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)
“I, uh—have to go to the bathroom,” My best friend mumbles, scrambling to stand and grabbing her cell. Macy looks at me apologetically before making a beeline for the door. “Be right back.”
My mom steps aside to let her pass, then closes the door gently, trapping me in the room with her.
She raises an eyebrow, her expression unreadable as she begins, “Do you want to explain why you were crying when you got home from school? Or why you’ve been hiding up here for the past few hours?”
I swallow hard, heart pounding in my throat. “Mom, I—”
“I love that you have Macy to tell your secrets to.” She cuts me off, not giving me the me chance to explain. “But I’m your mother. If something is hurting you, I want you to know you can trust me. Does this have to do with the boy who’s been coming over to work on prom decorations with you?”
“Easton,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“His name is Easton,” I say quietly, staring at my hands. “And there’s nothing going on between us except prom committee.”
Mom raises her brows, clearly not buying my lie. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and start again. “We’re not a couple or anything. He’s my friend; that’s it.”
She purses her lips, unconvinced. “Maybe not,” she says carefully. “But that’s not really the point, is it?”
I frown, crossing my arms defiantly. “What do you mean? What is the point?”
She sighs, her gaze softening as she watches me. “The point is, I know what it looks like when you care about someone. And I think you know it, too.”
My stomach tightens, but before I can argue, she lowers her voice.
“These walls are thin, you know.” Her tone is soft, but there’s weight behind it. “So I hear things I probably shouldn’t.”
My breath catches.
She gives me a pointed look before continuing. “And all I want to say is…guys don’t hold all the cards. You have power to make choices, too.”
I force myself to nod, fingers clenching the edge of the bedspread.
“I know.”
Mom studies me for a long moment, her brow furrowed—I know she doesn’t entirely believe me, but she shouldn’t worry. I know my own mind and I know what I’m worth. And in that second, I decide: I am sending Easton a note.
“You know you can come to me for anything. Even if you think I won’t understand.” Her voice softens further, almost hesitant. “I know things aren’t great with Dad and me right now, but we’re both always here for you, Harp.”
I lift my face toward the ceiling to blink back the tears pooling in my eyes and dab them away.
Ugh, why did she go and bring up the drama between her and Dad? It’s like she’s determined to yank on every loose thread in my already fraying life!
Dang it!
Before I can fully pull myself together, the door squeaks open again, this time with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Macy pops her head around the edge of the doorframe, exaggeratedly cautious, like a kid sneaking back into the house after curfew.
“Is it safe?” she stage-whispers, eyes darting between me and my mom like she’s assessing the damage. “Nobody’s crying, right?”
“No one is crying,” Mom confirms, though there’s an edge to her voice that tells my friend I know you’ve been eavesdropping. She hardly looks amused, but there is nothing she can do about Macy’s sudden intrusion.
“Cool, cool.” Macy slides back into my room with more snacks in hand. “Nibbles, anyone? Or, like, an emotional support pretzel? I brought the whole bag.”
She holds up the pretzel bag.
Mom hesitates, debating whether to push me further or make her exit. No sense in having a serious conversation with Macy as an audience…
“We’ll pick this up later.” She shoots me a pointed look before stepping into the hall and pulling the door closed behind her.
The second it clicks shut, Macy practically leaps on me for details. “Okay, how bad was it? Scale of one to you’re grounded until you leave for college.”
I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands. “Why do you always make everything a joke?”
“Because it’s my job to keep things entertaining,” she says brightly. “Now be honest. How pissed is she?”
“Not pissed. Just a few bits of wisdom about love and life,” I mumble, reaching for a pretzel. I pop it in my mouth and chew. “She said I can talk to her about anything—but you know how that goes.”
“I do know how that goes,” Macy says, her tone dripping with sarcasm, because she knows how my mother operates. “Tell me all your deepest secrets so I can passive-aggressively use them against you later.”
I laugh despite myself, tossing a pretzel at her. “Stop being mean. She’s trying.”
My best friend rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you know I’m right.”