Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
I jerk my eyes over to her, seeing her with a hand to her chest as she tries to catch her breath. Huh?
She heard me, right? This isn’t a joke.
She looks over at me again, concern still in her eyes. “That’s all you were going to say?” she asks. “That’s it? Nothing else?”
What?
“Are you serious?” I burst out, sitting up straight. “You’re not surprised that I’m…”
“Well, honey, we kind of knew.”
My eyes go wide, and now that the fear is gone, I glare. “What?” I screech. “How could you know?” I didn’t know! “And what do you mean ‘we’? You mean Dad knows, too?”
Are they serious?
She smiles softly. “Honey, you had pictures of Selena Gomez and Peyton List on your wall when you were twelve,” she tells me. “Krisjen had Booboo Stewart and Harry Styles. Yeah, we…kind of had an idea.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you were twelve,” she explains. “You’re the only one who knows who you are. We didn’t want to make assumptions. We just wanted to let you come to us when you were ready.”
“But the showers at school,” I say. “You changed the showers at school, because of Liv Jaeger.”
“I voted to change them, because you asked me to.”
“I did not.”
She nods. “Yeah, the end of freshman year,” she tells me. “You complained about Olivia constantly being late to class, because she was waiting for everyone else to finish bathing before her and something about her not showering at all sometimes and just dowsing herself in perfume and deodorant. People were being mean to her, making fun of her… I took that as a hint that you felt bad for her. You kind of just spit out that separate stalls would make your lives so much easier.”
I pause, the vague memory playing out in my head. Right. I do remember that. I hated seeing her waiting around in her towel all alone.
“So you’re just fine with it?” I sputter. “Seriously?”
“I am now,” she replies.
I cock an eyebrow. Now?
“Well, at first,” she says, “part of me kind of hoped it wasn’t true.”
Why?
“I’m sorry to admit that.” She frowns. “But I want us to be honest with each other. It was my initial reaction. ‘Oh my God, did I do something wrong? Is this my fault?’” She shakes her head. “I can’t help where my mind went, but that’s not where it is anymore, Clay. I’m glad I had time to prepare myself, because I would’ve been ashamed to have had that reaction in front of you.”
Does she still feel that way, even a little?
“No one wants their kid’s life to be harder,” she goes on, “and then when we lost Henry, I thought I was losing control of everything. I’m glad I had time to figure myself out.”
“And now?” I ask, waiting for the hard truth. “Do you still think you did something wrong?”
She smiles softly, her eyes pooling. “There’s no feeling in the world like being in love,” she says. “Are you in love?”
It doesn’t take a moment for me to nod. “I think about her all the time,” I tell her, my voice thick with all sorts of feelings. “I want to be with her all the time. Everything feels good when she looks at me and kisses me and breathes on my neck and…”
“Okay, okay...” She laughs under her breath. “You’re still my child.”
I lean my head on her shoulder as she reaches around and touches my cheek.
After a moment, she leans in too. “I would never want you to not feel that,” she finally whispers. “Henry will never feel that.”
Needles prickle in my throat, the constant reminder that this life is our only shot behind the closed door of a little kid’s room down the hall.
“I will always love you.” She kisses my forehead. “No matter what.”
I want to go to my room right now and check my phone, and if she hasn’t called, then I want to, but I’m dreading it too. I’m afraid she’ll hang up on me. Or worse, scream and growl. Hearing her hatred would hurt worse.
“I’m starving.” My mom sighs. “I’ve been hungry for twenty years, and I’m sick of it.”
I laugh. “Popcorn and Milk Duds?”
Years ago, we’d pig out and watch Burlesque with Cher and Christina Aguilera—my favorite film—every few months, but we hadn’t done that in a long time.
“You get the food,” she tells me. “I’ll load the movie.”
“YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY dating Trace Jaeger, are you?” Amy says to Krisjen somewhere off to my right.
Calculus fills up, students pouring through the doors, and I feel Clay somewhere behind me, but I don’t turn to look.
“Of course not,” Krisjen replies. “That would involve talking. And talking is the one thing we don’t do.”
I smile to myself. I like Krisjen, simply because most Saints wouldn’t admit to the world that they sleep at my house. Or any house in the swamp.