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)
I still feel a bit tired, but I should probably take an aspirin or something. I don’t have time to sleep, I need to get started on my homework. I’d like to get it all done today. Tomorrow I’ll be nervous about the interview, and Sunday I told Mom I’d go dress shopping with her for homecoming.
Homecoming just makes me think of Hunter now.
I can’t believe he asked me.
I can’t believe I had to say no.
Thinking about it makes me glum, and I’m already not in the best mood from all the unsent messages in my phone, so I don’t need more of that.
I want to focus on something else, but when I open my phone to seek out a quick distraction, instead I find myself opening my web browser and typing in, “Is being tired an early pregnancy symptom?”
Apparently, it is.
The very first result reads, “Am I pregnant?” and promises a listing of all the early symptoms to look out for if you think you might be.
My finger hovers over the little blue link, but I don’t tap it.
I frown at my phone, then close the browser before I can be tempted to tumble down that rabbit hole.
Being tired is also caused by not getting enough sleep, I remind myself. Lying awake at night, unable to stop thinking. Having your world turned upside down, being lightly stalked and constantly preoccupied, running from your problems and doing too much busywork instead of going to sleep at a reasonable hour.
All things that could make me tired without the reason being that Hunter Maxwell put a baby in me.
I don’t even want to consider that awful possibility, but it has been a week since I slept with Hunter, and it feels like it has been 300 days since my last period.
I don’t carefully track my cycle, so I’m not exactly sure when I’m due. I don’t know if I’m late, or it’s just not time yet. I do know that slipping up and having unsafe sex has made me more acutely aware of things, so I need to try not to be paranoid about it. The more paranoid I get, the more convinced I’ll be that I’m seeing symptoms even where there aren’t any.
Ugh.
I lie back on the bed and close my eyes.
I guess at least if he did ruin my life, I know the baby will be adorable.
He probably didn’t, though. I’m probably worried for nothing.
Logically, I know there’s no reason to stress out about any of this until more time has passed, that’s why I initially avoided thinking about it, and now here I am, thinking about it.
I have to fight temptation again. I want to unblock his number and yell at him.
I asked if he had a condom, dammit. And he did! Why didn’t he just put the damn thing on?
It’s funny, Hunter warned me four years ago that if he came back, he’d ruin my life like I ruined his.
I don’t think this was what he had in mind.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Riley
Like the rest of my life, weekend doesn’t go to plan.
Unlike the rest of my life, it’s for a good reason.
The interview on Saturday goes really well. Deb gives me a “tryout” on Sunday, which means dress shopping with mom has to be moved up to Saturday.
I can’t find a single affordable dress that isn’t awful-looking, that’s the worst part.
Sara is also supposed to be dress shopping with us, but we still haven’t spoken since she sat with Valerie at lunch, that’s another bad part.
I don’t even know if she’s going to homecoming with me anymore. Initially, we talked about her riding with me and Anderson since she can’t drive. I hope that’s still happening, but I guess I won’t know until we talk.
In the dressing room, I turn to get a look at another angle of the wine-colored off-the-shoulder dress I’m trying on. It’s a fit and flare lace dress—which I’m sure my mom will give me shit about if I pick it since I gave her shit about the lace on the Stepford dress, but it’s the prettiest one I’ve seen today.
Snapping a picture, I send it to Sara with a simple message asking what she thinks.
“It’s cute,” she sends back a moment later. “Shorter than I expected.”
I look in the mirror. It is short. The dress hits way above mid-thigh; if the school dress code is enforced, it definitely won’t comply with the “all dresses have to go past your fingertips” rule.
I didn’t intend to show so much leg, but this is the first dress I’ve found that I actually like.
It’s also on clearance, which is a big selling point.
I already made up my mind to use the money Hunter gave me to buy my dress, but I’ll need to buy shoes, too, and I don’t want to blow the whole $200 on my homecoming outfit if I don’t have to.