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)
Harper fidgets with her books, nodding toward Maddie. “Why don’t you just talk to her? She won’t bite.”
Is it that obvious I want to talk to her?
“I don’t want to talk to her,” I argue. “And I know she doesn’t bite.”
“I mean, she might,” Harper teases. “She only looks sweet.”
What point is she trying to make? Is she implying that Maddie isn’t nice?
Why is this any of this Harper’s business?
“I wasn’t staring.” I say it again in case I wasn’t clear the first time.
Harper yawns, busying herself by grabbing a paperback off the top shelf of her locker. Not a textbook—we barely have those anymore ’cause the school gives us computers—but an actual paperback novel. I can’t see its cover, but it’s white and blue and has the word jock in its title.
“Whatever you say, dude.” She chuckles.
Dude?
Why does she make it sound like an insult?
I open my mouth but quickly snap it shut; I don’t know Harper well enough to continue arguing with her.
Say less.
But Harper isn’t through chatting with me.
“I don’t understand why everyone is so afraid of her,” she goes on, stacking the paperback on top of some notebooks. “She does nothing but take selfies and put them on the internet. Big whoop.” Harper slams her locker shut. “Not that it surprises me a guy like you is as basic as the rest of the male population.”
A guy like me?
Basic?
What does that even mean?!
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I blurt out.
My locker neighbor shrugs. “You know—you all want to date someone like her.”
Someone like her? Obviously! Maddie is beautiful and pretty and cute.
“I am a f-freaking winger for the the—the…hockey team!” I stammer, floundering. “There is nothing basic about me!”
She snorts.
Actually snorts while she laughs.
“Winger but not the captain? Yikes.”
“Wow. That was really…” I plow a hand through my hair, letting out a puff of air. “Rude.”
Harper spins on the heel of her pristine white sneakers, squeaking as she stalks down the hall toward the cafeteria.
Why is she being so fucking rude?
I wasn’t aware that Harper Conrad didn’t like me—I thought everyone liked me, I’m a decent guy—but you learn something new every day.
Harper Conrad and I rarely speak—we’ve had lockers near each other for three years but no classes together.
My brain ticks off details about her, most of them things you can discern about someone simply through observation:
She’s not in any sports—at least, none that I know of.
She is taller than most girls but shorter than me.
Dark reddish-brown hair.
Freckles.
Wicked grin.
Arrogant hair toss.
Gets decent grades but not at the top of the class. Then again, neither am I.
Doesn’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.
Seems to like the color pink, as I’ve seen some locker decorations fall out from time to time. And she has a pink book bag.
Brat.
I watch Harper retreat until she’s swallowed by a sea of students, the warning bell ringing, her reddish hair finally disappearing from sight.
I stand here with no books in my hands, nothing for my biology class, already late.
Chapter 4
Harper
Why would I speak like that to Easton Westermann?
Where do I get the nerve?
What has he ever done to me to deserve that kind of treatment?
Not a thing.
Loathing myself, I hang my head. My stomach is in knots as I work.
Actual knots, because I like Easton.
Like him, like him.
Don’t tell anyone, but I literally lay in bed last night wide awake, staring at the ceiling, because when I closed my eyes, it was Easton Westermann’s face I kept seeing. Except wouldn’t you know it, the last time I’d looked at him, he was making eyes at Madison Miller, self-appointed princess of senior year.
Gag.
Give the girl fifteen thousand followers on social media and she thinks she’s influencing, when all she’s actually accomplished is filming a few dumb choreographed dances when she’s supposed to be eating lunch. I’m embarrassed to have been caught watching Easton while he was staring at another girl.
My hearts sinks.
Is that seriously the type of girl he’s into?
If it is, then there is no hope for a girl like me: A bit too confident for someone a tad nerdy. Bookish. Studious. Smart-mouthed.
Throw in the fact that my parents are a mess…
I wish I didn’t care what he thinks of me, but I do.
Why did I open my mouth today?!
Because, Harper. It irritates you watching him make sad eyes at Maddie Miller, who isn’t smart enough to give a nice guy like that the time of day. She is a stuck-up asshole who thinks she’s living her own version of a teenage movie.
And now Easton thinks I’m a jerk.
I turn my attention back to the task at hand: raking the lawn, despite the fact that it’s getting dark. We have company coming over this weekend, and neither of my parents has time to tidy up the backyard or clear the leaves from the fire pit. Therefore, the task falls to me.