Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Eff my life. Seriously, eff it.
I glanced over my shoulder at that moment, at my friends—all of them transfixed by the sight of Maddie Miller leaning with her back to her locker, blond hair hanging in a thick rope over her tan, smooth skin.
Marcus, that idiot, dropped his jaw, adding to my insecurity, utter humiliation rolling over me as they watched my comedy act unfold onstage.
“How’s it going?” Maddie rolls her eyes. “Good.”
I’m no body language expert, but hers was screaming someone come rescue me from this loser.
“So like. I know we don’t know each other that well—but like, I thought maybe it would be nice to, you know. Go to a movie or something? Uh. Together.”
Now I had her attention. She stood up straighter, finally looking me in the eye rather than rolling hers.
“Together. Like a date?”
I nodded, shoulders slouching in relief. She understood. She’d figured it out without my having to explain.
“Yes.”
She laughed, tipping her head back. “No.”
Just no, followed by the slamming of her locker.
All the scenarios I’d thought might happen, happened:
She laughed in my face.
She said no without hesitating.
After she slammed her locker, she walked away just like in the movies.
My friends saw it all.
I was publicly humiliated.
So yeah.
Fun times, but that’s the way the rubber ball bounces: with me getting slapped in the fucking face.
“Blah blah blah, long story short, I am now Harper Conrad’s little bitch boy.”
I wait for Harper’s reaction. She’s been listening quietly the whole time I’ve been speaking.
She stares at me slack-jawed, her expression so similar to Marcus’s I almost wince.
“Bro,” she breathes. “I am so sorry. That sounds…”
Awful? Humiliating? I don’t let her finish. “It was.”
“Also. Please don’t ever call yourself my bitch boy.”
“But it’s true.” I scoff. “I am.”
I wouldn’t be here otherwise.
Harper puts a hand on the paintbrush I’m holding, stopping me from squirting more paint onto the paper plate.
“The last thing you need is more red.” She gives her head a shake. “Also. You listen to me right now, Easton Westermann. If Maddie Miller was dumb enough to turn you down, that is her problem. She’s the one missing out.” She removes her hand from the brush and leans back on her haunches. “I can see on your face that you’re humiliated, but you did nothing wrong.” She lowers her voice, growing quiet and less fierce. “I would give anything to have a guy ask me on a date, and if she can’t appreciate it when it does happen, shame on her.”
Shame on Maddie?
Harper is so dramatic.
“Marcus says she’s told people she doesn’t date anyone in high school,” I add.
Harper snorts. “That is a total truckload of crap.”
Eh?
“What are you saying?” I need her to spell it out for me.
She sighs loud enough for me to flinch. “Did you not know she dated Calvin Uchie over the summer?”
Cal Uchie?
He’s on the soccer team. Lanky but tall, damn good footballer and also: a high school sophomore at Parker Lane. One more reason to steal their ugly-ass rhino head.
I scratch my head. “Are you sure?”
Harper nods. “Positive.”
I can’t decide if she’s taking pleasure in telling me this or if she’s merely sharing information because she’s a know-it-all, but it stings that Maddie would say she doesn’t date anyone in high school when she dated Cal.
Allegedly.
I have no way of knowing unless I ask my friends or Calvin himself, and there is no way I would stoop that low. Plus, what difference does it make? Maddie clearly has no interest in going out with me, and that’s fine.
It’s fine.
She can date who she wants.
Whatever.
I’ve moved on. I lost a dare and now have to humiliate myself by using glitter and cutting out cardboard people for a dance I had no intention of going to.
“Maybe she only dated him because he has colleges looking at him already and she was into the clout,” Harper suggests quietly, but her musing doesn’t make me feel better.
“Maybe.” I don’t point out the fact that colleges were looking at me, too, and I’m playing for one when we graduate.
“Well,” she says after a long pause. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t repeat what you told me. I promise.”
I groan. She sounds like she’s making a pact with me, and the last thing I need is more friends, let alone one who’s a meddling, blackmailing girl.
What’s next, friendship bracelets?
Not a chance.
“Hey. The good news is you didn’t get caught and outed as a thief,” Harper says. “You had a momentary public humiliation, but at least the security cameras at school didn’t catch you hoisting the mascot up the flagpole.”
I smile a little at that. Facts. I’m lucky as hell.
The rhino head being hung in the courtyard at school caused an uproar with administration—mostly because adults are so sensitive about that shit—and the principal called an all-school assembly to lecture us about it. Threatened to expel whoever had done it, blah blah blah. I wanted to throw up.