Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
As soon as Mom leaves me alone, I slide off the bed, grumbling about having to do this stupid shit. My holey Metallica shirt looks cool and was pretty expensive. But heaven forbid Dad’s bougie friends at the college see what a delinquent his son is.
I snatch my standard black Polo for events such as these and yank it on over my T-shirt. The combat boots will have to do because I’m not wearing any lame-ass shoes. That’s where I draw the line.
Stalking out of my room, I nearly plow over my sister. She, of course, looks like your typical college student, already wearing a PMU T-shirt and an eager-as-fuck smile.
Gemma sees college as an escape.
To me, it’s a prison.
“You know,” Gemma says, looping her arm through mine and grinning at me, “they have art classes there. Why don’t you just take those?”
Everything I’ve learned is through observation and real-time research via the internet. Some antiquated professor isn’t going to be able to teach me about any art I’ll be interested in. Screw that. Sounds boring as hell.
When we make it downstairs, Mom smiles at seeing us. Sometimes I feel like I’m five and we’re being paraded around town as the adorable Park twins. I don’t feel adorable, goddammit.
“Your dad’s already outside,” Mom says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We have something exciting for you both. Come on.”
Gemma shoots me a wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed look. Did they really get us cars? Finally? I find my mood lifting. Maybe this tour won’t be so bad if we have the freedom to leave whenever we want.
My sister practically drags me out of the house behind Mom. It reminds me of Christmas morning when we were kids, so damn eager to see what Santa had brought us.
As soon as we’re outside, I see a brand-freaking-new Chevy Tahoe with a custom glittery black-colored paint job. All the doors and hatch are open, inviting us to come take a look.
It’s nice as hell, but where’s the other one?
I detach from my twin and stride to the back of the vehicle to see if Dad’s hiding an Audi or something for my sister. Nothing.
Oh fuck.
He’s not going to let her drive.
Her squeals of excitement make my ears ring. I’ll let Dad rain on her parade. I’m sure as hell not telling her she’s going to be stuck hitching rides from our parents forever.
Dad climbs out of the driver’s seat to hug Gemma. She’s talking a hundred miles per second, telling him how beautiful the car is and how excited she is. Mom simply grins so wide she’s showing off every one of her shiny veneered teeth.
“Well,” Dad says, turning his attention to me. “What do you think, Son? You like it?”
I scratch at my temple, feeling awkward as hell. He’s being so blatant about it. Is he going to break my sister’s heart right here in the driveway?
“It’s nice,” I murmur, breaking his gaze to run my eyes along the sleek SUV. “Really nice.”
Gemma pulls from Dad’s hug to dazzle me with a bright smile. “I’m so in love with it, Dad. Thank you!”
Dad nods, not correcting her. Wait. Is this car hers? Am I the one who’s not getting one? Shock, outrage, and mostly hurt burn hot through my veins. I can feel my face turning red and I hate it.
Am I some joke to him?
The loser, worthless kid?
“As you kids can see,” Dad says, voice gruff and firm. “There’s one car here.”
Here it comes.
Favoritism at its finest.
“There are some rules that go along with this vehicle,” he continues. “You’re not allowed to drive it alone.”
Gemma frowns while I clench my teeth, staring vacantly at my sister’s car.
“What do you mean?” Gemma asks. “Like with you or Mom? We’re eighteen and can drive alone.”
Dad grunts. “I know the law, but these are your mother’s and my rules. If you drive anywhere, you must take Dempsey with you.”
I scoff but secretly revel in her shocked expression that quickly morphs into anger.
“Because I’m a girl? Dad, that’s so unfair!” Her big eyes fill with tears as she looks at our mother for aid. Fat chance, Sis. Mom’s always on Dad’s side.
Technically, with all her paid sponsorships on social media, she probably has enough to buy her own vehicle, not that Dad would let her.
“It’s not because you’re a girl,” Dad explains, huffing in frustration. “Same with Dempsey. It’s your shared car, but I want him to take you if he drives it anywhere.”
Wait.
Shared?
Seriously?
We’ve literally shared every-fucking-thing since being in the womb and now we’re sharing a car, too. Annoying but not all that surprising.
“Am I being punished because I don’t want to go to college?” I grit out, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at Dad. “Because, if so, that’s a mindfuck, Dad.”
Dad stiffens and his nostrils flare. “I knew I had spoiled children, but I didn’t realize they were both going to be such brats. I bought you a ninety-five-thousand-dollar car and it’s not good enough? Unbelievable.”