Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
I exhale a cloud of smoke. The thing is, we forget that our friends have designs of their own. That we’re just pieces in their blueprint. We’re constantly at cross-purposes. They’ve got families of their own. Their own orders of magnitude in damage. Brothers who handed them that first joint, first swig of beer.
I look back, and it’s obvious Kai and I were always going to end up here. Because a part of me needed him, wanted to be like him. But then we reached the gut check moment—that sense of survival that makes some of us afraid of heights and some of us jump out of airplanes. It kicked in for me, and it was like fight or flight. An innate animal instinct that Kai would be the death of me, if I let him.
So I ran, and I changed my life—for a time. But maybe people aren’t ever capable of changing once that foundation has been laid. Maybe Kai and I were always going to be each other’s destruction. Right now I’m afraid of heights and he’s stopped wearing a parachute. He’s leaning out of the plane and I’ve got one hand on his shirt and as soon as I let go, he flies. Only, he pulls me with him, and we both plummet.
I flick the joint out the window and reach for my phone.
ME: Friday night. I’ll meet you.
KAI: See you then
I don’t know what happens after this or how I come back from it. If things between Hunter and I will change. What happens when I go home to California and sleep in that house and have to look my mother in the eye.
Then again, I found a way last time, so maybe I should stop kidding myself that lying doesn’t come naturally and guilt is permanent. Maybe I should stop pretending that if I feel bad it means I’m not completely defective. Hell, maybe I should stop feeling bad at all and embrace indifference. Accept that I’m not, and never was, a good person.
When I get home, I head upstairs to my bedroom and text Taylor to blow off lunch tomorrow.
And the day after.
Because avoidance is easier.
29
Taylor
I forgot what a hassle the Spring Gala is every year. Friday morning I wake up late and have to scramble out of the apartment. From then it’s like the day is on fast-forward.
Spill coffee on myself sprinting to class. Didn’t bring the right notebook. Pop quiz. Haul ass to another class. Vending machine eats my dollar. Starving. Rush to Kappa to meet Sasha. Run to salon; they’re an hour behind. Get lunch while we wait. Get our hair done. Back to the Kappa house. She does my makeup while I do her nails. She does her makeup while I steam our dresses. And finally—collapse on the floor until Abigail starts stomping through the house shouting that the setup crew needs help at the venue.
Now Sasha and I are in the banquet hall hooking up the rented sound system with her laptop. Our heads are dropping bobby pins while we crawl around on the floor in our sweats before we have to run back to Kappa house to take a baby wipe shower and get our dresses.
“Don’t we have pledges for this or something?” Sasha gripes while we haul another massive speaker inside from the loading dock because the dolly has a flat tire.
“I think the freshmen are in the kitchen folding napkins.”
“Seriously?” she says. We drop the speaker in place and take a moment to catch our breath. “Shit, I’ll go sit on my ass and fold fucking origami. Get that lacrosse chick out here to throw a couple of these on her back.”
“I think you told Charlotte you didn’t want any plebes getting their grubby hands on your gear.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean the heavy shit.”
I grin. “Come on. One more. Then I’ll run the rest of the cables while you do a sound check.”
Sasha takes a deep breath and blots the sweat from her hairline with her sweater. “You’re a good friend, Marsh.”
While we’re carrying the speaker in, a familiar face appears in our path. It’s Eric, the basketball boy from Malone’s, carrying six large boxes of donuts. We set the speaker in place and meet him at Sasha’s DJ booth with feral hungry eyes.
“Help yourselves,” he says easily.
“Oh my God, you’re the best.” Sasha shoves a donut in her mouth and takes two more. “Thank you,” she mumbles with her mouth full.
Like a swarm of locusts, the other sisters descend on the donuts. Everyone’s been surviving on green juice and carrots for a week or more so they could fit into their one-size-too-small dresses tonight.
“I have to run into the city to pick up my tux,” Eric tells Sasha while she’s licking icing off her fingers. “Just thought you girls might need a sugar boost.”