Oscar and the lens extends out, zooming in. “Seeing anyone?”
“Bro,” Oscar says, putting his beer to his lips. “I’m not doing your show.”
Jack smiles. “I say this to everyone, but I really mean it for you, Oscar: you’d look good on TV. And it’s not my show.”
Both of them are pretty eye-locked. So I just watch for a second as Oscar replies, but I’m also looking at my little sister who’s ignoring me.
“Of course I would look hot on TV. Doesn’t matter. I don’t need the same problems that my little bro has with fame.” Oscar swigs his beer. “And give yourself more credit, Highland.”
Jack peeks from behind the camera, glittering charm reaching his brown eyes. “What kind of credit do you think I should give myself?”
Oscar stares at him for a long beat. “More.”
Agreed. Jack is a huge part of the docuseries, and he’s in a top executive position.
I try to capture my sister’s attention, but she’s still purposefully avoiding my eyes. “Kinney,” I say.
My sister takes a trained breath, and then peers up from her bowling shoes. “Don’t say it,” she tells me.
“First,” I start out, “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me about your date, but you know I’m always here to talk.”
She rolls her eyes like I’m so embarrassing, but a shadow of a smile—one that she wouldn’t want me to see—starts inching up her lips.
“Second, you’re being a hypocrite,” I tell her bluntly. “You’re willing to kick out Farrow but you have a date who’s also not here and she gets a pass?”
“Shouldn’t you be happy for me?” she combats. “You’re the one who told me to try seeing someone else after Viv left. So what do I do? I take your stupid advice and invite Holly here.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask her because she’s made a figurative turn and is starting to take deep, spastic breaths like she’s trying hard not to cry.
“Nothing is wrong,” she snaps back. “She’s just late like Farrow. And she’ll be here…she’s not standing me up, Moffy.”
“She’s not,” I agree, layering on the confidence for her.
“We just arrived; she’ll make it,” Oscar adds.
“I know that. But you both don’t know for sure,” she says flatly. When she gets upset, she goes into defense mode. Attack anyone in sight, and usually it’s me. She knows I can take her jabs.
Kinney swings her head to the wall clock. “How long do we have the alley for?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I say. “Can I have this girl’s number? Let me call her—”
“Over my rotting corpse,” she glares.
“I can help,” I remind my sister and hold out my hand for her phone.
She considers for a long moment, then brushes me off coolly. Like none of this matters anyway, even though we all know that it does. “I’m not worried,” she says and looks around at the near-empty space.
My phone vibrates again.
“Should we start without them?” she wonders as I read my text.
Almost there – Farrow
My stomach and chest immediately lighten like a huge, immeasurable weight has vanished. I glance up at Kinney. “He’s going to be here soon,” I tell her. “Don’t give him a hard time. He already feels badly.”
“We’ll see,” Kinney says.
The screen above the lanes illuminates with our names. As soon as I read it, Kinney and I both turn to Oscar who was in charge of giving the manager a list of the bowling players.
He’s grinning into his sip of beer.
“Your membership has been revoked,” Kinney declares in a deadpan.
Oscar laughs and almost chokes on his beer. He sets it down. “Hale,” he starts.
“Revoked,” she says and stands up. “I’ll be back.” She snatches up a drink menu from the table and eyes the bar.
“They’re not going to serve you alcohol,” I tell her, knowing she craves to be one of the “adults” but she’s only thirteen.
“No duh,” she replies and gives me a look like I’m the absurd one. “But they have a drink called the bubbly cauldron. I’m going to convince the bartender to make me a nonalcoholic version.” She takes a deep breath and leaves us, confidence encasing her posture, despite potentially being stood up.
My eyes drift back to the names on the screen.
Redford
Filipe
Carraway
No Middle Name Hale 1
No Middle Name Hale 2