Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
On one hand, Valerie has fanned the flames against me every chance she got for the past four years, and relegated Sara to social obscurity for no other reason than her epilepsy—a truly heinous, abominable reason to exclude someone.
On the other, this is Wally.
“Will you hate me?” Sara asks, cringing even as the awful words leave her mouth.
It feels as if an ice cube is sliding down into my stomach, but I try not to let it show.
I can’t summon any words, but I shake my head no.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I still can’t find words. Is she really going to leave me here to go off with Valerie Johnson?
My breathing becomes slightly more labored, but I nod my head, summoning a weak, shaky smile. Finally, I force a jumble of words out of my mouth. “Go, if you want to.”
She’s torn, but only for a split second. Taking my permission as a blessing, she quickly stands and gathers her food on her tray. She steals one last uncertain look at me.
“Be careful,” I tell her lowly, not wanting her to get hurt.
She flashes me a smile, but as she turns and rushes after Valerie, I know my words have fallen on deaf ears.
I try not to feel completely abandoned. Utterly betrayed.
I know how much Sara likes Wally, how long she’s carried this torch for him.
I just can’t believe she ditched me at Valerie Johnson’s behest.
I’m completely alone at the table now.
The crowded cafeteria around me buzzes with chatter.
I look across the room as Sara takes a seat at Valerie’s table, and the girls nearby fuss over her as if every last one of them hasn’t deliberately ignored her for the past 12 years.
I glance over to Hunter’s table where Anderson has been allowed to sit on the very end—still a ways from Hunter, but no longer at the run-off table. Since Hunter doesn’t know we got back together, he’s been allowed back into the fold.
I hate this school.
I’m not given to feelings of loneliness, but a wave of it sweeps over me now and threatens to drag me away.
Sitting here with Sara was one thing, but I’m not going to sit at this table by myself.
Quickly, I gather my things.
Typically, I wouldn’t want Valerie to see that she’d won a round, but I’d rather leave now and let her think she pissed me off than stay and let her realize she made me legitimately sad.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Riley
There’s a big oak tree out in front of the school with a trunk thick enough that if you sit in front of it, you can almost disappear. That’s where I pick to finish my lunch.
I have less time to eat since I’ve fled the school, but in an uncharacteristic turn, I don’t really care if I run late and miss my next class.
It’s a lovely day today. Warm, but not hot if you have a nice spot in the shade, which I do.
Birds chirp. There’s a gentle breeze. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air.
It’s a nice reminder that there’s a whole big world outside of high school.
I remind myself of that as I get comfortable against the base of the tree and finish my applesauce. I unpack my sandwich next and pop open the bag of chips.
Since I’m alone, I might as well make this a working lunch.
I don’t have my school books with me since I planned to have lunch with Sara, but I do have the moleskin notebook Hunter bought for the newspaper staff tucked in my Coach purse.
I grab it and dig out a pen, then I start brainstorming story ideas and jotting down details while I eat.
I nearly jump out of my skin when someone walks around the tree and penetrates my force field of invisibility. I half expect it to be Sara, but when I look up, I see expensive jeans and a letter jacket.
Hunter.
My eyes widen in surprise. I know he’s on top of his stalking game, but leaving his table at lunch? I imagine the whole social infrastructure might collapse.
“Scoot over,” he says.
I frown, but move over to make room beside me in front of the massive oak, anyway. “What are you doing?”
He sits down beside me, resting his muscular back against the tree trunk and grabbing his container full of carrot sticks. “Finishing lunch.” He tips the cup in my direction. “Want one?”
I narrow my eyes at him skeptically before snatching a carrot stick.
Feeling compelled to reciprocate, I mutter, “You can have some of my chips, if you want.”
He reaches into the bag and grabs a chip, then pops it into his mouth and looks over at my notebook. “What are you working on?”
“Just jotting down some questions. I was thinking about doing an interview with some of the a cappella kids before the fall jam.”