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)
As she clearly stated, I was a slob who couldn’t glitter. I was not useful. I created more fuckups than not.
Yeah.
Things have definitely changed since I was dragged kicking and screaming onto the prom committee, pretending I didn’t give a shit about decorations.
Plot twist: I do.
Imagine that.
The more time Harper and I spent together, the more I realized this whole thing stopped being about our stupid deal shortly after it began.
And now I’m going to prom with someone else. She wants me to go to prom with someone else.
I continue to stare at the paper in my hands, unblinking, then up at my mom’s shelf.
The framed pictures of my siblings and me. Of Dad. Her succulents.
The knot in my chest grows tighter and tighter.
This whole damn time I’ve been trying to make sense of how I feel about Harper and Maddie Miller hijacks the entire thing by publicly asking me to the dance.
The letter is wrinkled from how many times I’ve read it over. I home in on her opening sentence, wondering why she isn’t brave enough to say this crap to my face. Maybe if she’d said it sooner…
…I would have asked her to the dance and things would be different.
What does she want from me? Is this her way of testing me, to see if I’ll fight for her? Girls do that sometimes, don’t they? Play games.
Or is she serious about liking me?
Why would she put it in writing if she wasn’t?
I’m holding the evidence.
Suddenly the door swings open, hitting the wall behind it with a thud.
“Hey, dingus,” Phoebe says, standing in the doorway, arms on her hips like she’s the security officer. “You look like you’re thinking way too hard. Mom saw you sneak in and told me to tell you dinner is ready. Also, why are you in here?”
“You’re supposed to knock before entering a room.”
“What are you doing in Mom’s shed? Trying to steal her zen or whatever?” She shoots me one of her famous suspicious looks.
I don’t look up at my sister; still, I feel her eyes on me. I know she has her skinny arms crossed over her chest indignantly and I can hear her tapping her little foot against the hardwood floor.
Typical Phoebe, busting in and disrupting my peace and quiet.
“Get out,” I say—but can’t even muster up the emotion to truly be mad. “Tell Mom I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I asked what you’re doing in here,” she pesters, like a dog wanting a bone.
“None of your business, Phoebe.”
She steps closer. “It is my business when you’re hiding out in here like a weirdo. Mom sent me to find you—she knows you’re home.” Phoebe walks over to where I’m sitting, waiting for me to snap back. I can practically feel her smirk from across the room as she judges me. “It’s time for dinner.”
God, why is she like this?
“Go away. I’m not in the mood.”
“This place is off-limits to you and your sad-boy routine. Wait.” She comes closer. “Easton. Are you actually sad?”
“No, I’m not sad.” I’m confused. Frustrated. Disappointed in Harper and myself.
My little sister inches closer and closer. “You seem like it.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I hesitate, my jaw tightening. Do I tell her the truth? That Harper’s been occupying every corner of my mind, and she made it worse with this letter?
“I’m thinking about how I want to smother you.”
My sister giggles. “You’re not going to.”
“No—but I’m thinking about it.” I look at her.
“Oh no. You are sad,” she says when she gets a good look at my face, inching up beside me so she can rest her small hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on, Easton?”
Clearly, she is not going to leave until I give her a crumb of information. Nosy little shit.
“You, uh, remember my friend Harper?”
Phoebe nods enthusiastically. “The one you were in here with last week?”
“Yeah. Her.”
“She’s pretty. I like her.”
Yeah, me too. “She wanted to go to prom with me.”
There.
I said it.
Admitting it out loud is half the battle.
Phoebe blinks, clearly confused. “But you don’t like going to dances. I heard Mom telling Dad this is the first one you’re going to and Dad laughed and said it was a waste of time and money.”
Of course he did. “Well, I’m going, and I have a date.”
“Is she Harper?”
“No. Her name is Maddie.”
My sister tilts her head, her expression curious. “There’s a girl in my class named Maddie. She pinches people.”
I have no idea what to say to that. “She sounds like she sucks.”
“It’s fine. Last week I said her dog was ugly and now she leaves me alone.”
A laugh escapes my throat.
My sister says the wackiest shit sometimes and can be so freaking cute at others. Mostly she’s annoying—but these rare glimpses remind me she’s only trying to be a Big Kid. That’s the reason she runs her mouth; she’s emulating me, Mom says.