Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Then I ducked between the bleachers, into the dimly lit parking lot.
Every single person I passed had a stupid-ass grin on their face. And as I made my way toward that shiny Maserati, I realized for most people here tonight, all they had to look forward to after this would be a bunch of dead-end jobs, piles of delinquent notices, and a string of divorces. Because this was Dayton, and it was nothing short of quicksand few people escaped.
Mr. Morgan pushed away from his bumper, straightening his tie before I stopped a few feet in front of him.
“You wanted to talk?” I said, keeping my distance.
“I have no doubt you love her, and I have no doubt she thinks she loves you.” He dropped his chin to his chest on a hard breath. “And you may not see it--She may not see it, but I do love her very much. It’s the only reason I tried so hard to be successful. And it’s the only reason I don’t want to see her throw her entire future away.”
Throw her future away. That comment dug inside me with barbed wire hooks as people passed behind us, laughing and talking.
He pulled an envelope from his pocket, then stepped forward to hand it to me.
A letter from Alabama State College addressed to Miss Drucella A. Morgan.
“Since she was ten, she’s wanted to attend Cornell,” Mr. Morgan said. “She’s been accepted there, and to two other Ivy League schools. So tell me, young man, why she’s applied to a university here?”
I stared down at the envelope, knots kinking my stomach.
“I may have been wrong with my first judgment of you, but I stand by the fact that, if she stays with you, she will ruin her entire future. And I don’t mean that as a slight. It’s unfortunately the way the world works.” He smoothed a hand down his shirt. “Because what on earth could you possibly give her?”
Another jab. Another dig. The paper crumpled in my hand. I couldn’t give her money or cars or Armani-fucking-jeans. But if she stayed with me, I’d give her everything I had, and more than anything, I’d love her. I tossed the acceptance letter to the ground and glared at him.
What could I give her? “I’d give her everything you didn’t,” I said.
He held my gaze for all of five seconds before the headlights of his car flashed, and he rounded the front. “Unfortunately, the real world doesn’t work like a fairytale, young man. It runs on money and greed.” And then he sank behind the wheel, slammed the door, and cranked the engine to his ridiculously expensive car that screamed for attention, while I stood in the parking lot.
His taillights faded into the distance before I picked up the crumpled acceptance letter and shoved it in my pocket.
It didn’t have to be one or the other. It didn’t…It didn’t have to be Cornell or me.
And that’s what kept telling myself as I walked back to the football field to get my girl.
49
Drew
A week later
The Alabama heat clung to me the second I got out of my air-conditioned car. This heat was getting unbearable. My tank top stuck to my back anytime I was out in it, but not even the gross humidity could dim my mood, because I’d just gotten a job.
Like an actual, adult job. At the mall in a cute little boutique.
Not that I didn’t like just hanging out with Bellamy and the guys--even Hendrix--or Nora and Diane. But the girls had summer jobs, and the guys were always stealing and dealing.
I had enough money to get me through the summer, but I actually wanted to work. I didn’t want to be some Barrington brat. It felt good to get something without my dad’s help.
I tossed my car keys on the side table by the door, the manic laughter of SpongeBob spilled from the TV.
“Hey, Peehead,” I said when I passed Arlo on the couch, his attention glued to the screen.
“Hey, Miss Drew. Bubba’s outside.”
I followed the hum of the lawnmower to the backyard, and I stood on the porch for a second, admiring how good Bellamy looked with his sweat-slicked chest, pushing the mower through the tall grass.
He caught my staring, then cut the engine on a smirk. “Why are you standing out here, staring at me like a creeper?”
“I’m perving. Not creeping. It’s different.”
“Fine. That’s acceptable.” He reached for the pull.
“I got a job,” I said before he cranked it.
I expected him to smile, or say congratulations or, at the very least, offer some smartass remark, but instead, all he did was stare.
“What?” I said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why did you get a job?”
“Uh, to earn money. What else am I going to do all summer?”
He swiped a hand over his chin, then gave a violent yank to the pull and cranked the mower again.