Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Okay, I gotta go. I’m meeting with Angela, the lady who is PR at the publishing house, and a magazine journalist that wants to do an interview with me for lunch. I’ll update you once I take the next step.”
“I’ll be waiting. Go be a gorgeous badass,” she replied.
“You do the same,” I told her before ending the call.
Walking back into my bedroom, I sat down on the edge of the bed and opened my text messages, then tapped Ransom’s name. I reread through the others I hadn’t responded to before reading the newest one.
Ransom: Are we breaking up?
Ransom: I gave you twenty-four hours and still nothing. What is going on, Shakespeare?
Ransom: Frank Sinatra was buried with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. That’s fucking sad. Terrible taste in whiskey.
Ransom: The father of our country operated a commercial distillery for a short time. Maybe I should run for president.
Ransom: Okay, Shakespeare, I am shooting you vital facts to succeed in life, and I’m getting nothing in return.
Ransom: Are you alive?
Me: I’m alive.
I sent it, knowing I needed to say more, but what?
Ransom: Damn. A response. I was getting worried. What’s going on with you?
I sat there, staring at the screen, trying to think of a lie, but not wanting to lie to him. Maybe a partial truth …
Me: Bad weekend.
He immediately started typing.
Ransom: Do I need to hurt someone?
I laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Ironic even.
Me: No. Not necessary. It’s just hard when people don’t turn out to be who you think they are.
I waited as he responded. This should be interesting.
Ransom: People rarely are. Everyone is hiding something.
I guessed that was true. I knew what I was hiding. And it wasn’t nearly as devastating as finding out that Ransom was a jerk.
Me: Yes. I suppose so, but it wasn’t that they were hiding a secret. It was more of a disappointment in their character.
Ransom: People suck. Haven’t we covered that topic before?
How was this the same guy I’d had dinner with? It seemed impossible. This was the Ransom I enjoyed talking to. The one I trusted and shared things with. This was the one who made me smile. I didn’t want to lose this, but how did I separate the two?
Me: Yes, I guess we have. I just thought there were some people who didn’t suck.
I stopped and hesitated. Then decided, What the hell?
Me: I’m accustomed to being ignored. But being mocked is something I had hoped ended after high school.
He didn’t type right away, and I wondered if I’d just been too raw with him. I never complained about the way I had been treated back then. Mostly because it had embarrassed me. It was something he had never experienced and wouldn’t understand.
Ransom: I need a name.
What?
Me: Huh?
Ransom: I need a name, Shakespeare.
Me: Whose name?
Ransom: The name of the fucker who mocked you.
Oh. Well, you won’t be getting that.
I didn’t want to tell him that I’d sat across the table from him two nights ago. He hadn’t recognized me, and I was going to keep it that way. Besides, the threat of him picking up my book and knowing I had written that? Nope. I’d probably die. Curl up in a ball and die.
Me: The name isn’t important.
Ransom: Yeah, it is.
Me: Why do you need it?
Ransom: I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Me: I don’t think this is someone you can control.
This had turned comical.
Ransom: Did Jeremy Tucker leave you alone in high school? And Dylan McGreeves?
I read those names and cringed. It had been a long time since I’d thought about either of those two. They were the ones who had taken the most jabs at me. My weight. My mouth, because my braces—which I’d worked extra to save money for because my mother had refused to—made my already-big lips stick out like a duck. It had been one of their favorite things to call me. Duck or Tubby or Beached Whale.
Ransom: Did they? Even after I graduated?
They … had left me alone. One day, it had just stopped, and I couldn’t remember when, but by the time I graduated, I no longer avoided places where they might be, and I’d quit taking the long way to class to stay out of the hallways where I might run into one of them.
Me: You made them stop?
Why hadn’t I known this?
Ransom: I did.
Me: You didn’t tell me.
Ransom: I didn’t see a reason to. I handled the dipshits. Now give me a name.
My chest felt warm as I read over his words again. That was the guy I’d spent the past ten years texting. Not the one I’d met two nights ago. What was it about me now that had made him dislike me on sight? Would it have been different if I’d told him who I was? No, again, I couldn’t have done that. It was best that I hadn’t. If he knew I was Juliett Romeo then he’d eventually figure out he’d been written into my books- in very sexually graphic situations. Then I might just die of humiliation.