Total pages in book: 203
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
“Drive’s about two hours, though. Can you wait or are you starvin’? We could hit a drive thru, but I know how much you like carnival corndogs and deep-fried cheesecake.”
“I can wait,” I say, a memory assaulting my senses where I was maybe six years old and had a glob of ketchup and mustard swirl on my nose while eating a giant corndog. Jase wiped it off with a napkin after his sister teased me for it.
I was crying because I didn’t know why Sherry was so mean to me. Telling me I smelled gross, because I’m half human. Then teasing me about following her brother around all the time. I wanted to be her friend. I thought she was pretty. I wanted to be everyone’s friend, but when I asked if I could come over and play Barbies with her just before that carnival, she accused me of just wanting to get close to Jase.
And Jase dabbed the napkin on my nose, flashed his dimples at me, and told me he loved corndogs with ketchup and mustard, too.
But that’s why I ate it that way, because I’d watched Jase pour ketchup and mustard on a paper plate and mix the sauce together with the tip of his corndog. To this day, on the rare occasion I eat one, I still eat it that way.
Not fixing things with Jase would mean I’d have far too many daily reminders of him. Because a whole lot of who I am comes from him, my source material, the blueprint for everything I wanted my life to be about. I followed him around so much that memories of him are woven into the fabric of pretty close to my entire life.
“How was your day?” I ask, a moment later, when we’re out of the village.
He gives me a funny look. “My day?”
“Did you have a good day?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s better now.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a phony baloney.”
He looks indignant. “I’ll have you know I’m never, not ever a phony.”
It’s a little windy with the top down, so I reach into my bag for a hair tie and wind my hair into a bun at the back of my head.
I catch Jase’s gaze on me, so I look and I’m pretty sure he’s looking at my now exposed neck, exactly where he’d bite.
And we’re swerving now as he just about crossed the center line and a little green hatchback is laying on the horn.
“Fuck,” he mutters, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.
I just did that? I just nearly made Jase crash the car because he got fixated on my neck?
“Imagine if I flashed my boobs,” I mutter aloud, by complete accident.
His jaw tightens. “You’re gonna pay for that, Bay,” he warns, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
I’ve got my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that outside my head.”
“What else aren’t you sayin’?” he asks, his tone dangerous.
“None of your bee’s wax,” I reply haughtily.
“When you let me off this leash, you’re in big trouble, baby. That’s all I’m sayin’. Don’t wanna scare you off. Now, let’s change the subject before you send me into the rut. Tell me about your day.”
“How can you drop comments like that and expect me not to be scared? That’s terrifying.”
His expression relaxes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, babe.”
But he does terrify me. He has the power to obliterate me over and over, the way he already has, and what can I do about it?
“Good day or bad day?” he asks.
“Uh… um… it… it was… long.”
“Was it ever…” he mutters.
“You and Linc had a fight?” I blurt.
His expression hardens. “Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”
“No. But I will be,” he assures.
“Is Linc okay?” I ask.
“Linc is Linc,” he says.
Not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I drop it.
I marinate on the fact that Jase is taking me to a carnival for corndogs and to a John Hughes movie marathon. Mom got me hooked on those movies years ago. We do a marathon every few years for all those movies. And I often put on Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, or Pretty in Pink just as background noise when I can’t sleep, like the other night.
Mom and I rotate through our marathons. A Julia Roberts marathon. One of all the Twilight movies. Every spring we pick a theme for a rainy weekend. This year it was two days of Elvis Presley movies.
“Did Grey give you the lowdown on all this stuff about me?” I ask.
“What?” He laughs. “I’ve known you your whole life, Bailey. I think I know stuff about you, too.”
“I didn’t think you paid attention to stuff about me.”
“I probably didn’t,” he admits. “Not really. But I told you… I’ve been reflecting.”
After a few minutes of silence, I ask, “Have you talked to anyone in your family since that meeting?”