Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
We continue to lock eyes in a game of chicken, unmoving and unspeaking and waiting for the other to spew their thoughts. I’ve never been a great competitor at anything, but breaking contact first sounds as exhausting as spilling my heart.
So I just stare at my sister.
She’s sixteen now, but her gangly frame and youthful face shave years off her age. Like me and our mom, she could pass for several years younger, and even though she’s firmly a teenager, I still feel the five whole years that separate us like boulders we can’t push.
Years don’t always create caverns and mountains between siblings. Sulli and Winona are secret-handshake, hip-bump close, but for some reason, Kinney and I never reached that tip in the sister pyramid.
I think it’s because she’ll always be closer to Xander, the way that I’m closer to Moffy. Maybe she’s contemplating this too because she finally blurts out, “I’ll go get Moffy.”
“No,” I say hurriedly. “I’m fine. I promise.” I make a move towards the window to demonstrate just how fine I am. While I step through the threshold, my sneaker catches on the windowsill, and I awkwardly splat on my fuzzy rug in a belly flop.
Oof. Beached flounder has become me.
She blinks. “Super graceful.”
I burrito-roll onto my back. While I take a heavy breath, she’s extending a hand to me. I clasp her palm, and she helps me rise to my feet. The sketch is still in my possession. Carefully, I slip the paper underneath my bed pillow.
I remember Donnelly’s words as he called up to me. “That’s what I imagine in the end. You and me and our galaxy. And maybe I don’t want you to forget it.”
“I never will,” I told him.
I never will.
It’s this tiny, delicate ember of hope that I’m trying to cradle close.
Kinney watches me hide my sketch as if it’s a diary. “What’s that?”
“A drawing.” Just a future not yet written. But I hear Donnelly again, telling me it’s in the stars. It’s already written.
I’m trying to believe.
My ribs constrict, and gradually, I face my sister.
Kinney crosses her arms, her sheer black sleeves complementing the dress-overalls she wears. Dark shadowy makeup further boldens her green eyes. “I’m not a fool, you know. I saw Donnelly talking to Dad. Then he came up here, and next thing you know, he’s sliding down your drainpipe to leave.”
Red heat bathes my cheeks. “You were watching from a window?” How else did she get that visual?
“Xander and I were.” She examines me, up and down, as though she can exhume every buried secret. But even with all my secrets, I’m almost positive who knows what.
The “good head” experiment is only known by my penthouse roommates and Oscar (Donnelly’s best friend/Charlie’s bodyguard).
Most of those roommates see Donnelly and me as close friends with inside jokes and flirty inclinations. If they have their suspicions about a secret relationship, they haven’t shared them with me.
Only Farrow and Maximoff really suspect we’re more than we were since Halloween, a week ago. The night of our first kiss.
No one knows Donnelly is StaleBread89.
No one knows for sure that Donnelly and I had sex.
So Xander and Kinney are among the ones that have zero idea that I’ve had any romantic involvement with Donnelly. In their eyes, we’re just friends.
And now she’s starting to Nancy Drew this like it’s The Case of Her Big Sister’s Strange Love Life. I guess Donnelly visiting my bedroom is fishy—even if I could blame it on a friendly encounter.
“Okay,” I breathe, my eyes raw. My heart has already floated out of my body. I think I truly did give it to Donnelly before he left.
“Okay?” She sounds harsh, but her frown deepens. “Are you upset about him or are you upset about your leaked fics?”
The leaked fics happened at 2 a.m.—last night or this morning, depending on your viewpoint of 2 a.m.—and it feels as fresh as Donnelly just leaving my parents’ house. My Fictitious account is deactivated. Gone. My stories like Human Him, Cosmic Her are no longer on the web for people to disparage, but screenshots are forever.
The internet is forever.
I haven’t looked again to see what people are saying. I’m scared.
Really scared.
An overwhelming pressure tries to crush my chest, and I intake a tighter breath.
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“You don’t know?” she snaps like that’s impossible.
How could I not know what’s troubling me? I do know. I know it’s everything. I know it’s easier to just shut down. To switch an off button.
Staring far away at the floorboards, I lift my hoodie’s hood over my head, and I imagine I’m disintegrating after a Thanos snap. I’m fluttering pieces of dust, drifting into the air. No one feels pain after they dust. They’re just gone.
Invisible.
Not present for the bad days, the awful months, and then they reemerge years later as time has passed without them. Without me.