Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
I felt sorry for myself all day Saturday and then spent Sunday with Mom and Hazel and never got a chance to text the girls, but now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever got a message from any of them asking where I’d gone on Friday night, not even on Saturday making sure I was alright.
That realization has a pang of hurt residing in my chest, but I don’t have time to dwell on it now.
“Get to homeroom,” Principal Daniels says to the few stragglers still lingering in the hall.
I cringe and get a move on, making it to homeroom just moments before the door closes behind me. Letting out a sigh of relief, I drop into my seat and as Mrs. Pembroke goes through attendance, my mind spins, trying to figure out how the hell I can bring Noah to me.
I need to get him alone, trap him, and force him to talk.
So far, every time we’ve been alone, I’ve been on the defense, coming at him with hurt and anger, but clearly that isn’t working. Though there’s no doubt that I’m starting to break through his walls. The stranger I saw in the student office last Monday never would have followed me home, or maybe he would have, and I was just too blinded by my own pain that I couldn’t see that.
Either way, this isn’t going to be easy.
I spend the day in a haze, staring out windows and zoning out when the whispers and snickers hit me in the hallway. For the most part, Shannan and her tribe of assholes leave me alone today, but there’s no mistaking the word trash that seems to follow me around the school like a bad smell.
My day passes in a blur of schoolwork, and during lunch, I sit with the girls. My mind is too preoccupied to hold a conversation, but they don’t seem to notice I’m even here, and honestly, I’m starting to question why I even bother.
The end-of-lunch bell sounds through the school, and just as I stand from the table, watching Noah walk out of the cafeteria, it hits me.
I know exactly how to force him to me, and it’s probably the most moronic thing I could ever think of. Maybe even dumber than getting drunk at a party and trying to walk home alone.
No. No, this is too stupid. Too risky. I can’t. Scratch that. I’ll go back to the drawing board.
But then . . . shit.
I have to. What other choice do I have? I have to push him while I still can because if I leave this too long, he’s going to fall in with the people here and then seeing me every day will get easier. I need to strike while those old memories and feelings are swirling around in his head. I can’t risk giving them a chance to settle. I can’t risk this becoming our new normal.
Making my way out of the cafeteria, I walk to my locker, my gaze set on Noah down the hall, wondering how the hell I’m going to pull this off. Though one thing is for sure, it’s going to have to wait until after school. There’s no way I’ll get away with doing this now.
My hands start to shake, and I force the plan to the back of my mind, needing to concentrate on my last two classes before the end of the day.
Nerves pulse through my body, and despite my need to focus and actually learn something, all I seem to be able to do is stare at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. By the end of my last class, a bead of sweat is trailing down my spine, and I’ve almost convinced myself to bail on the plan, but I keep reminding myself that this isn’t for my twisted enjoyment, despite how exciting it might be. I need to do this to help Noah. At least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself. I mean, the fact that it’s going to get him where it hurts is kind of nice too. It’s going to be the sweetest victory. Assuming I can pull it off, of course.
Not knowing how long this might take, I pull my phone out and hold it discreetly beneath my desk before shooting a text to Hazel.
Zoey: I’m going to be a while! Could you catch the bus?
Hazel: The bus? Gross! Worst chauffeur ever!
Zoey: I am not your chauffeur!!!!
Hazel: That’s not what Mom says!
Zoey: You’re such a brat! Can you catch the bus or not?
Hazel: I suppose so.
Zoey: Perfect. I’ll see you at home.
Putting my phone away, I concentrate on the last few minutes of class, furiously taking notes, knowing the second I’m out of here, everything the teacher has said is going to fall straight out of my brain. Then as the bell sounds for the end of school, a vicious wave of anxiety cripples me, my chest heaving with nerves.