Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“And I went through your storage last week, and I don’t see the box anymore. I doubt you got rid of them, or did you?”
Silence.
“I feel like seeing her now has triggered something, and she has a hold on you.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Like, there’s nothing there?”
“No.”
“Has anything ever been there?”
“No, Stacey.” I shook my head. “She’s never meant anything to me.”
She stared at me long and hard, looking into my eyes as if they held a more reliable answer than my lips.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” She kissed my cheek, and I leaned over the console to hug her.
I smiled at her and waited for her to pull out of the parking lot before heading inside.
When I hit the lights in the living room, Audrey was glaring at me from the kitchen.
“Why the hell have you been sitting in the dark?” I asked.
“Maybe I’m trying to find the light setting that matches my soul,” she said. “Apparently, that’s what you wrote about me.”
I shut the door, confused.
“‘Shades of midnight,’ right?” She stood up from the chair. “Blood on my hands for crimes you were sent away for? How pretty and fucking dramatic.”
“You went through my shit and read my work?”
“You’re not supposed to write about me,” she said. “We agreed.”
“Would you rather I make something up?” I glared at her. “Surely your essay wasn’t about anyone other than me for that topic, right?”
“There’s a smoker who’s requesting a new roommate,” she said. “I think I’ll be giving her a trade.”
“You’re allergic to cigarette smoke.”
“I was allergic to you, and yet I survived.” She shrugged.
“So, you read my work?”
“Every fucking word.” She narrowed her eyes. “I hope you’re about to say sorry.”
“Not at all.” I picked up my laptop and notebooks, vowing to never leave them out again. “I do hope you got inspired, though. Perhaps you can finally accept that I’ve always been a better writer than you.”
“Too bad you never bragged about that to your football friends.” She hissed. “You could never let them know what you really wanted to do with your life, or else they’d call you—”
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. The part of me that once agreed with her wanted to speak—but pride got there first.
“Shut up.” I dared her to finish, but she bit her lip. “Stay out of my shit like I stay out of yours.”
“Or else what?” She crossed her arms. “You’ll make my life a living hell again?”
I walked away from her and shut my door, my pulse still hammering.
But even as I leaned against the wood, I could still see her silhouette in my mind—her arms crossed, her jaw set, the soft rise and fall of her chest.
And for a second too long, I wanted to go back.
I can’t do this shit…
BULLY YEARS: TENTH GRADE
AUDREY
How does it feel to be the fugliest girl at school?
Is that why you keep your head buried in books and write so much—to keep us from seeing your fugly face?
Iheld back tears as I looked at the latest note that had been scrawled inside my favorite paperback with a glitter Sharpie.
I’d honestly thought that getting my braces off would change things—that I’d finally be like all the other girls.
Why am I still “fugly”?
“You’re not ugly, Audrey.” My mom’s voice filtered through my phone via voicemail. “Those girls are just jealous of you and how pretty you are, I promise. It’s just like the heroine in Ashley and the Mean Girls, remember? It took a few years, but—”
I stopped listening, upset that I’d called her in the first place. I had a mission to complete, and I was tired of her using her writing—yet again—to teach me lessons that didn’t exist.
If I could make it out of the cafeteria, through the campus garden, and past the water-sports complex without being seen by the “mean” cheerleaders, this might have been the first day of my Central High career that wasn’t a living hell.
But I needed to get by without Taylor seeing me, too.
We were the only ones left in the stands, and I refused to let him see me cry. I crossed my arms and told myself that none of these people would matter years from now. I vowed to fill out twenty more out-of-state college applications that night.
As I was envisioning myself on a leafy campus where fall actually lasted more than a few weeks, Taylor stopped in front of me and cleared his throat.
I didn’t make eye contact. I just waited for his hateful words and hoped he’d walk away right after.
“I moved your car,” he said, setting my keys on my lap. “They didn’t invite you because they were planning to paint all types of crazy shit on it and flatten your tires.”
My heart dropped to the floor; I didn’t even know how to respond.